My Appalachian experience unfolds in two parts: growing up in Eastern PA, and adulting in Western PA. I was born in Quakertown and raised in Mohnton. I moved to Pittsburgh midway through college and have lived here ever since.

The first part of my Appalachian experience can be summed up in the words woods, streams, bugs, and farmland. My understanding of what it means to be Appalachian is rooted in a childhood spent outdoors with my sisters and neighbors. We played Spud and Ghost in the Graveyard well into the darkness of summer nights. When it was time to sleep, the nocturnal chatter of crickets, frogs, and katydids from the pond wafted in through the open windows of our old farmhouse. The crude but playful chorus became the soundtrack of my summertime dreams.

The 19th century stone farmhouse where I grew up in Mohnton, PA. 2008.

Listening is a skill I learned in childhood, and over the years, this skill got more nuanced from the fine training of classical violin playing. My grandfather would buy violins at auctions so that my sisters, cousins, and I could all play the instrument. Mastering the violin requires lots of diligence. I made my way from one nerve-wracking audition to the next anxious recital, all the while finding great joy in performing with groups. I felt that the collective energy of a group was more immersive, and I found it to be more interesting than listening to myself play solo.

I think it was the combination of practiced listening and wanting to be immersed in creative expression that led me to study Art History and Writing in college. When I moved to Pittsburgh in 2008, I was excited for the new opportunities that living in the city would bring. I was also very intrigued by the Western PA landscape—still Appalachian, but more severe than Eastern PA. With the help of my sister Jennifer, who’s a professional violinist and natural athlete, I quickly got introduced to some creative and active communities in Pittsburgh. I started to meet many wonderful people who would become dear friends.

In 2009, I tackled the region’s hills while running the Pittsburgh Marathon with my sister and hiking the Rachel Carson Trail Challenge with her friend. A couple years later, my friend gave me a bicycle, and another friend helped me rehab it. I quickly found that biking was my new favorite activity. I graduated college, worked part-time at arts organizations, and also at bars and restaurants, until I established a full-time career in museum and arts management. I made time for writing about the local arts and culture scene whenever possible.

My bicycle during a night ride on the riverfront trail at the David Lawrence Convention Center in Downtown Pittsburgh. 2016.

It was an adventurous several years working in the arts, familiarizing myself with the city and also getting a grasp on the surrounding region. It was in just the past few years that both the advantages and disadvantages of growing up in rural Pennsylvania became more clear to me. Free exploration of the natural world that I enjoyed during childhood is invaluable, but so is access to cultural institutions and public discourse that is only afforded by living in areas with larger populations. Even so, those public spaces often have tragic shortcomings that become apparent in time.

For over eleven years, Pittsburgh has been a comfortable place for me to live and learn. Pittsburgh is a place where I can walk, bike, or bus a couple miles to see art exhibitions, lectures, panel discussions, and performances. It is a place where I can disappear into a swath of urban forest to find decaying steps with a secluded vantage point across the river. Pittsburgh is where I met my best friend, Owner of RP Katt Schuler, through our mutual appreciation of the performing arts. Two years ago, she and I rode out of this city together for an Appalachian bicycling adventure of a lifetime! In five days and four nights, we pedaled 335 miles to Washington, D.C., which I’ll write about more in an upcoming RP story.

My Appalachian experience has been blessed with adrenaline rushing activity, fun-loving people, creative collaborations, and awesome sights and sounds. When I write this and other stories for Rolling Pepperoni, I know that listening is still the most important part. I listen to voices past and present, and try to keep an open mind for the future. It’s a rich Appalachian culture out there, with so many stories to be heard and shared.