All Over Albany

Why I live in Smallbany

I never thought I'd stay.

In the Capital District, that is.

My mom's family has lived in Smallbany since 1736. We fought for New York in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. Five generations of my family have lived on the same road in West Albany. My great-grandfather built four of the houses for himself and his children. My grandfather was born, went to school K-12, lived, raised a family, and died at home, all in one of those houses. My grandmother's family had long standing Irish roots in South Albany. My grandparents met at a USO dance and had their first date at Ralph's on Central Ave. Their grandchildren spent their childhoods meeting every Sunday for pancakes, then walking down the street for Grandma's pies and Kurver Ice Cream.

For my father's family, Smallbany was a refuge. They arrived in 1948 after fleeing Nazi Germany as Jewish refugees. We are now four generations of family at Congregation Gates of Heaven on Ashmore Ave in Schenectady.

I was raised in Schodack and went to East Greenbush schools, then to UAlbany. I married a boy from 'Toga and we lived in Guilderland. Now we're raising our daughters in Niskyuna.

That's how it happened. That's how I stayed.

But it took a Super Bowl weekend trip to LA to make me realize why it is I'm really here.

I stepped off the plane and into LAX just in time to see Tom Brady's epic fail of a Hail Mary pass. I was a stranger in a strange land, where the people studiously avoided eye contact, but I was a proud New Yorker. The team that trains at my alma mater had just given me every right to strut.

At first I felt like a country mouse in LA. Don't get me wrong -- I don't mind big cities. I absolutely love New York City, but I was overwhelmed by the enormity of LAX with her abstract art, neon glowing palm trees, and fashionably dressed people waiting for others to carry their expensive luggage while complaining about this cold snap of 65 degrees in February.

Still, it wasn't the lack of eye contact and the $130,000 cell phones on Rodeo Drive that made me realize how much I prefer Albany to LA, it was an unexpected illness that turned my three day trip into a week long visit. Seven days, six nights in the LA medical system and all I got was a lousy t-shirt.

When my husband, Dave, got the emergency call back in Smallbany, troops began rallying. Dave booked a flight at Albany International while his boss from Queensbury helped make sure he was covered at work. My parents in East Greenbush were packing up my girls in Niskayuna to stay with them, while my father-in-law in Ballston Lake offered to drive Dave to the airport. My sister-in-law and her boyfriend in Saratoga booked Dave a hotel, while my aunt in Colonie village drove over to West Albany to check on my grandmother who had just heard the news. My brother and sister-in-law headed from Latham to Niskayuna to do the same for my grandfather.

This was all possible because in Smallbany nearly everything and everyone is 20 minutes away. And the stuff that requires a trip downstate, or to places like Vermont, the Adirondacks, Connecticut, the Berkshires, Boston and the Cape, or over to Syracuse and Rochester are only a morning's drive. Meanwhile, you're home, living in a village that is aware of its people.

And on the day we needed them, our personal village was aware.

The next morning, while Dave was changing planes in Chicago, the Caring Community Chair from our congregation called -- from our doorstep -- to ask where she should leave the food, front door or back?

It was like an all points bulletin had gone out. Our Facebook walls lit up with questions: What can we do? Do you need help with the girls? Do your mom and dad need a respite from the girls or do the kids just want to meet up for a play date? Can we check on the house for you? Who's picking up your mail? Will you need help when you get home? What do you like to eat and when can we drop it off? Go to Disneyland before you come home -- you deserve it. Forget Disney and come home now; we miss you.

When I had called my doctors in Smallbany for guidance, all the secretaries knew my name, asked after my kids, stayed on the phone. They held my hand -- and David's -- across 3000 miles as they waited for the doctors to come to the phone -- just to make sure we were not alone.

Back in Smallbany, my father's family gathered a mile from my house at my grandfather's home for his 91st birthday and my dad's 60th. My cousin sent me a video of my smallest riding up the stairs with her sister on my grandfather's stair lift, with a note: "Wish You Were Here."

On Valentine's Day, David and I flew home into Albany International. Everyone met our eyes, and everyone said, "Hello," smiled back, and offered to help as Dave wheeled me through the airport with our bags in tow. I wanted homemade tapioca from Gershon and I got it. My cousin brought milk and eggs from Stewarts and flowers from Anthology Studio. My mom stayed to help get the girls to bed, and was back the next morning as Dave headed off to work.

Neighbors checked in. Friends stopped over. An indoor planter from Felthousen's and tree for the garden from Fadddgan's, promising spring. Dave brought me Emperor's noodle soup after picking up the grocery order from Price Chopper Shops4U. Later in the week, my mother made chicken soup and stayed with the girls and I for Shabbat, soaking up the broth with Mt. Pleasant Bakery's challah.

So, here I am. A lifetime resident of Smallbany. For my generation, a sign of "growing up" is uprooting and transplanting in a new home in a new area. But, my roots run deep here.

And I'm proud to have Smallbany as my home.

Leah the Nosher writesNoshingConfessions and has lived in Rensselaer, Albany and Schenectady counties. She has yet to try Saratoga, but she married a guy from Milton, so that should count for something.

Leah on the Soapbox:
+ Kids in public
+ Pioneer Market and the gentrification of the Collar City