Thirty-five years ago next month, my brother and my dad helped me lug an old blue sofa, a desk, a chest of drawers and a metal bed frame up the steps into a small apartment on the outskirts of Lampeter.
We went out for pizza along Lincoln Highway, and then they left me to survey Amish farmland from my new balcony and collapse for a nap on a new discount-warehouse mattress.
In 1986, I was a new gal in town, starting a job as a general assignment reporter for the former Sunday News. I knew exactly one person here, a friend from my college newspaper.