The Long and the Short of It: I Guess I'm Finally an Old Settler

Last year we finally became eligible to attend the Old Settlers’ Coffee. I guess that means we can at last consider ourselves real Genevans. I won’t attempt to explain the importance of this milestone in the lives of Geneva residents. Geneva Patch’s Kurt Wehrmeister has already done so in a wonderful piece called that captures the spirit of this annual celebration of the lives and times of Geneva’s long-time residents.

You probably wonder why someone who’s lived here as long as Kurt feels that he does not belong in the same league as some of the people whose surnames adorn Geneva park and street signs. While Kurt may downplay his considerable standing in and contributions to the community, I think I understand a little how he feels comparing his time in Geneva to that of some of the legendary Genevans he knows.

When we first moved here in April of 1990, we heard about the Mayor’s coffees. There’s that coffee thing again. On the first Saturday of every month (at least I think it was the first Saturday), Mayor Ottilie held informal community meetings at City Hall where people could come and ask questions or just shoot the breeze. Dorothy and I went, figuring on learning a little bit about our new home town. There was a group of older women in the back of the council chambers. One of the ladies said something that I didn’t catch. Then one of the other women told her she had no right to comment on such things since she’d only been here thirty years. And she was serious. Only thirty years! That was a little more than three quarters of my life at the time. I thought this is going to be a tough town to break into if you’re still considered an outsider after thirty years. It must be harder than marrying into an Irish family.

We left that meeting feeling a little uneasy about things. We loved Geneva. We had ever since that first lunch we had in the Mill Race Inn overlooking the Fox in spring. We loved our house too. We had terrific neighbors. And we’d read great things about the schools. But would we ever fit into a town where status was measured by the number of years you lived here? Even our neighborhood (Pepper Valley) was barely considered part of Geneva. We would always be relative newcomers.

To make a long story short, things turned out OK. We’re still relative newcomers by Geneva standards, but we don’t feel like outsiders. It turns out that Geneva is really the kind of place that welcomes strangers. People who live here are proud of their town. But the pride they take in telling you how long they’ve lived here is not intended to make you feel any less welcome or any less a part of this town. It comes from the satisfaction of knowing they made a good choice that they are still happy with years later. I guess it’s kind of like the happily married couple who take great pleasure in telling you how long they’ve been married. Yeah, I know that seems sappy, but Geneva has been known to have strange effects on people.

So Dorothy and I will never really be old settlers either. We weren’t fortunate enough to be born and raised here. But we’re happy to be here now. Our only regrets are that we didn’t discover Geneva sooner and that our first Old Settler’s Coffee may have been the last at the Mill Race Inn.