It is a warm Friday in a little town outside of a little town in the Delaware Valley. The heat of the day has built to a crescendo where you have the feeling that something out of the ordinary is about to happen. Limekiln, Pennsylvania is where something out of the ordinary rarely ever happens. The general store, I believe they call them Wa-Wa, off the main road into town is a bustle of activity for a Friday night. I walked into the store and grabbed an Icy-T for the rest of the ride home. Icy-T is to Berks County what sweet tea is to Athens Georgia. They both are a religion of sorts and attended to daily much to detriment of the inhalant.
I walked out into the parking lot and saw two kids, a boy and a girl, having the time of their lives. They were laughing and running around bubbly and happy. The gal walked over to the boy in the parking lot and slipped something into the boy’s pocket. He gave a knowing smile like he knew what he needed to do. The younger boy walked over to a soda bottle sitting on the ground. He then proceeded to take, whatever was in his pocket, and drop it ever so slightly into the bottle. The light had shifted and we could make it out as bottle of soda.
A few seconds later liquid was spewing from the bottle very much like a volcano. I was rather impressed by kids doing science experiments in Roadside America.
I was back in Berks County for an extended weekend visiting family before I headed back to my work assignment in the Bay area. I usually went back home to Seattle for most weekends but decided to make it a weekend get away from the place I, at one time in my life, had to get away from. The paradox of life, as I see it is, that to move forward you have to get away. In retrospect that makes more sense now then when I actually put that belief into practice.
The sun was no longer high in the sky as I watched the bristles of the cornfields sway in the evening breeze. I eschewed air conditioning, as I wanted to take in the late summer evening. I missed east coast summer evenings, as they were truly unique from a west coast perspective. Berks County had lightning bugs and electrical storms. The static on the radio served as an immediate reminder. I tried tuning in the Phillies game on the radio and it seemed like they were in a rain delay as well.
It was not raining in Limekiln, yet the Phillies game sixty miles away was mired in a rain delay. The thunderstorm driven static on the radio made it difficult to decipher.
Jay Johnstone ****crackle…….and now a word from our sponsors…..****** crackle and the radio is suddenly off the air.
I thought to myself, Jay Johnstone was a relic years past so Harry and Richie were telling old radio stories. They sat in the booth and one could hear the rain pattering down in the radio background. I had to switch back to public radio simply to eliminate the static. And tonight they were talking about and playing songs that talk about the weather. For nostalgia’s sake they snuck in an old REM song.
Should we talk about the weather? (Hi, Hi Hi)
I pulled into my grandmother’s house at what was a few minutes after the appropriate time for dinner. I sat in the driveway watching the last flicker of a lightning bug fade into lightning flashing from many different directions.
We had the predictable little argument about where to go get sandwiches. This is a Pennsylvania ritual. I have not lived there for many years and wanted to go to V &S which was my all-time favorite. Dad he didn’t care very much he just wanted a place that allowed him to smoke a cigarette.
My brothers preferred to go to another sandwich shop that was downtown and I am I’m not a big fan of cheese steaks. That sentence alone would get one evicted from Berks county Pennsylvania. Then again, me being vegan could be grounds for expulsion.
As we approached the sandwich shop, the enthusiastic thunderstorm was now just lightning bugs emerging from their hiding spot. Steam radiated from the recently scorching parking lot giving the walk across the parking lot a perfect sense of the surreal. Then again that’s what being back in Berks county is for me and I imagine it is the same for both of my brothers.
The bell on the door jingled, thus signaling our arrival to the sandwich Mecca of the world. As soon as we entered, we were greeted to sensory overload pretty much isolated to the sense of smell.We smelled the tangy onion and pepper combination marinating and sizzling on the grill. One cannot hear this is all but only infer it from the smell. We were about five deep in line and it was a pleasure to watch the people in front of us order with expert precision. They chose whether to put their sandwich on a hard roll or a soft roll, and each person seemed to have their personal favorite. There usually was not much waffling as decisions were made much earlier, probably when the family decided to go out and get Friday night sandwiches. There usually is no switching at the counter as that decision has been made minutes or even hours ago.
I know I took much of the inherent joy out of getting a sandwich as my younger brother and I were non-meat or cheese eaters. This sandwich could possibly dull in comparison to all sandwiches that have come before it. I enjoyed watching my other brother Steve placing his order like a Pennsylvania hoagie artesian, he was clear that he wanted a hard roll, plenty of onions, plenty of sweet peppers and all the Italian meats he craved. I remember those sandwiches they were pretty darn special when I was a meat eater. I enjoyed watching my brother order and then devour his sandwich.
Still my sandwich was pretty damn good. It was a plain vegan sandwich That was not really plain at all. The hard rolls are simply spectacular and complemented the crisp lettuce, tomatoes, onions oregano that was piled on the sandwich. I know it doesn’t sound like the perfect sandwich to most still I was pretty darn good. One thing I truly missed were those last few bites on a traditional sandwich.
By that time, the sandwich and the bun is soaked in oil, mayonnaise and the juice from those Berks county peppers that are beyond description yet still we try to describe and remember. Those last few bites of a traditional Berks county hoagie are amazing. In the end, there is the sweet and sour of the peppers mixing with the bland and creamy of the mayo mix and a little oregano some salt pepper. By now the lettuce is soaked with that good stuff.
The juices drip down your tongue, onto the side of your mouth, down your chin and set all on the newly laundered shirt you wore for the occasion. And don’t get me started on potato chips.
As we walk, satiated, back to the car a firefly emerges. And then another with a subtle wink and twinkle.
My Pictures Of You 
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