Grocery ads

 

Same store, different owners. 

Roland bought the place from Lucille Burke, who bought it from Jinks. 

Something like that.

Jersey

 Or the area north of Fairfield, south of Roseburg, not far from Billingsville and a stone's throw from Dunlapsville. Bath Springs, generally. This is an additional entry to support some of the other school items on the blog that are pretty easily identified.

Jersey still exists. You can drive through there if you turn down old SR 101 just north of Causeway Road. Down toward the golf course. Bath Springs Cemetery is still there. It's relevant. Many of the original settlers to that part of what was once Franklin County had come from New Jersey. Cemetery records at Bath Springs bear that out. 

Two photos here: The older one is of the Jersey school. The newer one is of the older Jersey school. Briefly, the older building was the original school that served a dozen or so farm families in Harmony Township. At some point that old building was moved across the road and the brick school, or the older photo, was constructed. The older building is still there, the brick building isn't, demolished in the later part of the 20th century.

One-room schools were common until the 1910s in rural Indiana. 

There was also a church in that area too. Not much information on that. It was probably a Universalist church. Do your own research in Liberty if you like.

Jersey community had close connections to Fairfield in social matters. The Unlin Society, a communal club of sorts in the 1910s bound them together. Many from Jersey attended church functions in Fairfield. When SR 101 was built in the 1930s, Jersey was split geographically. No idea if that was controversial. Most likely somebody bitched. (Glen Klein provided the older photo.)

Rockin' with Jimbo (we loved the guy, right?)

I covered a lot about James Maurice Thompson in earlier blogs, as well as other famous Fairfield natives. There are some more modern icons who didn't get a mention, mainly because ... I never got around to it. Hoping you will get around to it, though, and keep the Fairfield story alive. Check out the links I provide as well as the menu items on the right.

You will NOT run out of interesting finds. 

One of the most enigmatic figures of 19th century Fairfield is Thompson, Civil War veteran, legislator, lawyer, author, historian. His "Alice of Old Vincennes" was considered a classic for its time in 1900. Thompson was considered something of an expert in the sport of archery and his history textboook is chock full of interesting details. Plus, he was a great writer. He comes from curious stock. A compelling figure.

He was born in Fairfield in 1844 and the hut where he was spawned was moved to Vincennes in the early 1970s just prior to the completion of Brookville Lake. But the rock that marked his birthplace on the south side of town, was lost along the way.

Later, we found the rock and it sat unattended for years until the summer of 2017 when the Franklin County Historical Society gathered the ambition to move the stone to the Historical Society Seminary in Brookville. The rock has a home now. Thompson hasn't been lost in the weeds.

Thompson tells a Ray tale

From the history book "Stories of Indiana" by James Maurice Thompson, published in 1898. The Fairfield-born author describes an event that occurred during the administration of James B. Ray, governor of Indiana in 1824-31. Ray, from Brookville, was governor long before Thompson was born in 1844, so this story may not be legitimate, but it probably has some validity. It's likely the two knew each other at some point. Thompson's account of a murder trial and public execution in Pendleton in 1825: Governor James Brown Ray was, perhaps, the most eccentric man ever elected to the highest office in Indiana. He was very vain and fond of impressing everybody with a sense of his distinguished abilities and exalted official position. It was his habit to register his name in public places "J. Brown Ray, Governor Indiana," as if he were signing an official document. Whenever it was possible, he made a spectacular exhibition of himself before the people. In both dress and manner he sought to attract wondering attention. On one occasion he took advantage of the scene of a public execution of three murderers to make a melodramatic display. It was in 1825. Three white men had been condemned to death by hanging for the crime of killing some inoffensive Indians. The execution was to be at Pendleton. The prisoners were a father and son and the father's brother-in-law. The son, a mere youth, had aroused the sympathy of the people, and an appeal to Governor Ray for clemency had been signed by a great many. On the day set for the execution the two older men were hanged, while the boy sat by on his coffin, awaiting his turn at the rope's end. A vast crowd was present to witness the terrible stroke of justice. The murder had been a most revolting one, in which men, women, and children had shared alike, but when the poor, trembling boy stood upon the scafald, wildly and pathetically gazing around, everybody felt sorry for him, and hoped that Governor Ray would pardon him. Time passed, yet no word came from the executive, and the drop was about ready, when a wild shout went up from the multitude. Then all eyes saw Governor J. Brown Ray galloping majestically along in the direction of the gallows. He was mounted upon a superb horse splendidly caparisoned, and was himself dressed in the finest attire. His face wore a look of supreme self-importance. While the crowd gazed, he rode majestically to where the half-crazed young culprit stood, sprang from his saddle, and mounted the scaffold. "Young man," he said in a loud voice, "do you know who now stands before you?" "No, sir," answered the trembling boy. "Well, sir, it is time that you should know," continued the governor, drawing himself up stiffly. "There are, sir, but two beings in the great universe who can save you from death; one is the great God of Heaven, and the other is James Brown Ray, Governor of Indiana, who now stands before you. Here is your pardon. Go, sir, and sin no more!" It is perfectly safe to say that a governor of Indiana who should nowadays grant a pardon with a display like that would be looked upon as crazy. THIS LINK WILL GET YOU TO THE BOOK "STORIES OF INDIANA"  The boy's name is David Cooney. Photo from the early 60s. The stone was in front of the Methodist Parsonage, on the ground where JMT was born in 1844. The stone was moved to a site not far from Fairfield by Bob Chapman, who envisioned it as the entry to his new town. The town endeavor failed and the rock languished in the weeds for years. Then the county Historical Society rescued it. The stone was produced by a Garden Club to mark Thompson's birthplace. It holds no other historical value. Below: The stone is at home in Brookville.  The hut had its moment When the Vincennes Historical Society learned of the demise of Fairfield, it dispatched a team to town to rescue the Thompson hut. They placed it on a lot that showed pioneer village in Vincennes, the state's oldest continuously occupied town. Problem was, the hut had no connection to the village. The book "Alice of Old Vincennes" was a fiction about the time surrounding the American Revolution but hardly mattered to real history. Thompson had visited the town, took notes and created the story. It's a really great book. But Vincennes had no use for the hut, and finally converted it to a gift shop. Now, it's just storage. It's at the end of the pioneer village. Thompson had his moment. The story is a good one. The hut, not so much. That's it, on the end, with a blue door.  This is a can of tomatoes produced in the early 1900s, suggesting strongly that the producers were at least intrigued by the story. In those days, popular books were appealing to a class of consumers. I don't know much more about this can of tomatoes than that. I do know that Vincennes Lincoln (Ind.) High School has been known as the Alices since it started interscholastic sports.

 

Loper madness

Please check out the entire menu at the right to get in step with Fairfield history. These links have no advertising, no redirects and no tricks. 

 Several blog items from 2015 discuss the Loper carriage business, and there are several photos of the place. I will include those links and maybe add a few other things I learned about that business. Hoping this will satisfy your craving for horse, er ... feathers. (Huston Hotel was located at 4th and Central but an 1887 map does not show Loper being there.)

The 'VAC' at 317 might have been the Loper showroom.

Loper did not do well in his endeavors to expand into Connersville. The links I add here will explains some of why that was. This ad is from an 1882 Connersville newspaper. Those papers are available through your public library, probably. If you care about this sort of research, it's worth it. You pay library taxes. Use their genealogy services.

BLOG ITEM ON THIS WEBSITE ABOUT GEORGE LOPER

LOPER VS. MCFARLANE -- NOT A FAIR FIGHT (BLOG ITEM ON THIS WEBSITE)

Essays (the second part)

 Plenty of Fairfield history is included in this blog. Take some time to peruse the menu on the right. The oldest is at the bottom.  

TRIVIA, MOSTLY  The first marriage in Fairfield was John Reed and Mary, daughter of Robert Templeton. The first death was that of Anna Cunningham, who lived near Quakertown. She was buried on the old Osborn farm in 1805. The next was Mrs. Mary Hanna, mother of John Templeton's wife, buried in 1807. The first orchard in the township was planted by the hands of Robert Hanna, Sr., who obtained the trees at Lawrenceburg. This was about 1806, possibly a year later. The name "Fairfield" was suggested by the general beauty of the country, as viewed by the pioneer band. Here the Indian tribes frequently camped for weeks at a time. A post office was established in 1820 with Charles Shriner as postmaster. The village was incorporated as a town, May 9, 1876, had a municipal existence as long as there was any demand for such corporation, and disbanded many years since. The lodges of Fairfield are the Masonic, Oddfellows, Red Men and Knights of Pythias, with their ladies' auxiliary societies. RURAL WEATHER Rural Route 2, Brookville. No ZIP Code necessary. Zip Codes weren’t even invented yet. But the mail came through every day. Rain or shine, snow or ice. And so we went. Fairfield spent more unplowed snow days than would be considered safe or practical. In spite of that, we missed very few days of school. My hunch is that it didn’t snow quite all that often, though most of us seem to insist the winters were worse “back then.” But the winding county roads presented their own obstacles. We used chains on our tires. Either that or we got stuck. In town, we just made do. Cinders from somebody’s old coal stove did the trick. Three or four shovels full of it and you could melt the ice off 50 feet of street. Grandma fell once on the ice, breaking her wrist. We used to tap on her cast. For kids, snow was its own Disneyland. We had many places to go sledding. A favorite for Joel and me was across Dimmitt Butcher’s cornfield and up the hill, not far from his pond. We built campfires there and toasted marshmallows and roasted hotdogs. I took my sled down the hill once and smashed straight into a cedar tree. Boing! I still have problems with that side of my brain. The old drainage ditches that lined Main Street made for interesting adventures in the snow. If you got enough of it, you could build a little snow fort on one side of it, punch a couple of holes to see out and pack in another wall behind you. Inside, arm yourself with hundreds of snowballs and fend off any army. One snow fort on one side of the street, another on the other side, 20 feet away. FIRE WHEN READY, GRIDLEY! We had no place to skate, so nobody did much of that. We did play basketball, no matter how cold it was. Somebody, usually me, brought a shovel, cleaned off the court and … FIRE WHEN READY, GRIDLEY! For events less pugilistic, winter nights tended to draw us inward. We did have television -- Channel 5 and Channel 9. If you turned the antenna, Channel 12, which was the channel that carried “Superman.” With 756 channels today, not much has improved in the way of content. At Christmas, we’d go around town, singing holiday carols. No single house was missed. Sometimes, when the storm was strong enough, the lights would go out. For several hours. Once, our power was out for five days. Willie Davis and Burt Luker had to give food away. The ice cream all melted. The milk spoiled. Nobody knew where the break was. We may have had only one power line into town. We didn’t need much more than that. REMEMBERING  Carl and Ruth Huber owned a farm on the hill near town that eventually became the site of New Fairfield, which exists today. The Huber home still stands and a road is named in their honor. Gayther Plummer and I shared some thoughts on the Hubers. (Mr. Plummer, of Athens, Ga., passed away in September 2014 at the age of 89.)  * * * The creamery was a small, one-story, 3-4-rooms structure located 3-4 buildings north of Jinks store, as I recall. The soda fountain area was the front, largest, room. Up front, I recall about four small tables each with heart-shaped, wire-back chairs. The building, I think, was opposite the northern half of the town square. At that time, the town square had a hitching-rail along its entire west side (in front of Jinks' store) and on the south side. We had no business on the north and east sides of the town square -- so we didn't go there and I don't remember much about that. Otherwise, buggies and wagons were parked (horses tied) along the railings -- 4-6 hitches, especially on Saturday afternoons, which was the usual time for farmers to "go to town". Autos came later into the evenings and parked on the left side of the northbound road, diagonally inward -- toward the stores. Some parked anywhere around the square -- totaling perhaps 6-10 cars. The same people would show up about the same time each week; each one had a favorite spot. The environment always meant more to me than the people -- so, I didn't know many; and those that I did learn, didn't register very distinctly. But, the 1920s and '30s were about the same everywhere. The Great Depression slowed the economy for everyone, but it really didn't change the culture in Fairfield. Not until the 1940s did life begin to prosper noticeably for a decade or so. After that, Fairfield did change and I went on to do other things. The creamery was the place in town to get an iced-cream cherry-soda. That soda-fountain was a popular spot for refreshments on Saturday evenings -- many customers. I mentioned previously that I recalled a saloon. More accurately, up front, it was a billiard parlor, where "booze" was available. The one time I went in there, I distinctly recall two brass spittoons on opposite sides of the room, each one sitting on a large piece of linoleum. Our family did not use tobacco, so those little brass "buckets" were the first I had ever seen -- and the last of that kind! That pool-hall was on a corner directly across the road from Jinks' store. Also, it was at Jinks' store that I purchased my first pack of cigarettes -- being from a big city, I thought I was a big fellow. Of course, the clerk took the 10 cents, gave me the pack, then told my Uncle Carl, who not only gave me a lecture about the dangers of fires on the farm, but gave me an uncle's stern lecture on behavior that he expected. His discipline worked -- also indelibly. Fairfield made many impressions on me in those days.   * * * The original rock river-road from Fairfield entered Brookville on the west side of the river -- intersecting the Brookville Road from Indianapolis -- then both roads crossed over an iron overhead bridge and entered town. In Indianapolis, my family lived within a half-mile from the Brookville Road, that became US 52. Because getting to Fairfield from Brookville was so difficult in 1932-'33, we customarily drove by-way-of Connersville, Blooming Grove, and then to Fairfield. The flat-lands were better to navigate than the bottom-lands. After crossing the covered bridge near Fairfield, we traveled an elevated road and met a T-shaped intersection on an upper terrace. The long end of the T went left into Fairfield. The top part of the T went straight-a-way up the Berg-Klein-Huber-hill over the top and down Rocky Hollow on the east side -- an abandoned public road and short-cut, as I mentioned before. At that time, the Klein place had been vacant for years. (I never knew the Kleins -- only by name. But it was the best place to pick the biggest blackberries on the hill; ... good place too for chiggers and blacksnakes.) Whatever, beyond the covered bridge, at the T-intersection, were three mailboxes on the right side the road and near the left-turn to Fairfield. Mail, and the Brookville Democrat, came but once a week then, and customarily we all looked forward to Wednesdays. Then, a short time later, to my surprise, only two mailboxes were newly placed along new SR 101 at the entrance to the uphill road to the Huber-place. The mail was always carried up the hill by whomever passed the boxes first. By then, I was already set-in-my-ways and the new location for the mailboxes never did seem right. But, I was really aghast when I saw the new SR101 divided the Smiester-farm into pieces. So, new SR101 was laid out freshly on the east side the river; and it made some everlasting impressions on a lot of farmers and people in general. Just think, 30 mph could get one to the McCormick-Deering store in Brookville and back home with a new part -- before noon.  Further, the blacksmith in Fairfield always sharpened sickle-blades for the hay-mowers, the reapers, and made hinges for heavy gates; but, the new road made earning-a-living a little more difficult for him, especially since horses, on the flatlands, were being replaced by Fordson tractors. From the early 70s: Carl and Ruth Huber at their home. Mrs. Huber's work in gathering documents and news articles was vastly appreciated as the history of the valley came together. She served briefly as Fairfield Township trustee. Carl made great wine. Ruth and Carl are sitting in a 1902 Holz. The Holz originally belonged to a doctor in Cincinnati who abandoned it in a barn in southern Franklin County between St. Peter's and Penntown. The barn belonged to Carl's cousin who had no interest in the auto. Carl, as a kid (1914), and others, cranked the dead-engine sufficiently over the years to circulate the oil. He rescued the auto after WW2, took it to an Amish buggy shop for re-finishing, then to a mechanic to overhaul the engine. The engine started readily and did drive the carriage. The drive-mechanism consisted of two manila-ropes, each one spliced into an oval-belt, like any drive-belt now. Each belt-rope encircled a grooved channel surrounding a wheel and ran to a pulley, on each side the carriage, connected to a common drive-shaft from the engine. The drive-lever moved idler-wheels that tightened each drive-rope, thus, turning the wheels simultaneously. Carl's right-hand is on that drive-lever and his left-hand is on the steering-lever.  --GP

Essays that mattered, and still do

 Please peruse the entire blog. Earlier entries are farther down on the menu at the right. 

The blog was started in 2015 and has been updated to include content from fairfieldindiana.com

Essays and narratives over the years have touched on interesting people from our history. There are many more that did not get written.

DOYLE, OF THE SOUTH

One of Fairfield's least-noticed historical figures is a man who probably met more interesting people than the bulk of the community combined.

In early May 1863, a great Civil War conflict was fought in the Virginia township of Chancellorsville. Losses were predictably horrific on both sides, but Gen. Robert E. Lee, the Confederate general, eventually oversaw a victory for the rebels.

Lytle Berrie Doyle was one of those Confederate soldiers. (Alternate spellings on his name are "Little" and "Lyttle" and "Berry" or "Berrie.")

He had joined the rebellion in the Army of Virginia and eventually became a lieutenant (5th Virginia Infantry) under the command of Gen. Stonewall Jackson. Doyle was wounded in the battle on May 3. He recovered and returned to duty only to be captured on May 19, 1864 at Spotsylvania Court House, Va. He was held prisoner at Old Capitol in Washington, later moved to Fort Delaware and eventually camps in South Carolina and Georgia before subsequently being released in a prisoner exchange. Apparently, he served under Lee until the war ended in 1865.

Doyle was born in North Carolina. His family owned a farm in eastern Augusta County, Virginia. We have learned that is not especially productive farmland. It's likely the Doyles raised cattle or wheat. Other members of his family were also in Indiana before and after the war.

Sometime earlier than that, a girl named Lavina Hannah Quigley (pictured) rose to uncommon heights. She was born in Fairfield in 1847, the fifth of five daughters, three of whom were born in Pennsylvania. The Quigleys came to Indiana (probably to live in the Farm Hill area) from Lancaster PA, in the early 1840s. Details of the family aren't important for this story, though there is relationship to a man called Hunter Burk, whose farm was adjacent to the Farm Hill school.

At 16, Lavina (also known as Vina, Vene and Hannah) began her teaching career at the school. She also taught at Saltwell and Egypt Hollow schools. We don't know how much she taught, or to what degree of regularity, and the one-room operation probably only enrolled a few students from the nearby farms. 

This information has been gleaned from her obituary, written in 1921 by her son, Jesse. Apparently, she taught for about 6 years, according to the obit. It's hard to tell what sort of teaching occurred. Reading, poetry, manners, etc.

About that time, Doyle evidently came to Fairfield. One assumes a certain curiosity accompanied that arrival, he being a war veteran of the rebellion and all. The story can be what you want it to be.

And so this sweet young innocent was swept off her feet by this Southern stylist. Charm, grace, a real business, a couple of dollars in his pocket ... the rest is history, so to speak. On April 1, 1867, Lytle Berrie Doyle and Lavina Hannah Quigley were married in Fairfield.

Why Doyle came to Indiana is speculation, but he brought with him a skill for harness and saddle-making, doubtless learned in that area of Virginia. Some Southerners believed that Indiana was sympathetic to their cause on some levels. It's likely he knew this. We now believe he came to Indiana with his older brother, Jesse L. Doyle.

Doyle was listed as proprietor of the hotel in an 1882 Franklin County Atlas (although they didn't produce all that many atlases in those days). He sold the hotel in 1887. Lavina died in 1921, a couple of years before his death. Both are buried in Sims-Brier Cemetery at New Fairfield.

What evidently happened is that Dr. Zachariah Ferguson sold a house to Doyle and his bride in 1869 for $650. A news report of the time: "Mr. Doyle is occupying part of it for his saddle and harness shop, and is selling work cheaper than any other shop perhaps in the county. Persons wishing anything in the harness line should give him a call before purchasing elsewhere."

Ferguson was multi-faceted, it appears, and was something of a hotelier in his own right, in addition to running a doctor's office, he probably peddled home remedies, managed an apothocary, maybe owned some livestock. He was a Mason, which was a big deal. Nothing suggests he wasn't honorable.

Harness work was an important business in those days and Fairfield was considered a hotbed for the craft.

The family links get far more complex after that, since a Doyle daughter, Mary Beulah (1882-1969), ended up marrying Alton Trusler, who was from the influential and affluent Trusler family of Fayette County. Alton Trusler's father, Milton, is credited with helping implement rural free mail delivery while actively engaged in politics at several levels and as a key leader in Indiana Grange. A plaque to him is at a hard-to-find farmhouse on Bentley Road, just east of Blooming Grove on Causeway Road. The Truslers were also quite prominent in Civil War affairs, on the Union side. One wonders if conversations over dinner drifted. ... Ah, melancholy.

Doyle apparently decided to scoot over at some point, and a woman named Susanna Ogden ran the hotel in the early 1900s and for several years after that. Doyle presumably retained his saddle and harness business. They had a son, Percy, who became something of a bigshot in the Anderson area around the time the natural gas boom was yielding promise and profits. There were other children, some more notable than others during the days when Fairfield was less likely to be considered a backwater town. Lola Doyle, who only lived two years (1868-70) is listed in the Brier Cemetery.

L.B. Doyle, in his obituary in 1923, was said to be the last living charter member of the Fairfield Masonic Lodge, which was founded ostensibly by Dr. Ferguson. One wonders if his Confederate past was ever called to task. He entered the CSA as a corporal and advanced in rank rather rapidly. Attrition impacted that.

The hotel was still around in the 1960s and was occupied by the Luker family for many years.

Not many Confederate soldiers were buried in the Fairfield cemeteries, though at least one is in Old Franklin Cemetery east of town, a man named Samuel Hilton, whose service record shows he was absent without official leave for most of the war. It would appear that Doyle and Hilton had little in common but it's probable that they knew each other.

THE MILL RACE

Among the curious aspects of Fairfield is that its history is so disjointed that we have to make it up as we go along. Part of that is due to the nature of life. Trees grow, get old, end up on the back side of a saw, become firewood and … years later, somebody finds a picture. The tree was there, then not. 

Life generally is pretty ordinary in that respect. We don’t realize how “out of date” our cars have become until we look back and marvel at the old beasts.

So, the old adage that a picture tells a thousand stories can apply to our town. We really have nothing to go on now, except our memories and the pictures and stories that go with them. Pictures help. They tell us something, though maybe not enough. But it’s our story, our history, our memories and we can, by golly, do whatever we like, can’t we?

The old mill race that ran alongside the river didn’t exist after a time. Where did it go and why did it go? Obviously at some point, it was no longer needed, having served the mill that sat on the town’s south side.

The mill race was taken out in 1920 as an overall improvement of the road to Blooming Grove, according to an item in the Brookville newspaper, which provided no major details.

At the time, that was just life being generally pretty ordinary. Events occurred, people moved on and adapted. Years later, somebody wonders … nobody remembered to write it down because it didn’t matter at the time.

A TREE GOES TO MICHIGAN 

In the fall of 1971, after all the houses and the people were gone, all that remained was for the loggers to strip away the timber and the chain saws to gnaw off everything that resembled a navigation hazard. Nothing was left.

The bulldozers and the arsonists and the scavengers had stripped Fairfield bare.

The opportunities remained for anybody who could salvage anything that mattered.

Like a sugar maple.

As the story goes, word got around that the Whitewater Valley contained some desirable trees if one had the resources to dig them up and haul them away. A few of them qualified, including one in front of where the Methodist Church stood. The sugar maple, about 50 feet high and 18 inches in diameter, was identified by a Richmond arborist named Donald Antrim. He was apparently part of a larger ring of people who paid attention to that sort of thing and who coveted trees they could easy get at . . . trees that weren't already owned by somebody.

Fairfield obviously qualified.

Enter a woman named Laura Evans Ford Winans, who came from wealth, didn't mind spending it . . . and who just so happened to want to import big trees onto her estate in Grosse Pointe Farms, Mich. Ah, it wasn't a sport for factory workers. Mrs. Winans decided to have the tree dug up and moved to Michigan.

The Richmond newspaper at the time said the tree was slowly extracted by a half-dozen men, loaded onto a low-boy and snaked northward, avoiding turns it couldn't make, bridges it couldn't cross and towns it couldn't negotiate. In all, the tree went on a 400-mile odyssey.

And that was that.

The article caught my attention during a read of Town Under the Lake and I decided to go after the tree. Is it still living? Where is it? Who cares?

Dick Huhn, director at the Grosse Pointe Parks and Recreation Department, steered me to Laura Winans, or close enough. Laura died in 2011 and her ex-husband lives in Florida. Phone contact with him led me back to Michigan, where I was able to give Huhn the address where the tree was located.

Having no idea if the current owners knew of the tree's history or what to even look for on the land, Huhn asked people who knew -- the people who landscape the property.

He isn't totally certain this is the tree, but the owners seem to think it is -- and it's close enough for federal government work. "We're 99 percent sure," he said in a email.

It seems to be healthy enough, Huhn and his associate said. It would seem the tree has been pruned and maintained. I expected a slightly larger tree, which leads me to be slightly apprehensive. The tree would be about 60 years old. The long move would have stunted its growth depending on how badly the roots were damaged during extraction.

Still, even if it isn't the tree, we've learned that our roots spread pretty far.

It's just damned hard to get rid of us, isn't it?

 

Doo-dads, another word for thingamajig

 Please feel free to peruse the entire Fairfield200 blog. The earliest entries from 2022 are a capture from the old Fairfieldindiana dot com website, which is not going to be renewed. I have captured a few photos that will give you an even better glimpse of the old town, which was inundated in the early 1970s.

In-un-date-ed ... they built a dam downstream and let the sewers back up.

Or outhouses. We were not particular.

Not sure who provided this photo. It's Main Street, looking south on a winter's day.
The other side of the two trees on the left is the Methodist Church.   

\

Bath Road, just north of Causeway, heading west.
The road that once went into town as Main Cross is this one.
It ends at a golf course near the lake. 

The whole town showed up for a photo outside the Masonic Lodge sometime in the 1950s.
No idea why, other than most likely an anniversary of a Masonic event. This was obviously a big deal.
The late Jim Hughes provided this photo, among many other memories.