During the 1984-1985 school year I took the Level III Southeast Iowa Writing Project. The course lasted the entire year and we met every two weeks except over the holidays. We met at the AEA office in Coralville. Anne Weir and Sandy Moore and I took the class together. It was good to have someone to ride with and take turns driving.
The course was designed around our journaling. We actually kept two journals. We would journal in one for two weeks and then turn it in and journal in the other for two weeks. We would exchange journals with Jim Davis, the instructor at each class session. He always responded to the comments we made in the journal and the first thing we wanted to do when we got them back was read the comments. They were always positive and supportive.
I wrote about my teaching almost everyday day that year. It was the most intense learning experience I have ever had. I think I grew tremendously as a teacher that year. It seemed as though one idea after another kept exploding inside my head. I wrote about what I planned to do in my classroom and then afterwards wrote about how it went and what I would do different next time. It was a period of intense reflective practice. I am convinced to this day that reflective practice is unparalleled in value to growing as a teacher.
Very early that year I wrote about having my students write to the local city council thanking them for the recent swimming pool renovations. I gave the kids the basic format for the letter and asked them to tell the council what they liked best about the pool. The pieces were so well received that they were read aloud at the council meeting and the newspaper did a story about them. The students were energized by the experience.
Another project we started that fall was having the students write letters to the high school football team. I delivered the letters to the local radio station. At half time during the games they picked two or three letters to read. The students were thrilled. I learned that writers need an audience and if that audience responds like the city council or the radio station did the writer feels empowered and anxious to write again.
It’s all about audience and reason to write. The job of the teacher is to help the student find both. With an audience and a reason the motivation is within the writer. It may sound simple but it is a profound truth for teachers. Most of them do it backwards. Rather than giving the student an audience and helping them find a reason they try to motivate them with the threat of a bad grade. It just doesn’t work for most kids and never has.
My reason for writing my journal was to help me better understand where I was going in my classroom, what I was really trying to do and why I was trying to do it. Jim Davis created a non-threatening environment and I wanted that for my students.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Expectations and Opportunities
With additional education comes higher expectations and opportunities. Spending a lot of money and time in classes should have its rewards. I never really had a sense of where it would take me but was optimistic about the opportunities.
Initially, there were more opportunities to do in-service for other teachers. Unfortunately, those things didn’t pay well. Additional education did move me along on the district salary schedule.
I did some writing in-services in the district. They weren’t as well received as I had hoped. Sometimes your colleagues are reluctant to give you credit for knowing something maybe they didn’t. Some were just jealous. Most were complimentary but there were a few who were downright nasty.
In-services I did outside the district were usually much better received. It was satisfying to get positive feedback about my efforts from other people in the profession.
I went to talk about the writing/reading connections at a meeting of the Tri-Area Reading Council. The meeting was held at the Winfield Mt. Union High School. I was on the agenda with another person. I knew the other person from graduate school and I knew he had a tremendous jealousy streak.
He was to give a brief overview of some things he was doing with his students and then I was to be the featured speaker. For some reason he did not want me to talk. He was prone to exaggeration and drew his time out to well over an hour. Most of the people in the meeting realized what he was doing was deliberate.
When he finally finished people were ready to go home. I gave a brief overview of what I had planned to say. I got several apologies from members of the group. Several joked with me about it for several years after that. The group did invite to speak to them a few years later. I did. It was a dinner held in Crawfordville and the offender was not invited.
In the fall of 1984 Great River Area Education Agency had an opening for a Language Arts consultant. I wanted to continue teaching 4th grade but they called me repeatedly and asked me to apply. I offered to do some contract consultant work for them but they decided they needed a full time person. I finally did apply and was interviewed. Not long after that they offered me the job.
It would have been a great opportunity except for some problems. Wanting me to move to Burlington was one of them. We liked Mt. Pleasant and didn’t like the idea of moving the girls. Some of the things they were doing I didn’t agree with and couldn’t see myself compromising. And lastly, and probably most importantly, they could only pay me what amounted to about a thousand dollars less than I was making in Mt. Pleasant and their benefits weren’t as good.
I was honored to be offered the job and sometimes, have wondered what would have transpired had I taken that job. As things turned out I am confident I made the right decision.
Initially, there were more opportunities to do in-service for other teachers. Unfortunately, those things didn’t pay well. Additional education did move me along on the district salary schedule.
I did some writing in-services in the district. They weren’t as well received as I had hoped. Sometimes your colleagues are reluctant to give you credit for knowing something maybe they didn’t. Some were just jealous. Most were complimentary but there were a few who were downright nasty.
In-services I did outside the district were usually much better received. It was satisfying to get positive feedback about my efforts from other people in the profession.
I went to talk about the writing/reading connections at a meeting of the Tri-Area Reading Council. The meeting was held at the Winfield Mt. Union High School. I was on the agenda with another person. I knew the other person from graduate school and I knew he had a tremendous jealousy streak.
He was to give a brief overview of some things he was doing with his students and then I was to be the featured speaker. For some reason he did not want me to talk. He was prone to exaggeration and drew his time out to well over an hour. Most of the people in the meeting realized what he was doing was deliberate.
When he finally finished people were ready to go home. I gave a brief overview of what I had planned to say. I got several apologies from members of the group. Several joked with me about it for several years after that. The group did invite to speak to them a few years later. I did. It was a dinner held in Crawfordville and the offender was not invited.
In the fall of 1984 Great River Area Education Agency had an opening for a Language Arts consultant. I wanted to continue teaching 4th grade but they called me repeatedly and asked me to apply. I offered to do some contract consultant work for them but they decided they needed a full time person. I finally did apply and was interviewed. Not long after that they offered me the job.
It would have been a great opportunity except for some problems. Wanting me to move to Burlington was one of them. We liked Mt. Pleasant and didn’t like the idea of moving the girls. Some of the things they were doing I didn’t agree with and couldn’t see myself compromising. And lastly, and probably most importantly, they could only pay me what amounted to about a thousand dollars less than I was making in Mt. Pleasant and their benefits weren’t as good.
I was honored to be offered the job and sometimes, have wondered what would have transpired had I taken that job. As things turned out I am confident I made the right decision.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
SIWP II
I took the second level of the Southeast Iowa Writing Project (SIWP) during the summer of 1984. It was in EPB on campus at The University of Iowa. The two-week course was taught by Cleo Martin and Jim Davis. As with Level I of the project it was a great learning experience for me.
Taking the course in the academic environment of the university was stimulating. It was additionally stimulating to be right across the hall from the famed Iowa Writers’ Workshop that had produced award-winning writers from across the globe.
Jim Davis had taught in the SIWP Level I that I took and was extremely knowledgeable about learning and the teaching of writing. He led the half of the class that focused on research and best practice. We had stimulating discussions and challenged each other on a daily basis.
Cleo led the afternoon sessions. She was an extraordinary person. Eventually she served on my dissertation committee. I’ll tell that story later. At the time she was head of the Rhetoric Department at the University. Generally, most people are a little intimidated by English teachers and even more intimidated by university level professors who are also department chairs.
That wasn’t the case with Cleo. She was one of the most gentle, kind people I have ever known. She was widely popular with project participants for years. She shared her gentleness and wisdom with hundreds of Iowa teachers and, I am sure, had a major roll in shaping language arts education in the state. Even more, she had a personal impact on many teachers and inspired them to seek additional education and improve their teaching skills.
If I took anything from participation in the institutes of the project it was a sense of calmness and gentleness in dealing with the writing of others. The structure of the project was to spend the mornings talking about what we were doing in our classrooms and research and professional opinion about teaching in general and writing in particular.
That process was affirming in many ways and disconcerting in others. Affirming because many of the things I was doing with kids were supported by research and disconcerting in the sense that some things weren’t. It’s dissonance that causes one to seek out better ways to teach. Without it there is no motivation to change.
In the afternoon we were in the position we put our students in all the times. We were to write and share our writing with the group. That can be an intimidating experience for even the most accomplished writer in the group. Sharing your writing with colleagues makes you feel very vulnerable.
That is where Cleo’s skill came into play. She provided written response in green ink to all papers. Teachers who had used a red pen to carve up student papers didn’t miss the symbolism of the color. Her comments were always positive and encouraging. It set the tone for the afternoon sharing. We all tried to take that approach back to our classrooms.
Taking the course in the academic environment of the university was stimulating. It was additionally stimulating to be right across the hall from the famed Iowa Writers’ Workshop that had produced award-winning writers from across the globe.
Jim Davis had taught in the SIWP Level I that I took and was extremely knowledgeable about learning and the teaching of writing. He led the half of the class that focused on research and best practice. We had stimulating discussions and challenged each other on a daily basis.
Cleo led the afternoon sessions. She was an extraordinary person. Eventually she served on my dissertation committee. I’ll tell that story later. At the time she was head of the Rhetoric Department at the University. Generally, most people are a little intimidated by English teachers and even more intimidated by university level professors who are also department chairs.
That wasn’t the case with Cleo. She was one of the most gentle, kind people I have ever known. She was widely popular with project participants for years. She shared her gentleness and wisdom with hundreds of Iowa teachers and, I am sure, had a major roll in shaping language arts education in the state. Even more, she had a personal impact on many teachers and inspired them to seek additional education and improve their teaching skills.
If I took anything from participation in the institutes of the project it was a sense of calmness and gentleness in dealing with the writing of others. The structure of the project was to spend the mornings talking about what we were doing in our classrooms and research and professional opinion about teaching in general and writing in particular.
That process was affirming in many ways and disconcerting in others. Affirming because many of the things I was doing with kids were supported by research and disconcerting in the sense that some things weren’t. It’s dissonance that causes one to seek out better ways to teach. Without it there is no motivation to change.
In the afternoon we were in the position we put our students in all the times. We were to write and share our writing with the group. That can be an intimidating experience for even the most accomplished writer in the group. Sharing your writing with colleagues makes you feel very vulnerable.
That is where Cleo’s skill came into play. She provided written response in green ink to all papers. Teachers who had used a red pen to carve up student papers didn’t miss the symbolism of the color. Her comments were always positive and encouraging. It set the tone for the afternoon sharing. We all tried to take that approach back to our classrooms.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Winter '83-'84
The winter of 1983-84 was a particularly hard one. I wrote in my journal in December that we had gone several days with the temperature never getting above minus 7 or 8 below zero. During the nights it was 20-30 below zero. We thought it was never going to warm up. I remember deer hunting in that weather. We must have been crazy to be out in that!
It was so cold that Christmas that our family had a hard time getting together for the holidays. Loretta’s family traveled all the way from Kansas later that week. We met with my sisters and their families at my parent’s house. We did make it to Columbus Junction to gather with Becky’s side of the family on Christmas day. I wrote about the huge drifts along the side of the road.
The Area Education Agency was starting an annual young writers’ conference and asked me to help develop it. It was to be patterned after the model of the one in AEA #10. I had presented at it a few times so I guess they thought I would know something about it. Kids from all over the area got to come to the conference for a half-day, share their writing, go to a couple sessions led by presenters. Becky designed the cover for the first conference booklet and button and they were used for several years after that.
That January I started taking a course at Iowa called Consultation, Theory and Practice. Stu Ehly, Dick Duston, and XXX taught the course. It was a fascinating demonstration of team teaching. I didn’t really belong in the class but needed something to continue work towards administrative certification. The students in the class were psychology graduate students, pre-med students or law students. I definitely felt out of place. The course met on Tuesday nights in Iowa City and two full Saturdays. I wasn’t too excited about giving up so much of a couple weekends for it.
I must have had the “deer in the headlights” look because another person in the class kind of took me under her wing until I settled in. The instructors were friendly and supportive and that made the class doable for me.
I was also teaching an adult night writing class that semester. I had taught it a few times before. It was offered through the community college and held at Mt. Pleasant High School. They needed a dozen people in the class the class to offer it. The focus was on journaling and writing stories and poetry. I enjoyed the classes but had to spend a lot of time responding to the student writing. The class ended up being canceled because only two people showed up. I was disappointed because we needed the money, but I was already very busy so I was a little relieved to not have to worry about it.
That Valentines Day I sent Becky a singing valentine. I think she was working at the college at the time. She later scolded me for doing it but I thought it was a romantic thing to do. I think she was embarrassed.
It was so cold that Christmas that our family had a hard time getting together for the holidays. Loretta’s family traveled all the way from Kansas later that week. We met with my sisters and their families at my parent’s house. We did make it to Columbus Junction to gather with Becky’s side of the family on Christmas day. I wrote about the huge drifts along the side of the road.
The Area Education Agency was starting an annual young writers’ conference and asked me to help develop it. It was to be patterned after the model of the one in AEA #10. I had presented at it a few times so I guess they thought I would know something about it. Kids from all over the area got to come to the conference for a half-day, share their writing, go to a couple sessions led by presenters. Becky designed the cover for the first conference booklet and button and they were used for several years after that.
That January I started taking a course at Iowa called Consultation, Theory and Practice. Stu Ehly, Dick Duston, and XXX taught the course. It was a fascinating demonstration of team teaching. I didn’t really belong in the class but needed something to continue work towards administrative certification. The students in the class were psychology graduate students, pre-med students or law students. I definitely felt out of place. The course met on Tuesday nights in Iowa City and two full Saturdays. I wasn’t too excited about giving up so much of a couple weekends for it.
I must have had the “deer in the headlights” look because another person in the class kind of took me under her wing until I settled in. The instructors were friendly and supportive and that made the class doable for me.
I was also teaching an adult night writing class that semester. I had taught it a few times before. It was offered through the community college and held at Mt. Pleasant High School. They needed a dozen people in the class the class to offer it. The focus was on journaling and writing stories and poetry. I enjoyed the classes but had to spend a lot of time responding to the student writing. The class ended up being canceled because only two people showed up. I was disappointed because we needed the money, but I was already very busy so I was a little relieved to not have to worry about it.
That Valentines Day I sent Becky a singing valentine. I think she was working at the college at the time. She later scolded me for doing it but I thought it was a romantic thing to do. I think she was embarrassed.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Busy!
When I read my journals from the 80s I can’t get over how busy we were. The same is true when I read my Dads journals. In November of 1983 my Dad turned 75. He didn’t slow down much. It seems like he was always going somewhere, visiting someone, or working on some kind of project. My mother was the same way. They were very active people in those days.
In my Dad’s entries in his journal of 1983 he writes about Mom going off on a Questers day trip while Dad made copies of some Egli family history for other people and visited with old friends on one of his regular walks downtown.
The next day, Dad writes about winterizing his roses, raking leaves and then walking over to our house. While he was there picking up a book he helped Heather with a science project (she was 10 at the time), and then going back home and cleaning up his basement. His final note for that day says he climbed on the roof and checked the coating and then worked on an eve spout on the west side of the house.
At about the same time I am writing about serving on the pastor search committee. We had meeting with another candidate at Ruth Looker’s house. It ends up being the person we select but, of course, I did not know that at that time. I had a student teacher so that gave me some time to write about some things I wanted to do in my classroom and the AEA Young Writers’ Conference. Like Dad, I write about winterizing our house and putting on storm windows. I write about working on the course syllabus for a class I will be teaching in the spring and about a class I am taking in Iowa City.
The class is in school administration and I find it very boring. I had been taking classes I was really interested in and wasn’t used to taking required classes taught by poor instructors. No wonder so many people made fun of the school administration courses. The courses were easy and the teachers were bad. Most of them had “good ol’ boy” personalities.
My students wrote a letter to MARS candy company requesting they produce blue M&Ms. We got a letter back saying it wasn’t possible. We decided to start a petition for blue M&Ms. I sent letters out to schools all over the country encouraging them to join us in the effort. Schools wrote back saying they had sent in copies of the petition with lots of signatures. Mark Twain Elementary of Iowa City said they sent in 40 signatures. Central School of Forest City said they sent in 83 names and wrote that they were very excited about the project.
I still have copies of the petition and some notes about the project. I guess we were ahead of our time on this one. Today there are blue M&Ms and other new colors, too. Maybe we were part of making that happen?
In my Dad’s entries in his journal of 1983 he writes about Mom going off on a Questers day trip while Dad made copies of some Egli family history for other people and visited with old friends on one of his regular walks downtown.
The next day, Dad writes about winterizing his roses, raking leaves and then walking over to our house. While he was there picking up a book he helped Heather with a science project (she was 10 at the time), and then going back home and cleaning up his basement. His final note for that day says he climbed on the roof and checked the coating and then worked on an eve spout on the west side of the house.
At about the same time I am writing about serving on the pastor search committee. We had meeting with another candidate at Ruth Looker’s house. It ends up being the person we select but, of course, I did not know that at that time. I had a student teacher so that gave me some time to write about some things I wanted to do in my classroom and the AEA Young Writers’ Conference. Like Dad, I write about winterizing our house and putting on storm windows. I write about working on the course syllabus for a class I will be teaching in the spring and about a class I am taking in Iowa City.
The class is in school administration and I find it very boring. I had been taking classes I was really interested in and wasn’t used to taking required classes taught by poor instructors. No wonder so many people made fun of the school administration courses. The courses were easy and the teachers were bad. Most of them had “good ol’ boy” personalities.
My students wrote a letter to MARS candy company requesting they produce blue M&Ms. We got a letter back saying it wasn’t possible. We decided to start a petition for blue M&Ms. I sent letters out to schools all over the country encouraging them to join us in the effort. Schools wrote back saying they had sent in copies of the petition with lots of signatures. Mark Twain Elementary of Iowa City said they sent in 40 signatures. Central School of Forest City said they sent in 83 names and wrote that they were very excited about the project.
I still have copies of the petition and some notes about the project. I guess we were ahead of our time on this one. Today there are blue M&Ms and other new colors, too. Maybe we were part of making that happen?
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Back to My Journals
My 1982-83 journal is just packed with ideas and thoughts about all sorts of things. As I go back and read it now I am amazed at its contents. It was a big year for me!
In July of 1983 I earned a Masters Degree in Elementary Education with an emphasis in reading. I received it on July 29th. It was the fulfillment of a dream and I didn’t really ever think it would actually happen. I took the comps that summer and finished up the last few classes. I agonized over the comps particularly but was elated when I received notification on July 11, that I had passed.
In the spring of that year someone suggested that I should enter the Ph.D. program at Iowa. They said that it was the time to do it because you only had to fill out a change of objective form and get department approval. I didn’t think I would ever get a Ph.D. but thought it would be cool to say I was in a program.
This was also the year I moved from Harlan to Manning Elementary. Manning was leased from the Catholic Church and housed only 4th grade classes. We first heard about the move at a school board meeting early in March. I knew at the time it would probably mean a move for me and I was Ok with it, although a little mystified at what the reasons for the change were.
As the move to Manning rolled out there was a lot of controversy. Some of the people being moved to that building were bitter enemies. Even before any of us got to Manning there were rumors about disagreements. As it turns out one of the agitators went to the junior high so that may relieve some of the problems.
Early that summer I was also pushing hard to be able to use a word processor full time in my classroom. At least one other teacher had one and I thought it would be of great value with student writing. I was obviously frustrated about it.
I grew more excited about the move and the new school year as it got closer. I had planned to take a computer course at Iowa that fall but dropped it when the teacher required that all of the work we did be on University computers. There was no way to do that but drive up from Mt. Pleasant often and that wasn’t an option. I ended up taking a school administration class instead.
My ongoing effort to improve my teaching skills and provide outlets for student writing fills this journal. I mention the effort to get the local radio station to read student fan letters during the half time of football games. They did it for a while but I had forgotten all about it until I read this journal. I was working hard in those days getting my own stuff published, too.
The 1982-83 journal ends on a very sad note. A close friend had taken his own life. It was very upsetting to me!
In July of 1983 I earned a Masters Degree in Elementary Education with an emphasis in reading. I received it on July 29th. It was the fulfillment of a dream and I didn’t really ever think it would actually happen. I took the comps that summer and finished up the last few classes. I agonized over the comps particularly but was elated when I received notification on July 11, that I had passed.
In the spring of that year someone suggested that I should enter the Ph.D. program at Iowa. They said that it was the time to do it because you only had to fill out a change of objective form and get department approval. I didn’t think I would ever get a Ph.D. but thought it would be cool to say I was in a program.
This was also the year I moved from Harlan to Manning Elementary. Manning was leased from the Catholic Church and housed only 4th grade classes. We first heard about the move at a school board meeting early in March. I knew at the time it would probably mean a move for me and I was Ok with it, although a little mystified at what the reasons for the change were.
As the move to Manning rolled out there was a lot of controversy. Some of the people being moved to that building were bitter enemies. Even before any of us got to Manning there were rumors about disagreements. As it turns out one of the agitators went to the junior high so that may relieve some of the problems.
Early that summer I was also pushing hard to be able to use a word processor full time in my classroom. At least one other teacher had one and I thought it would be of great value with student writing. I was obviously frustrated about it.
I grew more excited about the move and the new school year as it got closer. I had planned to take a computer course at Iowa that fall but dropped it when the teacher required that all of the work we did be on University computers. There was no way to do that but drive up from Mt. Pleasant often and that wasn’t an option. I ended up taking a school administration class instead.
My ongoing effort to improve my teaching skills and provide outlets for student writing fills this journal. I mention the effort to get the local radio station to read student fan letters during the half time of football games. They did it for a while but I had forgotten all about it until I read this journal. I was working hard in those days getting my own stuff published, too.
The 1982-83 journal ends on a very sad note. A close friend had taken his own life. It was very upsetting to me!
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
SW Rides XII
There are at least five other structures in Salem that are somehow linked to the Underground Railroad. I am not sure where they all are but my Dad knew most of them and talked of a tunnel that used to run from one to the other. In many ways the entire community was planned and developed around the idea of providing an escape route for runaway slaves.
Dad tells stories of more recent events in the community. Unfortunately, I didn’t write them down and don’t remember many of the details. I marveled at his memory. He spent his whole life talking to people, taking notes, and researching historical documents.
Leaving Salem we could go west to Hillsboro or head east towards Salem Stub. Let’s go to Hillsboro first. Hillsboro is in a forgotten corner of the county. Many of the residents are a little edgy about that.
It’s original name as Washington. Then in 1844 it was changed to Hillsborough. In 1887 it was changed to the present Hillsboro. It’s not hilly so it is hard telling where that name came from?
The Hoaglins are from the Hillsboro area. Dad worked for the Hoaglins who owned a department store in Mt. Pleasant in the 1940s and 50s. Dad had great admiration for the family.
In the Hillsboro City Park there is a stone marker that tells the story of the military roads that intersected there. The roads date back to 1839. There apparently was also a very elegant opera house in Hillsboro at one time but there is little record of it. I have a feeling Hillsboro has a lot of stories to tell. I wish I knew more of them.
We turn around and head back through Salem. Salem had the first electrical distribution system in Iowa. It was home of the respected Whittier College. Nearby is Fish Creek Bridge. It was built in 1894 and is on the National Register because there a few left that are structured like it.
We head east towards Salem Stub. We pass the Cammack farm where we have fished many times in their ponds. This is where Angie caught a big bass when she was about five years old. It is also where Dad caught a big catfish one time. We can’t help but talk about it as we drive past.
We get to Salem Stub, which is really only a gas station on Highway 218. Where it’s name came from I am not sure. We turn left and head back towards Mt. Pleasant. Just after we cross the Skunk River we turn left and get on old Highway 218. This is near where Webster Mill was located. We have visited the site a few times. There is still a house there. It was also where travelers forded the river when traveling south.
From there it is on towards home. We enter town on south Main and Dad drops me off at our West Clay house and he heads home to his house on West Madison.
So, that’s more or less, the southwest trip. There is a lot more to tell but that will have to wait for another time. I’ll write about the rides to the southeast and northeast later.
Dad tells stories of more recent events in the community. Unfortunately, I didn’t write them down and don’t remember many of the details. I marveled at his memory. He spent his whole life talking to people, taking notes, and researching historical documents.
Leaving Salem we could go west to Hillsboro or head east towards Salem Stub. Let’s go to Hillsboro first. Hillsboro is in a forgotten corner of the county. Many of the residents are a little edgy about that.
It’s original name as Washington. Then in 1844 it was changed to Hillsborough. In 1887 it was changed to the present Hillsboro. It’s not hilly so it is hard telling where that name came from?
The Hoaglins are from the Hillsboro area. Dad worked for the Hoaglins who owned a department store in Mt. Pleasant in the 1940s and 50s. Dad had great admiration for the family.
In the Hillsboro City Park there is a stone marker that tells the story of the military roads that intersected there. The roads date back to 1839. There apparently was also a very elegant opera house in Hillsboro at one time but there is little record of it. I have a feeling Hillsboro has a lot of stories to tell. I wish I knew more of them.
We turn around and head back through Salem. Salem had the first electrical distribution system in Iowa. It was home of the respected Whittier College. Nearby is Fish Creek Bridge. It was built in 1894 and is on the National Register because there a few left that are structured like it.
We head east towards Salem Stub. We pass the Cammack farm where we have fished many times in their ponds. This is where Angie caught a big bass when she was about five years old. It is also where Dad caught a big catfish one time. We can’t help but talk about it as we drive past.
We get to Salem Stub, which is really only a gas station on Highway 218. Where it’s name came from I am not sure. We turn left and head back towards Mt. Pleasant. Just after we cross the Skunk River we turn left and get on old Highway 218. This is near where Webster Mill was located. We have visited the site a few times. There is still a house there. It was also where travelers forded the river when traveling south.
From there it is on towards home. We enter town on south Main and Dad drops me off at our West Clay house and he heads home to his house on West Madison.
So, that’s more or less, the southwest trip. There is a lot more to tell but that will have to wait for another time. I’ll write about the rides to the southeast and northeast later.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
SW Rides XI
Let’s head back towards Salem. Salem, Iowa is one of a string of Salem’s across the country. I don’t know how many there are but it seems like almost every state has a Salem. It is a Quaker community founded by a man named Aaron Street, about 1835.
The town is rich with history and the stories abound. I can’t possibly do it justice. It seemed like every time we passed through the community Dad had a new story to tell. I will tell you some of them as we pass through.
Growing up the guys from Salem were considered to be pretty tough. No one you would really want to mess with any of them. I don’t know why they had that reputation and I never tested it. It’s interesting, though, that it is a community that was built on Quaker principles including pacifism and temperance.
Salem is probably best known for its role as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Quakers were adamantly opposed to slavery and were willing to take grave risks to help slaves escape from their southern owners.
There were several houses in the community that had secret places, trap doors, tunnels, etc. to hide runaway slaves. Most of those places are gone now but one or two of the houses survive. The best known is probably the Lewelling Quaker Shrine.
Henderson Lewelling once owned the house. He built the house with the full intent of providing a hiding place for runaway slaves. It has been recognized in the National Record of Historic Places. It is open to the public and we have visited there several times. During a routine renovation a second tunnel-hiding place was found in the house.
For years there was a quilt hanging on the wall in the house. It was embroidered with the names of those who created it. My Grandparents names are on it. It was, of course, made long after the civil war but was still a great source of pride for me.
Many stories have been told about things that have happened at the house. One story is about how two runaway slaves who had passed through Salem and were later overtaken by some men who said they were their masters. On their way back to Missouri through Salem the locals demanded to know by what authority they were taking the two men. Just as the trial was about to begin the two men took “leg bail” which was term used for running away. They weren’t quickly found and the slave hunters were forced to return to Missouri without them. Two hundred dollars was offered for the runaways.
The runaway slaves eventually revealed themselves to the local Quakers who then set out to take them further north to safer territory. Unfortunately, they were overtaken by other slave hunters who at gunpoint took the two slaves back to Missouri. The three Quaker men who aided the runaways were fined $500. in the territorial court. That was a hefty amount in those days and likely took several years for the men to pay.
The town is rich with history and the stories abound. I can’t possibly do it justice. It seemed like every time we passed through the community Dad had a new story to tell. I will tell you some of them as we pass through.
Growing up the guys from Salem were considered to be pretty tough. No one you would really want to mess with any of them. I don’t know why they had that reputation and I never tested it. It’s interesting, though, that it is a community that was built on Quaker principles including pacifism and temperance.
Salem is probably best known for its role as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Quakers were adamantly opposed to slavery and were willing to take grave risks to help slaves escape from their southern owners.
There were several houses in the community that had secret places, trap doors, tunnels, etc. to hide runaway slaves. Most of those places are gone now but one or two of the houses survive. The best known is probably the Lewelling Quaker Shrine.
Henderson Lewelling once owned the house. He built the house with the full intent of providing a hiding place for runaway slaves. It has been recognized in the National Record of Historic Places. It is open to the public and we have visited there several times. During a routine renovation a second tunnel-hiding place was found in the house.
For years there was a quilt hanging on the wall in the house. It was embroidered with the names of those who created it. My Grandparents names are on it. It was, of course, made long after the civil war but was still a great source of pride for me.
Many stories have been told about things that have happened at the house. One story is about how two runaway slaves who had passed through Salem and were later overtaken by some men who said they were their masters. On their way back to Missouri through Salem the locals demanded to know by what authority they were taking the two men. Just as the trial was about to begin the two men took “leg bail” which was term used for running away. They weren’t quickly found and the slave hunters were forced to return to Missouri without them. Two hundred dollars was offered for the runaways.
The runaway slaves eventually revealed themselves to the local Quakers who then set out to take them further north to safer territory. Unfortunately, they were overtaken by other slave hunters who at gunpoint took the two slaves back to Missouri. The three Quaker men who aided the runaways were fined $500. in the territorial court. That was a hefty amount in those days and likely took several years for the men to pay.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
SW Rides X
If we go strait east Franklin Avenue is about a mile down the road. We can turn on Erickson and head south. There is a pond near that intersection that we have fished with success many times. That is the place where once, when I was a kid, Mom took a nap in the grass while we were fishing. A little bunny came along and woke her up. We took it home for a while. My Mom secretly released it back into the wild after a few days. I wasn’t very happy with her!
On the way south on Erickson is the Cedar Friends Church and then the cemetery where many of my ancestors rest. We go south but turn left when we get to the church and head up the dirt road that leads to Franklin Avenue. As I have said before my Dad just couldn’t resist a dirt road.
When we reach Franklin we turn south. The old Mendenhall farmstead is on our right. All of the buildings are gone except for the shed my uncle built on the east side of the road.
My Dad talks about his memories of the farm. He talks about Herb Beards father who was killed by a bull on the farm just east of there. We both shudder at the thought of being attacked by a bull.
We move on past the old Cooper place and head for Salem. Salem is worthy of a book or two all by itself and I’ll get to it soon enough. First, we are going to turn west just as we get to town. This is the old stagecoach road to Glascow. Most of the roads in Henry County run east and west or north and south, but his one runs diagonally off to the northwest.
A few miles west this road crosses the Big Cedar. Today, we will travel just a half-mile west of what was, before the bridge, called Bales ford. There are two stops we need to make before turning back toward Salem. One is the Savage woods and the other is the Stone House.
The woods were developed with the encouragement of Myra Savage who lived nearby. She is an incredible story herself. She lived on a farm by herself and had more dogs than I could count. She was an earthy woman full of wisdom about the earth and life in general. During the 1970s she worked with Maynard Bittle, a junior high science teacher, to develop the woods as an outdoor classroom. I had some interesting times there and enjoyed Myra’s visits to the site to check up on what we were doing.
The Savage’s own the Stone House, too. It wasn’t always in their family. It does seem to have always been a place of fascination for my family
It was built in 1888 or 89 by Leonard Farr. It is said that he built it for his wife but she refused to live there. The stone used to build the house came from a location just west of the house. The walls at the basement level are nearly a yard thick and taper as they go up. It is built into the side of a hill and is three stories tall. It’s worth a visit if you haven’t been there!
On the way south on Erickson is the Cedar Friends Church and then the cemetery where many of my ancestors rest. We go south but turn left when we get to the church and head up the dirt road that leads to Franklin Avenue. As I have said before my Dad just couldn’t resist a dirt road.
When we reach Franklin we turn south. The old Mendenhall farmstead is on our right. All of the buildings are gone except for the shed my uncle built on the east side of the road.
My Dad talks about his memories of the farm. He talks about Herb Beards father who was killed by a bull on the farm just east of there. We both shudder at the thought of being attacked by a bull.
We move on past the old Cooper place and head for Salem. Salem is worthy of a book or two all by itself and I’ll get to it soon enough. First, we are going to turn west just as we get to town. This is the old stagecoach road to Glascow. Most of the roads in Henry County run east and west or north and south, but his one runs diagonally off to the northwest.
A few miles west this road crosses the Big Cedar. Today, we will travel just a half-mile west of what was, before the bridge, called Bales ford. There are two stops we need to make before turning back toward Salem. One is the Savage woods and the other is the Stone House.
The woods were developed with the encouragement of Myra Savage who lived nearby. She is an incredible story herself. She lived on a farm by herself and had more dogs than I could count. She was an earthy woman full of wisdom about the earth and life in general. During the 1970s she worked with Maynard Bittle, a junior high science teacher, to develop the woods as an outdoor classroom. I had some interesting times there and enjoyed Myra’s visits to the site to check up on what we were doing.
The Savage’s own the Stone House, too. It wasn’t always in their family. It does seem to have always been a place of fascination for my family
It was built in 1888 or 89 by Leonard Farr. It is said that he built it for his wife but she refused to live there. The stone used to build the house came from a location just west of the house. The walls at the basement level are nearly a yard thick and taper as they go up. It is built into the side of a hill and is three stories tall. It’s worth a visit if you haven’t been there!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
SW Rides IX
As we drive past Kirk’s pond Dad talks about the families that live in the area. He did that kind of thing all the time. He seemed to know who owned each piece of land almost everywhere we went. I was amazed by his ability to do that. He not only seemed to know each family but also knew something unique about each one of them.
The Mills family owns a lot of land in this area. Hallowell’s own the land on the east side of the road here. Clayton Avenue tees at 275th Street. We turn left here and head east towards Franklin Avenue. A right turn would have taken us down to and then across Big Cedar. My Grandmother, Elsie Van Doren, grew up in a house just across the creek there.
Before we go very far Dad says, “Denova.” There is nothing really there but a fencerow with a few trees and the faint sign of the old K-line railroad bed and a farmhouse. Dad looks around as if he sees it how it must have been years ago.
This community was originally called Bangall. Sometime around 1890 the name was changed to Denova. I have no idea where the name came from. We still have letters Grandma wrote Grandpa when they were courting. Several of the letters have Denova written at the top as part of the return address. The post office was discontinued in 1905.
Besides a post office, Denova had several other buildings. One of the buildings was Maple Grove No 6 School. I assume that this is where my Grandmother went to school when she was a child. I wonder about the kids who went to school there. Richard Breazeale told me he went to school there and remembered the railroad track west of there.
There were several houses there. An old map of the community shows three on the south side of the road and at least one on the north side near the school. There are some others nearby. The community also had a blacksmith shop and a store.
What made the community, though, was the railroad. Denova had it’s own depot. That brought people there to board the train to ride to Salem or Mt. Pleasant. My mother tells of when she was a child, seeing the train smoke puffing along the track about a mile west of her house. I think she may even have ridden the train a few times.
A few trees mark the old railroad right of way on the north side of the road. There was a siding there. On the south side there was another siding and stockyards. Now I can’t see any indication of what must have been there.
My Dad talks about the Lamm family that lived in this community years ago. One of them had a huckster wagon and traveled around selling items to families. It’s just about two miles from my Grandpa’s farm. It is much closer as the crow flies.
The Mills family owns a lot of land in this area. Hallowell’s own the land on the east side of the road here. Clayton Avenue tees at 275th Street. We turn left here and head east towards Franklin Avenue. A right turn would have taken us down to and then across Big Cedar. My Grandmother, Elsie Van Doren, grew up in a house just across the creek there.
Before we go very far Dad says, “Denova.” There is nothing really there but a fencerow with a few trees and the faint sign of the old K-line railroad bed and a farmhouse. Dad looks around as if he sees it how it must have been years ago.
This community was originally called Bangall. Sometime around 1890 the name was changed to Denova. I have no idea where the name came from. We still have letters Grandma wrote Grandpa when they were courting. Several of the letters have Denova written at the top as part of the return address. The post office was discontinued in 1905.
Besides a post office, Denova had several other buildings. One of the buildings was Maple Grove No 6 School. I assume that this is where my Grandmother went to school when she was a child. I wonder about the kids who went to school there. Richard Breazeale told me he went to school there and remembered the railroad track west of there.
There were several houses there. An old map of the community shows three on the south side of the road and at least one on the north side near the school. There are some others nearby. The community also had a blacksmith shop and a store.
What made the community, though, was the railroad. Denova had it’s own depot. That brought people there to board the train to ride to Salem or Mt. Pleasant. My mother tells of when she was a child, seeing the train smoke puffing along the track about a mile west of her house. I think she may even have ridden the train a few times.
A few trees mark the old railroad right of way on the north side of the road. There was a siding there. On the south side there was another siding and stockyards. Now I can’t see any indication of what must have been there.
My Dad talks about the Lamm family that lived in this community years ago. One of them had a huckster wagon and traveled around selling items to families. It’s just about two miles from my Grandpa’s farm. It is much closer as the crow flies.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
SW Rides VIII
So far I have given the reader a taste of what Gibson Park has to offer. There is more, much more! It’s a rich area with lots of wildlife. This area was flooded when the Illinois lobe of the Wisconsin Glacier pushed across the Mississippi from about where Clinton is now down to near Ft. Madison.
A large lake formed and it drained right over the top of this area and then southeast near where Salem, Iowa, is now, to the bed of the Mississippi River. Some say that lasted as many as a hundred thousand years. Others say maybe only about ten thousand years. Either way it was about twelve thousand years ago and it lasted a long time by human measures.
A lot of water for a long time meant many things were picked up and then buried some place along the way. Dad knew about this so when the Big Cedar was re-channeled here he walked up and down the banks looking for anything interesting. Just below the bridge on the west side is where he found the single vertebra of a mammoth elephant. We found several other smaller bones and tusk splinters in that general area.
In time the bank was covered with eroded dirt from above and became overgrown. One family who lived nearby did find several bones and mammoth teeth right in that area, too. Dad and I, eventually, had to settle for looking at the riffle down stream from the bridge if the water was low enough and hoped we might find something that washed out of the bank.
We turn around at the bridge and go back to the dirt road that leads to the place where bugs walk on water. The road is called Clayton Avenue and we are careful not to go that way if we have had a lot of rain recently. It quickly becomes impassable and isn’t maintained by the county.
Down the road a quarter of a mile is an old bridge that crosses the little stream where the bugs walk on water. If the conditions are right we might get out and look for fossils. Other times we keep on going. In a short time the road turns left and starts a slow right turn climb up the hill. It’s steep and rocky. Sometimes we have to stop and get out to move a rock or tree limb out of the way.
On top of sand hill we come to a spot that is special to me. This is the place where I found my first whole arrowhead. I have written about that in another piece. The soil is very sandy here and my piece is really the only good one we have found here. Some of Dad’s friends, though, have told us they had success here.
We move on down the road and around the corner to Kirk’s pond. We have fished it a few times with success, although once Dad caught a big snake on his fishing line here. We didn’t fish there much after that. Kirk’s pond was a place of legends when I was in high school. There were all sorts of stories of beer drinking and skinny dipping parties there. I don’t know if the stories were true and never attended one myself.
A large lake formed and it drained right over the top of this area and then southeast near where Salem, Iowa, is now, to the bed of the Mississippi River. Some say that lasted as many as a hundred thousand years. Others say maybe only about ten thousand years. Either way it was about twelve thousand years ago and it lasted a long time by human measures.
A lot of water for a long time meant many things were picked up and then buried some place along the way. Dad knew about this so when the Big Cedar was re-channeled here he walked up and down the banks looking for anything interesting. Just below the bridge on the west side is where he found the single vertebra of a mammoth elephant. We found several other smaller bones and tusk splinters in that general area.
In time the bank was covered with eroded dirt from above and became overgrown. One family who lived nearby did find several bones and mammoth teeth right in that area, too. Dad and I, eventually, had to settle for looking at the riffle down stream from the bridge if the water was low enough and hoped we might find something that washed out of the bank.
We turn around at the bridge and go back to the dirt road that leads to the place where bugs walk on water. The road is called Clayton Avenue and we are careful not to go that way if we have had a lot of rain recently. It quickly becomes impassable and isn’t maintained by the county.
Down the road a quarter of a mile is an old bridge that crosses the little stream where the bugs walk on water. If the conditions are right we might get out and look for fossils. Other times we keep on going. In a short time the road turns left and starts a slow right turn climb up the hill. It’s steep and rocky. Sometimes we have to stop and get out to move a rock or tree limb out of the way.
On top of sand hill we come to a spot that is special to me. This is the place where I found my first whole arrowhead. I have written about that in another piece. The soil is very sandy here and my piece is really the only good one we have found here. Some of Dad’s friends, though, have told us they had success here.
We move on down the road and around the corner to Kirk’s pond. We have fished it a few times with success, although once Dad caught a big snake on his fishing line here. We didn’t fish there much after that. Kirk’s pond was a place of legends when I was in high school. There were all sorts of stories of beer drinking and skinny dipping parties there. I don’t know if the stories were true and never attended one myself.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
SW Rides VII
Starting down county gravel (260th Street) evokes many memories. It’s gravel so you hear the roar of the road under the car and hear an occasional piece of gravel kick up and hit the under belly of the car. A cloud of dusk chases us down the road.
It’s not long before we go down a hill. There are woods on both sides of the road here. I have been in them many times while hunting. The old right of way for the K-line passes right through the middle, crosses the road and heads south towards Denova. Dad talks about the K-line as we pass. He misses the days of the old railroad and the steam driven locomotives.
About a mile down the road we come to Gibson Park. It is named after Isaac Gibson who lived there. He was an early Quaker reformer in the 1870s who was involved in starting the Bureau of Indian Affairs, orphan homes and White’s Institute.
This park area has been a special place for our family. I am not sure why but we seem to be drawn to this area. It is the place where bugs walk on water. My mother and father took our girls here several times when they were young and the girls were fascinated with the bugs that could walk on the surface of the water. That was in a small stream on the south side of the park.
The streambed is full of fossils from the Mississippian bedrock that is exposed at the surface here. It is the only place in Southeast Iowa that this is the case and one of the few places in Iowa. It is listed in the Iowa Geological Survey. My father was, no doubt hunting fossils there when they took our daughters there. I took my student fossil hunting there, too. On the north side of the road in the park there is a shelter and a large mowed area up to the oxbow lake.
This is where we had our annua fourth grade outdoor day while I was a teacher. Both Mom and Dad were often part of the program that led small groups on adventures. Dad shared his arrowheads and Mom her apple dolls or she took the kids on bird walks in the woods. The kids would pack a lunch and spend the entire day out here.
I also took summer science students fishing here because there was easy and safe access to the water. The county re-channeled Big Cedar here, moving the main channel west of here and leaving a small lake where Big Creek used to be.
Leaving the mowed area of the park we can go back the way we came on 260th Street, go south on the road (Clayton Avenue) that crosses the creek where bugs walk on water, or we can head west. A few hundred yards down the road west is the new bridge over the newer channel of Big Creek. I think this work was done in the 1950s. I am not sure why, but I suspect it was because the area often flooded and was impassible in high water.
It’s not long before we go down a hill. There are woods on both sides of the road here. I have been in them many times while hunting. The old right of way for the K-line passes right through the middle, crosses the road and heads south towards Denova. Dad talks about the K-line as we pass. He misses the days of the old railroad and the steam driven locomotives.
About a mile down the road we come to Gibson Park. It is named after Isaac Gibson who lived there. He was an early Quaker reformer in the 1870s who was involved in starting the Bureau of Indian Affairs, orphan homes and White’s Institute.
This park area has been a special place for our family. I am not sure why but we seem to be drawn to this area. It is the place where bugs walk on water. My mother and father took our girls here several times when they were young and the girls were fascinated with the bugs that could walk on the surface of the water. That was in a small stream on the south side of the park.
The streambed is full of fossils from the Mississippian bedrock that is exposed at the surface here. It is the only place in Southeast Iowa that this is the case and one of the few places in Iowa. It is listed in the Iowa Geological Survey. My father was, no doubt hunting fossils there when they took our daughters there. I took my student fossil hunting there, too. On the north side of the road in the park there is a shelter and a large mowed area up to the oxbow lake.
This is where we had our annua fourth grade outdoor day while I was a teacher. Both Mom and Dad were often part of the program that led small groups on adventures. Dad shared his arrowheads and Mom her apple dolls or she took the kids on bird walks in the woods. The kids would pack a lunch and spend the entire day out here.
I also took summer science students fishing here because there was easy and safe access to the water. The county re-channeled Big Cedar here, moving the main channel west of here and leaving a small lake where Big Creek used to be.
Leaving the mowed area of the park we can go back the way we came on 260th Street, go south on the road (Clayton Avenue) that crosses the creek where bugs walk on water, or we can head west. A few hundred yards down the road west is the new bridge over the newer channel of Big Creek. I think this work was done in the 1950s. I am not sure why, but I suspect it was because the area often flooded and was impassible in high water.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
SW Rides VI
But lets back up. Today we don’t go straight when we get to Franklin. We turn left and head up the hill. The old way up the hill from the wagon bridge is still there. It was part of the Red Ball Route. It was a highway that passed through the county years ago. Big red circles along the road marked the route. About half the way up on the concrete barrier Dad repainted the red ball. He did it several other places in the county just as a way of recognizing the old route. Once when he could no longer walk so well he had me walk up the hill to see if his handy work was still there. It was and I imagine it still is. Walk up behind the shelter house near the south end or the dam and you’ll see the old road. Follow it up the hill. This is the way we went to Grandpa’s before the new bridge was built. About half way up on the left you will see the red ball. The old road is called Nature Center Drive because it leads up the hill to that place.
Most people take the newer road, Franklin, up the hill and turn left on Fremont and then left again on Nature Center Drive. If you turn right you go into the upper part of the park. Going straight takes you down the hill past the red ball sign and to the old bridge. Turning left a short ways down takes you to the old cemetery. It is a very interesting place to visit. My cousin, Terry, is buried there. He would have loved it!
The nature center is on the way into the park. It is a great facility! Mom and Dad volunteered there many Sunday afternoon greeting visitors. It has recently been remodeled and cousin, Steve Mendenhall, did the beautiful mural inside.
This park might be one of Henry County’s best-kept secrets. There are some seldom-used campsites there. I camped there as a scout several times and explored the steep bluff with family and friends. I remember an old well at the top of the hill near the parking lot. We used to pump the water out and drink it. It was fresh and cool!
One loop through the park and we head back out towards Franklin. On the way Dad talks about the Red Ball Route that came up the hill on the old road which is just a overgrown path now used by park staff.
At Franklin we turn left, south, towards Salem. We go past the Oldt farm on the right and the Mertins place on the right. After a short distance we turn right on County Highway H46. I am not sure why they call these gravel roads highways but they do.
Gibson Park is a couple miles down this road. I have been all over this territory hunting deer and at one time or another I think Dad and I have stepped on almost every inch of this ground.
Most people take the newer road, Franklin, up the hill and turn left on Fremont and then left again on Nature Center Drive. If you turn right you go into the upper part of the park. Going straight takes you down the hill past the red ball sign and to the old bridge. Turning left a short ways down takes you to the old cemetery. It is a very interesting place to visit. My cousin, Terry, is buried there. He would have loved it!
The nature center is on the way into the park. It is a great facility! Mom and Dad volunteered there many Sunday afternoon greeting visitors. It has recently been remodeled and cousin, Steve Mendenhall, did the beautiful mural inside.
This park might be one of Henry County’s best-kept secrets. There are some seldom-used campsites there. I camped there as a scout several times and explored the steep bluff with family and friends. I remember an old well at the top of the hill near the parking lot. We used to pump the water out and drink it. It was fresh and cool!
One loop through the park and we head back out towards Franklin. On the way Dad talks about the Red Ball Route that came up the hill on the old road which is just a overgrown path now used by park staff.
At Franklin we turn left, south, towards Salem. We go past the Oldt farm on the right and the Mertins place on the right. After a short distance we turn right on County Highway H46. I am not sure why they call these gravel roads highways but they do.
Gibson Park is a couple miles down this road. I have been all over this territory hunting deer and at one time or another I think Dad and I have stepped on almost every inch of this ground.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
SW Rides V
Oakland Mills had a gristmill, woolen mill, sawmill, and a river ford. It is the location of one of Iowa’s first state parks and is a popular camping area. It is even to this day known far and wide as a great place to catch catfish. My grandfather fished there regularly and I did, too. The present Oakland Mills dam was built in the 20s and the powerhouse used to be on the south side of the river.
There is a marker where the Oakland Mills store used to be. I remember it but think it was torn down after the flood of 1963. Dad was instrumental in having a marker placed there. You can see it today if you go to visit.
On the West side of County Highway H46 (Franklin Avenue) is another area we often drive through. There is a campground and boat ramp there. When we have canoed down the river this is typically where we got out. For years there was a center pier from the old railroad bridge out in the middle of the river. It is gone now.
Today, on the west end of the campground there is an observation tower built in memory of my cousin and dear friend, Terry Ross. Terry developed the wetlands up stream from there and you get a beautiful view. Up on the platform level of that tower is a comfortable bench with a marker in memory of my father. He would have loved it. Terry died too young, 53, in the spring of 2001 and Dad died at age 93 late that fall.
We make a pass through the campground and then back out to the road and then turn right and head across the bridge. On the other side we turn left and head for the area by the dam. There is parking there and we sometimes get out and walk up and talk to the fellows fishing off the dam. We have fished here many times. I wrote about fishing on the pier that extends out from the dam one time. We have also fished along the bank below the dam.
When we get back to Franklin Avenue we can go straight on 255 St. to 250 St. If we go that way we would come to Pleasant Point. Not much there but a church and a building that used to be a dairy. If we turn right at the T we could go by the old Wilson Place that has an Indian Mound overlooking the river, then on past the old maids place and on down to where Ketchem’s bridge crossed the river. The bridge has been closed for years.
If we turn left at Pleasant Point we could take 250th St. to Clayton Avenue and then follow it around past Red Lynn’s place down across Big Cedar and out to Highway 34. I have hunted and fished the Pleasant Point area many times.
Instead of taking Clayton we could stay on 250th Street and go by the Rockwell farm. Ron Marshall and I used to hunt rabbits there every fall. Dad and I hunted arrowheads in the fields there and we put canoes in Big Creek several times for floats to the Skunk or on down to Oakland.
There is a marker where the Oakland Mills store used to be. I remember it but think it was torn down after the flood of 1963. Dad was instrumental in having a marker placed there. You can see it today if you go to visit.
On the West side of County Highway H46 (Franklin Avenue) is another area we often drive through. There is a campground and boat ramp there. When we have canoed down the river this is typically where we got out. For years there was a center pier from the old railroad bridge out in the middle of the river. It is gone now.
Today, on the west end of the campground there is an observation tower built in memory of my cousin and dear friend, Terry Ross. Terry developed the wetlands up stream from there and you get a beautiful view. Up on the platform level of that tower is a comfortable bench with a marker in memory of my father. He would have loved it. Terry died too young, 53, in the spring of 2001 and Dad died at age 93 late that fall.
We make a pass through the campground and then back out to the road and then turn right and head across the bridge. On the other side we turn left and head for the area by the dam. There is parking there and we sometimes get out and walk up and talk to the fellows fishing off the dam. We have fished here many times. I wrote about fishing on the pier that extends out from the dam one time. We have also fished along the bank below the dam.
When we get back to Franklin Avenue we can go straight on 255 St. to 250 St. If we go that way we would come to Pleasant Point. Not much there but a church and a building that used to be a dairy. If we turn right at the T we could go by the old Wilson Place that has an Indian Mound overlooking the river, then on past the old maids place and on down to where Ketchem’s bridge crossed the river. The bridge has been closed for years.
If we turn left at Pleasant Point we could take 250th St. to Clayton Avenue and then follow it around past Red Lynn’s place down across Big Cedar and out to Highway 34. I have hunted and fished the Pleasant Point area many times.
Instead of taking Clayton we could stay on 250th Street and go by the Rockwell farm. Ron Marshall and I used to hunt rabbits there every fall. Dad and I hunted arrowheads in the fields there and we put canoes in Big Creek several times for floats to the Skunk or on down to Oakland.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
SW Rides IV
Oh, Oakland Mills! The stories you could tell! Early on I think people tended to settle along rivers and streams. Fresh water was, of course, important as well as the fish being a good source for food and the river, itself, a mode of transportation. The river was called Chicaqua at that time. I kind of wish the name had never been changed.
There was a natural ford at the location and many people passing through the area used it to get across the river. A few folks must have settled in the area. There was a horse-powered gristmill in the area owned by Mr. Wilbourne. The exact location is not known.
The oak trees must have been magnificent! They probably covered the entire valley. There weren’t any roads. Trails cut through the timber and there were places where it was difficult to get a wagon through. The areas that did not have trees were covered with tall grasses. The grasses were often so tall that being on horseback was the only way you could see what was ahead.
Another early settler was a dam builder whose name was Robert Wilson. He was from Indiana. Historical records say he was a professional dam builder. I can only assume that means that he had a lot of experience. He built a sawmill on the south side of the river at Oakland in 1836 or 37. In 1838 he started work on the log and stone dam. He built a four-story gristmill at the opposite end of the dam on the north side of the river.
In those days there was an interesting law about grinding grain in the order in which people arrived at the mill. It was to prevent someone from bumping in line. The miller could be fined up to 5 dollars for grinding the grain out of order. There must have been some interesting stories that precipitated that law.
By the time of the Civil War a woolen mill was built on the south side of the river. It employed up to twelve people. The two-story building had carding rolls and spinning frames on the second floor and weaving looms on the first floor. I suppose some of the product was sold locally and the rest sent off to be sold in other places.
A licensed ferry was established at Oakland Mills in 1837. It cost 25 cents for a horse and rider to cross. It cost twelve and one-half cents to take a pig across and twenty-five to seventy-five cents to take a wagon across. Today it is hard to imagine waiting for a man and his pig to cross so you can have your turn. Could be kind of messy, too.
Houses sprung up around this small community and a school and church were established nearby. Oakland Mills became a community. It still is a unique place that draws many visitors year round. I seem to be drawn to that place, too, and visit it often when I am in the area.
There was a natural ford at the location and many people passing through the area used it to get across the river. A few folks must have settled in the area. There was a horse-powered gristmill in the area owned by Mr. Wilbourne. The exact location is not known.
The oak trees must have been magnificent! They probably covered the entire valley. There weren’t any roads. Trails cut through the timber and there were places where it was difficult to get a wagon through. The areas that did not have trees were covered with tall grasses. The grasses were often so tall that being on horseback was the only way you could see what was ahead.
Another early settler was a dam builder whose name was Robert Wilson. He was from Indiana. Historical records say he was a professional dam builder. I can only assume that means that he had a lot of experience. He built a sawmill on the south side of the river at Oakland in 1836 or 37. In 1838 he started work on the log and stone dam. He built a four-story gristmill at the opposite end of the dam on the north side of the river.
In those days there was an interesting law about grinding grain in the order in which people arrived at the mill. It was to prevent someone from bumping in line. The miller could be fined up to 5 dollars for grinding the grain out of order. There must have been some interesting stories that precipitated that law.
By the time of the Civil War a woolen mill was built on the south side of the river. It employed up to twelve people. The two-story building had carding rolls and spinning frames on the second floor and weaving looms on the first floor. I suppose some of the product was sold locally and the rest sent off to be sold in other places.
A licensed ferry was established at Oakland Mills in 1837. It cost 25 cents for a horse and rider to cross. It cost twelve and one-half cents to take a pig across and twenty-five to seventy-five cents to take a wagon across. Today it is hard to imagine waiting for a man and his pig to cross so you can have your turn. Could be kind of messy, too.
Houses sprung up around this small community and a school and church were established nearby. Oakland Mills became a community. It still is a unique place that draws many visitors year round. I seem to be drawn to that place, too, and visit it often when I am in the area.
Monday, September 01, 2008
SW Rides III
It is beautiful here and the road runs parallel to river all the way to Oakland Mills. I have placed bank poles along this stretch of the river when it is rising to catch catfish. Down the road a ways is an opening on the right with four or five cabins.
Included in the group is one large white one with a sign on it that says Mt. Pleasant Country Club. In the hundreds of times I have driven by this cabin I have never seen anyone here. Dad says some groups come down and play cards there but I have never seen them.
We pass Gholson’s cabin and then Welander’s. I used to be part of a group that had dinner there once a month. We took turns being responsible for the cooking and played cards after the meal. It was usually a good time.
We come to the point where the other dirt Skunk River Road (253rd Street) intersects with the one we are on. We pass the lane that leads to some cabins on the left. One is the old cabin that belonged to Dr. Jackson. I visited it with Billy several times when I was growing up.
On the right back up a long lane through a cornfield is the Virden house. Dad knew the Virdens well and sometimes we stopped there to visit. In the distance we can see the Oakland Mills Road that we turned off of to take Hickory Avenue.
For years there was a maple syrup cooking house out in the middle of the cornfield and west of the house. It was just really a shelter with a roof but no walls. It was where they cooked the maple sap down to make the syrup. I don’t know much about the process and usually think of it as something that happens out east but Dad says it used to be quite common around here.
We follow the road towards Oakland. The closer we get to the little community the more cabins we see. Some are pretty primitive and some are year around homes. The area floods when the river is high every five or ten years but the people seem to always come back, drawn to the water I guess.
The dam is coming up on the left. In low water times we have scoured the rocks just below the dam for fossils. Other times we have fished here. I have seen the water so low that you could walk on the dam and not get wet. I have also seen it so high that you could hardly tell the dam was even there.
At one time Oakland Mills had a railroad depot on the K-line. I am not exactly sure where that was but think it was on the north side of Oakland Mills road somewhere. The wagon bridge at Oakland was nominated for the national register and continues to be a footbridge to this day. I remember going across in a car many times when I was growing up. A modern bridge was built west of it in the early 60s.
Included in the group is one large white one with a sign on it that says Mt. Pleasant Country Club. In the hundreds of times I have driven by this cabin I have never seen anyone here. Dad says some groups come down and play cards there but I have never seen them.
We pass Gholson’s cabin and then Welander’s. I used to be part of a group that had dinner there once a month. We took turns being responsible for the cooking and played cards after the meal. It was usually a good time.
We come to the point where the other dirt Skunk River Road (253rd Street) intersects with the one we are on. We pass the lane that leads to some cabins on the left. One is the old cabin that belonged to Dr. Jackson. I visited it with Billy several times when I was growing up.
On the right back up a long lane through a cornfield is the Virden house. Dad knew the Virdens well and sometimes we stopped there to visit. In the distance we can see the Oakland Mills Road that we turned off of to take Hickory Avenue.
For years there was a maple syrup cooking house out in the middle of the cornfield and west of the house. It was just really a shelter with a roof but no walls. It was where they cooked the maple sap down to make the syrup. I don’t know much about the process and usually think of it as something that happens out east but Dad says it used to be quite common around here.
We follow the road towards Oakland. The closer we get to the little community the more cabins we see. Some are pretty primitive and some are year around homes. The area floods when the river is high every five or ten years but the people seem to always come back, drawn to the water I guess.
The dam is coming up on the left. In low water times we have scoured the rocks just below the dam for fossils. Other times we have fished here. I have seen the water so low that you could walk on the dam and not get wet. I have also seen it so high that you could hardly tell the dam was even there.
At one time Oakland Mills had a railroad depot on the K-line. I am not exactly sure where that was but think it was on the north side of Oakland Mills road somewhere. The wagon bridge at Oakland was nominated for the national register and continues to be a footbridge to this day. I remember going across in a car many times when I was growing up. A modern bridge was built west of it in the early 60s.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
SW Rides II
We turn left and head up the winding Hickory Avenue gravel road. Dust kicks up behind us in thick clouds as the small rocks hit against the bottom of the car. We are traveling through an area that I have hunted and fished. The Smiths own much of it. They are all related to each other somehow.
Soon we are at the intersection of Skunk River Road (253rd Street). It’s a right turn down a dirt road to the river. We used to go that way when we went to Jackson’s cabin with I was a kid. I have always kind of liked it because the trees are grown up and form a canopy over the road. My Dad usually can’t resist a dirt road but this time we go on by and head towards the other Skunk River Road (265th Street).
Down the road a ways is a relatively new house. When they were doing work for a pond nearby they dug up a large unusual rock deep in the ground. The landowner was convinced it was a ceremonial rock of some sort that was left by the Indians. No one else seemed to think it was anything but a large, somewhat unusual rock.
He called Dad and asked him to come and take a look at it because he knew Dad knew a lot about the Indians and the artifacts they left behind. The fellow was so sure it was something significant and actually got angry when Dad suggested it was probably just a natural rock formation. He invited everyone he could think of hoping someone would agree with him regarding the origin of the rock to no avail. He even invited someone from the State Archeologist Office to take a look at it. He was reportedly furious that the archeologist would not agree with him.
I heard the guy moved the rock to the location of his new house and then built the house around it. I have never seen it but I assume it is still there. I remember some of my Dad’s friends joking about it several years later.
We go on. The intersection of Hickory Avenue and Skunk River Road (265th Street) is a four way stop. The house on the corner on our right is another Smith. I had one of his sons in school. He was a hard working likeable kid. If you go straight here you go over the hill and down into the river bottom. My friend, Steve, lived in a cabin down there for a while. I visited him once. He had a pet raccoon that lived in the closet and could go outside through a special door Steve had built.
Left would take us by Allen Shook’s place and then over to the old highway 218. We turn right and look at all the cattle on the hillside and we head toward the river. The hill is steep and the road swings to the left. My mother can’t pass this point without telling about the time they started up this hill when she was a child and that it was too steep for the old car and it started to creep backwards. Somehow they got it stopped and then backed up the hill that day.
The road leads to Faulkner Bridge but it is gone now and so we turn right down another steep but short hill. On the right is one of my favorite places. I wrote about it in another piece some time ago. On the left is a boat ramp and a small camping area. This is the place where I turned the six squirrels I caught in the live trap loose.
The river to the left is where a drunk yelled at Terry and I as we were canoeing by and threatened to shoot us with his pistol. He waved it around some by never fired it. We waited out in the middle of the river until the guy and his buddy got in their car and left. I never told my parents about that because I thought it would scare them.
Soon we are at the intersection of Skunk River Road (253rd Street). It’s a right turn down a dirt road to the river. We used to go that way when we went to Jackson’s cabin with I was a kid. I have always kind of liked it because the trees are grown up and form a canopy over the road. My Dad usually can’t resist a dirt road but this time we go on by and head towards the other Skunk River Road (265th Street).
Down the road a ways is a relatively new house. When they were doing work for a pond nearby they dug up a large unusual rock deep in the ground. The landowner was convinced it was a ceremonial rock of some sort that was left by the Indians. No one else seemed to think it was anything but a large, somewhat unusual rock.
He called Dad and asked him to come and take a look at it because he knew Dad knew a lot about the Indians and the artifacts they left behind. The fellow was so sure it was something significant and actually got angry when Dad suggested it was probably just a natural rock formation. He invited everyone he could think of hoping someone would agree with him regarding the origin of the rock to no avail. He even invited someone from the State Archeologist Office to take a look at it. He was reportedly furious that the archeologist would not agree with him.
I heard the guy moved the rock to the location of his new house and then built the house around it. I have never seen it but I assume it is still there. I remember some of my Dad’s friends joking about it several years later.
We go on. The intersection of Hickory Avenue and Skunk River Road (265th Street) is a four way stop. The house on the corner on our right is another Smith. I had one of his sons in school. He was a hard working likeable kid. If you go straight here you go over the hill and down into the river bottom. My friend, Steve, lived in a cabin down there for a while. I visited him once. He had a pet raccoon that lived in the closet and could go outside through a special door Steve had built.
Left would take us by Allen Shook’s place and then over to the old highway 218. We turn right and look at all the cattle on the hillside and we head toward the river. The hill is steep and the road swings to the left. My mother can’t pass this point without telling about the time they started up this hill when she was a child and that it was too steep for the old car and it started to creep backwards. Somehow they got it stopped and then backed up the hill that day.
The road leads to Faulkner Bridge but it is gone now and so we turn right down another steep but short hill. On the right is one of my favorite places. I wrote about it in another piece some time ago. On the left is a boat ramp and a small camping area. This is the place where I turned the six squirrels I caught in the live trap loose.
The river to the left is where a drunk yelled at Terry and I as we were canoeing by and threatened to shoot us with his pistol. He waved it around some by never fired it. We waited out in the middle of the river until the guy and his buddy got in their car and left. I never told my parents about that because I thought it would scare them.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Rides (#1 of Many)
A while back I wrote twelve installments about rides my Dad and I would take to the northwestern part of Henry County. We did venture into Jefferson County, too For us rides in that area were the most frequent. The second most frequent direction was rides to the southwestern part of the county. I will write about those in this series.
It is important to realize as I write these that I include them in what appears to be one long ride but was really often shorter rides that covered a smaller amount of territory. But, for the sake of trying to include all of the options I will write about rides to the southwestern part of the county as one long ride.
This usually started by either going southwest on the Oakland Mills Road or west on Highway 34 and then south on county Highway W55, also know as Franklin Avenue. Today we head south on Jefferson Street which becomes Oakland Mills road at the edge of town…south past Irish Ridge Road and Dad begins to talk about the abandoned rock quarry over the hill to the west near what is now Mt. Pleasant’s sewage treatment plant. I hunted rabbits back in that area when I was a teenager.
We continue over the hill and down towards Big Creek. There is another rock quarry near the road on the right. We have hunted for fossils in there a few times and I took several summer science students on trips there to chip fossils out of the rock. Crossing the bridge we can see remnants of the K-line railroad bridge that crossed the river there. The rest of the road to Oakland Mills pretty much follows right on top of the old railroad bed.
Off to the west of the bridge about a mile is the site of Mt. Pleasant’s original waterworks plant. There was a small dam there at one time and water was pumped from the reservoir to the town. We have been to the site many times on foot and in a canoe. I once caught a big catfish right where the old dam was. All that is left now are a few stone remnants of the structure in the bank of the creek. On one walk back in that back in that area I came across a small spring bubbling out of the ground.
Big Creek County Park is also back that way. It is as close to a natural area as you can get in Henry County because the only way you can get there is by walking or when the creek is high enough by canoe.
Going on down the road there is a large pond on the right hand side of the road. Shortly after the pond we have to make a decision. We can continue on Oakland Mills Road to Oakland Mills or turn left on the gravel Hickory Avenue. Hickory Avenue takes you to two different Skunk River Roads. One is dirt and is also known as 253rd Street. The other, gravel, is also known as 265th Street.
Let’s take Hickory Avenue.
It is important to realize as I write these that I include them in what appears to be one long ride but was really often shorter rides that covered a smaller amount of territory. But, for the sake of trying to include all of the options I will write about rides to the southwestern part of the county as one long ride.
This usually started by either going southwest on the Oakland Mills Road or west on Highway 34 and then south on county Highway W55, also know as Franklin Avenue. Today we head south on Jefferson Street which becomes Oakland Mills road at the edge of town…south past Irish Ridge Road and Dad begins to talk about the abandoned rock quarry over the hill to the west near what is now Mt. Pleasant’s sewage treatment plant. I hunted rabbits back in that area when I was a teenager.
We continue over the hill and down towards Big Creek. There is another rock quarry near the road on the right. We have hunted for fossils in there a few times and I took several summer science students on trips there to chip fossils out of the rock. Crossing the bridge we can see remnants of the K-line railroad bridge that crossed the river there. The rest of the road to Oakland Mills pretty much follows right on top of the old railroad bed.
Off to the west of the bridge about a mile is the site of Mt. Pleasant’s original waterworks plant. There was a small dam there at one time and water was pumped from the reservoir to the town. We have been to the site many times on foot and in a canoe. I once caught a big catfish right where the old dam was. All that is left now are a few stone remnants of the structure in the bank of the creek. On one walk back in that back in that area I came across a small spring bubbling out of the ground.
Big Creek County Park is also back that way. It is as close to a natural area as you can get in Henry County because the only way you can get there is by walking or when the creek is high enough by canoe.
Going on down the road there is a large pond on the right hand side of the road. Shortly after the pond we have to make a decision. We can continue on Oakland Mills Road to Oakland Mills or turn left on the gravel Hickory Avenue. Hickory Avenue takes you to two different Skunk River Roads. One is dirt and is also known as 253rd Street. The other, gravel, is also known as 265th Street.
Let’s take Hickory Avenue.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Grandpa’s Barn Revisited
Grandpa’s barn looked huge to me when I was eight years old. It was a typical farm fixture in the 1950s in rural Iowa. We lived in town and there was a smaller version of that barn across the alley from our house. It was locked up tight and I wasn’t allowed to explore it because it was on Mrs. Hall’s property.
I remember getting as close as I possibility could to it and peaking through the cracks between the vertical barn boards. I really couldn’t see anything but pitch black but I told my sister, Loretta, that I could. She didn’t believe me and asked what I saw. I, of course, wouldn’t tell her I saw nothing. So, I think I just said “things” and said no more. I am sure she wasn’t fooled.
That’s one of the reasons I liked Grandpa’s barn. It was wide open and full of adventure. I wasn’t restricted in any way except to stay out of the section where the cows were. No problem there because I was scared to death of them.
The big rusty red barn was across the barn lot northeast of the house. Its six-foot lightning rods looked small pointing up at the sky along the peak of the roof. It seemed like it was quite a ways from the house but now realize it probably wasn’t nearly as far as I remember. I walked between the scavenging chickens to get there.
A farm has a smorgasbord of odors. Not all of them bad. They change with the seasons. The fall oders might be the most pleasant. There are some not so pleasant odors like hog or cattle manure but fresh turned soil or corn stalks aren’t so bad…somewhat pleasant in fact. Cut grass or straw has a fresher, richer touch. In the barn there is a blend of cow manure, hay, straw, feathers, and dust. Lots of dust! Maybe not the best place for a kid with lots of allergies but still a place impossible to stay away from.
Going in, there were stalls on the right and the milking section on the left. All were separated from the center walkway by sturdy wooden gates. Old tack, covered with a thick layer of dust, hung on the walls or draped over the gates. The back third or so of the barn was separated from the rest of the barn and it was where the cows were when the weather was bad or they wanted to be out of the sun. There were huge feed bunks in there and that part of the barn was open to the ceiling high above.
The other two thirds of the upper part of the barn was the loft…a virtual cathedral of wonder to every young boy who entered. If there are sacred places for young boys, barn lofts have to be high on that list. They are sometimes called haylofts because that is where hay is stored. That was in the day of the rectangular hay bales that could be stacked to ceiling.
Climbing up into that loft was like stepping into another world. We built forts between the bales, and castles with high parapets. We gazed out across our imaginary kingdom from the big loft window high up in the barn. It was only limited by a young boy’s imagination.
The ropes and huge pulleys hanging from the top of the barn ceiling were the rigging for our sailing ship and the soft bales made a great cushion for our feigned falls in our imaginary battles.
We sometimes hung dangerously over the cattle stall area of the barn or climbed to the very top to inspect the new baby pigeons in their nests. We captured a few young ones with the naive thought that we would train them to be homing pigeons. The first time we let them loose they flew away and we never saw them again.
Oh, that barn was a special place! It still is in my memory.
I remember getting as close as I possibility could to it and peaking through the cracks between the vertical barn boards. I really couldn’t see anything but pitch black but I told my sister, Loretta, that I could. She didn’t believe me and asked what I saw. I, of course, wouldn’t tell her I saw nothing. So, I think I just said “things” and said no more. I am sure she wasn’t fooled.
That’s one of the reasons I liked Grandpa’s barn. It was wide open and full of adventure. I wasn’t restricted in any way except to stay out of the section where the cows were. No problem there because I was scared to death of them.
The big rusty red barn was across the barn lot northeast of the house. Its six-foot lightning rods looked small pointing up at the sky along the peak of the roof. It seemed like it was quite a ways from the house but now realize it probably wasn’t nearly as far as I remember. I walked between the scavenging chickens to get there.
A farm has a smorgasbord of odors. Not all of them bad. They change with the seasons. The fall oders might be the most pleasant. There are some not so pleasant odors like hog or cattle manure but fresh turned soil or corn stalks aren’t so bad…somewhat pleasant in fact. Cut grass or straw has a fresher, richer touch. In the barn there is a blend of cow manure, hay, straw, feathers, and dust. Lots of dust! Maybe not the best place for a kid with lots of allergies but still a place impossible to stay away from.
Going in, there were stalls on the right and the milking section on the left. All were separated from the center walkway by sturdy wooden gates. Old tack, covered with a thick layer of dust, hung on the walls or draped over the gates. The back third or so of the barn was separated from the rest of the barn and it was where the cows were when the weather was bad or they wanted to be out of the sun. There were huge feed bunks in there and that part of the barn was open to the ceiling high above.
The other two thirds of the upper part of the barn was the loft…a virtual cathedral of wonder to every young boy who entered. If there are sacred places for young boys, barn lofts have to be high on that list. They are sometimes called haylofts because that is where hay is stored. That was in the day of the rectangular hay bales that could be stacked to ceiling.
Climbing up into that loft was like stepping into another world. We built forts between the bales, and castles with high parapets. We gazed out across our imaginary kingdom from the big loft window high up in the barn. It was only limited by a young boy’s imagination.
The ropes and huge pulleys hanging from the top of the barn ceiling were the rigging for our sailing ship and the soft bales made a great cushion for our feigned falls in our imaginary battles.
We sometimes hung dangerously over the cattle stall area of the barn or climbed to the very top to inspect the new baby pigeons in their nests. We captured a few young ones with the naive thought that we would train them to be homing pigeons. The first time we let them loose they flew away and we never saw them again.
Oh, that barn was a special place! It still is in my memory.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Summer Writers' Camp
In October of 1982, I went to the fall conference of the Southeast Iowa Writing Project. These early events were held at a hotel on the highway near the Amanas. They later moved to the Marriott in downtown Des Moines. I liked the Amana site because it was much closer to home and not nearly as congested.
There were a number of impressing speakers at this event. Teachers, writers, area education agency consultants, and professors from the University of Iowa were part of the group. One was a Cedar Rapids teacher named Barb Scott.
Barb told about a unique project she and others had come up with. They patterned it after the sports camps that are offered for kids in the summer only it was a writers’ camp. They charged 4-6 graders $75 to be part of a weeklong half day camps. For some reason Barb had stopped doing the camps.
I was intrigued! I thought it was a viable option for Mt. Pleasant and a perfect way for me to earn some money in the summer time. I explored the option with the school district administration and got the go ahead to do it.
I decided to try to make it a positive supportive environment for young writers. I wanted the camp to be pressure free and comfortable. There would be no assignments and no grades. Kids would simply be encouraged to write and share their writing.
My plan was to charge $25 per person for the week and meet each day from 9:00-11:30 with some kind of snack time built in. In later years it was supported with Phase 3 dollars. I limited each group to no more than twelve students. We would have several computers available for those who wanted to write using them.
I sent flyers out through the district with a form to interested kids to sign up and pay the fee. I was inundated with interest and had enough to have two sessions. There was a waiting list of nearly 30 kids. I would have had more camps but just didn’t have the time with graduate school. From that point on every year we had far more kids interested than we could accommodate.
I gathered some unique things for the participants. Each would get some pencils, pens, paper and a Summer Writers’ Camp T-shirt. When each student registered they indicated their size and it was then given to them the first day of their week. That proved to be a good move and provided walking advertisement for the camps.
The camps continued for several years. Some weeks we had two going on at the same time and I hired another teacher to help with them. Heather helped me with several ones and was really great to have around.
I turned it over to others when I left the district and it continued for a few years and then died out. I felt bad that it didn’t continue but there really wasn’t much I could do about it. Maybe I’ll do something like that again someday?
There were a number of impressing speakers at this event. Teachers, writers, area education agency consultants, and professors from the University of Iowa were part of the group. One was a Cedar Rapids teacher named Barb Scott.
Barb told about a unique project she and others had come up with. They patterned it after the sports camps that are offered for kids in the summer only it was a writers’ camp. They charged 4-6 graders $75 to be part of a weeklong half day camps. For some reason Barb had stopped doing the camps.
I was intrigued! I thought it was a viable option for Mt. Pleasant and a perfect way for me to earn some money in the summer time. I explored the option with the school district administration and got the go ahead to do it.
I decided to try to make it a positive supportive environment for young writers. I wanted the camp to be pressure free and comfortable. There would be no assignments and no grades. Kids would simply be encouraged to write and share their writing.
My plan was to charge $25 per person for the week and meet each day from 9:00-11:30 with some kind of snack time built in. In later years it was supported with Phase 3 dollars. I limited each group to no more than twelve students. We would have several computers available for those who wanted to write using them.
I sent flyers out through the district with a form to interested kids to sign up and pay the fee. I was inundated with interest and had enough to have two sessions. There was a waiting list of nearly 30 kids. I would have had more camps but just didn’t have the time with graduate school. From that point on every year we had far more kids interested than we could accommodate.
I gathered some unique things for the participants. Each would get some pencils, pens, paper and a Summer Writers’ Camp T-shirt. When each student registered they indicated their size and it was then given to them the first day of their week. That proved to be a good move and provided walking advertisement for the camps.
The camps continued for several years. Some weeks we had two going on at the same time and I hired another teacher to help with them. Heather helped me with several ones and was really great to have around.
I turned it over to others when I left the district and it continued for a few years and then died out. I felt bad that it didn’t continue but there really wasn’t much I could do about it. Maybe I’ll do something like that again someday?
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