"Peace, love and the Pa. Turnpike." I crack a cynical smile as I pass this billboard that evokes rhetoric from the 1970s in an attempt to encourage drivers to "make love, not 3-car pileups." I drive on for a few miles trying to make the connection between love and speeding before my thoughts turn to my destination: Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love.

I first visited the city last summer as part of a Penn State outreach program, and I continue to return as often as possible because I have found in West Philadelphia the most inspiring people I have ever come to know. They are people who work daily to transform their communities into places where their children and grandchildren can grow up feeling happy, secure and proud to be from West Philly despite, or maybe in spite of, the obstacles confronting them.

After another hour of driving, I pull off of I-76 and drive up to my first stop: Sister Muhammad's variety shop. Sister Muhammad is organizing the merchants on her rundown corridor into a business association that will enable store owners to join forces to give a facelift to their section of Lancaster Avenue. She pushes the merchants to take pride in their community by sponsoring avenue sweeps, facilitating graffiti removal and organizing a neighborhood-watch group in cooperation with the local police precinct.

When I enter the shop, she laughs and throws her arms out. "Hey, Sister Cori, how you DOing?" My visit's a surprise, my way of showing her that she has touched my life in a special way. My next stop is just south of Market Street: Mrs. Adams' house.

"My, it's just so wonderful to see you again," Mrs. Adams beams as she waves me in. After gushing over the cupcakes I brought for her, she invites me to have a seat on the living room sofa so she can show me the pictures she took of the vegetables harvested from the SOMAD garden located on the abandoned lot next to her home.

SOMAD (South of Market Against Drugs) is the name residents of the community gave themselves when they mobilized around the drug problem that infiltrated their block in the '80s and '90s. Today the block is drug-free, and the garden stands as a symbol of triumph and hope for the area.

My last visit is with Larry, across the street from Mrs. Adams's. When I enter Larry's rowhouse, the pungent aroma of fresh vegetables mingled with Cajun spices fills my nostrils. He asks me to have a seat as he excitedly retrieves a copy of Song of the City, a newly released book that tells of the vibrancy of Philadelphia through a series of anecdotes, one of which relates his community's struggle against McDonald's. The company wants to locate a franchise not twenty feet from their backdoors. And this despite the block's opposition and its hopes to prepare the site for construction by venting contaminants in the soil into the air, even though the extraction test caused lung and throat problems, loss of hair and other abnormalities among the residents. As a result, the community has filed a lawsuit against McDonald's.

In addition to being his neighbors' lawyer in the first hearings against the restaurant chain, Larry also operates a thrift shop on Chestnut Street, which doubles as a storefront church. He preaches there on Sundays and leads a youth group for kids in the area to keep them off the street and offer guidance.

Since I'd never been in Larry's home before, he walks me out back to point out the wall that McDonald's had knocked down when they cordoned off their deviously acquired property (the announcement for a neighborhood referendum on the purchase somehow never made it to the SOMAD residents). It killed his pet turtle and left an unattractive view of the vacant lot.

But Larry also shows me the man-made pond adorned with cascading ivy that he's created in his tiny backyard. He also has a small grill for roasting nuts, as well as a few plastic chairs from which to enjoy this small space that he has turned into a serene sanctuary inside the concrete jungle of West Philly. Larry's house may not be desirable real estate, but he has transformed it into a meaningful place for himself and his family.

As I drive home on Route 322 the following morning, I smile as I pass the mini Statue of Liberty standing proudly amidst the rapids of the Susquehanna River. I smile because I know that there are still people out there who are fighting for what the very first settlers of the United States fought for: the right for a place to call home without persecution and the negative outlook of those who thought they would never succeed.