First, you've got to find Greenlee

Jan, Martha, Mary Ellen, Faye and Gordon around Emaline Greenlee's tombstone.

The first trick is to locate Greenlee Cemetery, out northwest of Corydon in Wayne County’s Benton Township. The second, figuring out how to reach it; and the final challenge --- getting there once you’ve figured everything else out. Don’t try it on a muddy day, or in a vehicle with too low a profile --- chances are you can make it if it's dry, but then again, maybe not.

When you finally reach Greenlee, you’ll discover a gently restored little graveyard on the wooded east slope of South Chariton River valley, immaculately maintained by Benton Township trustees. Pretty, peaceful, looking much as it might have 100 years ago.

Looking up Greenlee's slope to the east.

I’m guessing --- but could be wrong --- that this was a principal burying place for residents of old Peoria, a ghost town platted about a mile east-northeast during 1853 in section 15 (the cemetery is in section 16). About 1880, Peoria was renamed Bentonville --- after the trains came. And then it pretty much vanished, too close to Corydon to survive.

The name “Greenlee” honors Sylvester Greenlee and his wife, Esther (Barnett) Greenlee, members of that tribe of Mason County, (West) Virginians, who descended on Wayne County during the 1850s --- including my great-great-grandparents, their immediate and extended families.

Sylvester Greenlee entered land in Section 15 during 1851, then settled his family in a log cabin there on April 1, 1852.

Among the Bott graves at the foot of the cemetery. The newer granite stone identifies three family members whose graves are marked by smaller headstones inscribed "Father," "Mother" and "Stepmother." They are George Bott (died 1865 at age 64), Caroline Bott (died 1854 at age 54) and Julia Bott (died 1865, age not given).

The earliest marked burial in the cemetery is that of the Greenlees’ daughter, Emaline, who died Aug. 15, 1853, age 5 months and 28 days. A son, Robert L., died during 1858 before reaching 5 months, and is buried beside Emaline. In adjacent graves are two children of Sylvester’s and Esther’s son and daughter-in-law, Levi Thompson and Sophia (Everett) Greenlee.

It’s logical to guess that the cemetery was founded on Greenlee land, but digging in land records would be necessary to prove it. Sylvester’s and Esther’s daughter and son-in-law, Martha and H.T. Peck, also rest here, but the Sylvester Greenlees are buried at Promise City, where they moved in 1879, and the Levi Greenlees, perhaps in Webster County.

Little Emaline Greenlee was joined on this pretty hillside three months after her death by James Lunsford, who died Nov. 7, 1853, at age 37. The last marked burial in Greenlee was made during 1942.

+++

Saturday’s visit to Greenlee was part of Mary Ellen’s birthday observance, following lunch. She had never been there, and wanted to see it --- the closest cemetery to her farm --- and wanted to take friends along. She’d also done her homework, so we knew how to get there.

It’s a little complicated. Drive a half mile west of where old Peoria/Bentonville used to be, then turn south on a road that’s now dead-end because the county supervisors allowed a massive pond to be built across its southern end.

When you come to the first barn, turn west into the farm driveway along its south side, drive on through the gate, cross a cornfield, drive through a wooded waterway, then up over the hill of a second cornfield --- and there you are at the cemetery gate. There is no sign. There is no gravel on this path, which leads about half a mile in from the road. You’re just kind of on your own.

Six of us made the trek --- Mary Ellen, Jan and I, who live in this neck of the woods; Gordon and Faye, from Iowa City; and Martha, who lives out west of Knoxville and is one of Iowa’s leading prairie people.

We spent a lot of time just looking, walking from grave to grave and imagining things about the people buried here. Martha patrolled the perimeter, looking for signs of prairie plants and finding few survivals --- all of these hills have been farmed and grazed.

I found a challenge at Greenlee for the Fox cousins who were here a couple of weeks ago. Here is the tombstone of Lizzie, "beloved wife of I.E. Fox, born Oct. 27, 1875, died May 8, 1894." We guessed that Lizzie was a daughter of P.L and M.E. Robinson, since she is buried next to their son, Willett, who died during 1887 at age 21. But who was I.E.?

I liked the way the cemetery has been cared for. Only one tombstone had shattered; the rest had been secured upright when necessary in new footings years ago. The old limestone and marble tablet stones had not been subjected to aggressive cleaning, so their surfaces were intact. And the old fencerows were there, too, intended for the most part to keep roaming livestock out.

Driving in, I kept thinking, “wow, they should do something about this road.” Now, I’m not so sure. In may be that remoteness is Greenlee’s best insurance.

Looking east from Greenlee's gate to the final leg of the half-mile "lane" that leads in from the road.

Nuts to you

Jane C. couldn't come out to play yesterday when we celebrated Mary Ellen's birthday down along the South Chariton because she was hulling black walnuts at her place just up the road. So we went over after lunch to "help" --- actually just to look.

When I was a kid, we picked up black walnuts by the bucketful or bushel basketful, then laid them out flat somewhere to cure --- sometimes in a driveway where just rolling over them repeatedly loosened the hulls (walnuts are notoriously sturdy and hard to hull and crack). Sometimes, we ran the nuts through an old hand-cranked corn sheller.

Jane, who acts as a Wayne County agent for a walnut processor down in Missouri, uses a vintage but wonderfully efficient piece of equipment powered by a small gasoline engine to do the job a heck of a lot more efficiently.

Nut pickers from all over the area pull up in pickups filled with barrels, garbage cans, boxes and bags full of walnuts gathered off the ground --- we have a heck of a lot of black walnuts around here. These are dumped into the hopper, shelled and bagged.

Nobody makes much money at this --- Jane pays pickers a few cents per pound of shelled nuts, weighing filled bags on a set of old scales bearing patent dates 1867 and 1870. But a lot of people do it --- it's a little extra spending money or income for worthy causes or just makes folks feel better because less is going to waste this way (there are enough to go around; squirrels and other critters are not being deprived).

The hulling season officially ends Monday, Jane said --- then a semi will arrive to pick up the 40,000-plus pounds of walnuts she'll have processed this year and haul them down to a processing plant to be cracked and nutmeats laboriously removed.

Iowa farmers used to say, when butchering a hog, that they planned to use everything but the squeal. Something similar could be said for walnuts --- the hulls left behind at Jane's place will be spread on farm fields as fertilizer; the nutmeats will be extracted and eaten one way or another; and the shells ground and used for other purposes.

Personally, I'm thinking of my mother's black walnut refrigerator cookies --- but lack the initiative to gather, hull, crack and pick my own, so will want a while until the nutmeats become available here and there on the shelves of some area stores.

Who will buy me now?

Gibbon-Copeland house from the southwest.

Chariton's grand old Gibbon-Copeland house at 216 S. Grand Street was on the market when this blog began six years ago --- and now is for sale again.

Poor old thing --- one of these days it's going to fall into the wrong hands and that will be the end of that. The asking price in 2005 was $99,000; the price, now, about $85,000. Folks from out of town always are amazed at what seems to them, even in challenging economic times, the give-away price.

From the northwest.

The house was built during 1895 by Dr. William H. Gibbon and his wife, Laura. He was a physician renowned for Civil War service who also built the old Gibbon Drug Store building still standing on the northeast corner of the square. Unfortunately, he died during October of the year the house was built, but his widow continued to live here until her own death 20 years later.

From the south.

Daughter Anna Gibbon had married first, during 1884, Ralph McCollough. He died during 1894 and the house was designed to be large enough to provide room for Anna and her three young children --- Clement, Dorothy and Henry --- too.

During 1896, the widowed Anna married Josiah Carey Copeland and they became the parents of three additional children while living in this house --- Lawrence, Anna Laura (Piper) and Kathryn. Josiah Copeland died during 1916 and Anna, durinig 1928.

And from the rear.

In later years, the house was divided into apartments --- and still is. There seem to be no tenants now, however, so apparently the old house is empty.

The exterior is remarkably intact, although early photos show that it was painted originally in contrasting colors. The massive central chimney has been cut down to a stub and the exterior portions of two other chimneys, one serving the southwest parlor and the other the southeast room, have been removed.

This panel of leaded glass is above the south bay window.

In addition, a recessed balcony over the front entry has been filled. The hanging bay that houses the landing of the principal stair appears to be unaltered, however. 

It's been years since I've been inside the house, but at that time, much of the original detail remained intact.

The "G" in the gable above the front door stands for "Gibbon."

With some notable exceptions, the preservation ethic in Chariton never has been very strong and many houses of significance have been torn down, allowed to fall down or altered beyond recognition and perhaps hope. Oddly enough, not that many seem to care and I'm not sure why.

It would be nice if this old house proved to be an exception.

A walk in the woods

For reasons that will become evident here one of these days, I drove out into Pleasant Township yesterday morning, when the sun was rising in the southeast at an appropriate angle, and took some pictures of Olmitz Hill from the Olmitz Monument.

Getting there involves driving several miles east of town on the Squirrel Road (so-called because when it was paved many years ago pessimists allowed that the only reason was to convenience squirrel hunters), then turning north just west of Bethel to meander through the Cedar Creek Unit of Stephens State Forest.

Coming back toward town on the twisting road --- a little like driving down the nave of cathedral with stained glass on all sides, seriously --- I pulled off into the forest and took a walk down an old road that once descended into the Cedar Creek bottom and crossed the creek but now is blockaded by the state and minimally maintained for "official" vehicles and pedestrians.

Blue skies, flaming oak leaves overhead, silence other than wind in the trees and the occasional bird call --- what a spectacular way to spend part of a day. Selfishly, I was glad I was the only one there and had the trail to myself. Practically, I got to thinking about how under-utilized Lucas County's state forests are and wondering about how to convince more people to take walks.

I'm not even sure how many of us remember on a regular basis that we're positioned squarely in the middle of Iowa's largest state forest system, more than 15,000 acres of it. The Cedar Creek Unit, where I was Thursday, contains 2,000 acres with the smaller Chariton Unit (1,500 acres) to the east and, beyond that, the Thousand Acres Unit (2,400 acres, actually), spilling over into northwest Monroe County.

Over in the southwest part of the county, beginning just southwest of Lucas, the Lucas Unit contains 1,300 acres; the Whitebreast Unit, 3,500 acres; and the Woodburn Unit, which spills over into Clarke County, 2,000 acres.

The Unionville Unit, some distance away in northeast Appanoose and northwest Davis counties, contains about 2,500 acres.

For Iowa, where most land is prized for agricultural purposes, that's a heck of a lot of woodland. All of the units are administered from headquarters in Chariton.

None of the units northeast of Chariton are "developed," but are wonderful for hiking, wildlife-watching and hunting.

The Lucas and Whitebreast units contain trails, ponds and some campgrounds; the Whitebreast Unit, perhaps the most popular, three equestrian campgrounds and a related trail system.

The Stephens State Forest system traces its beginnings to Civilian Conservation Corps days and was named in 1951 to honor Dr. T.C. Stephens, educator and conservationist. Although not a native of southern Iowa, Stephens' ashes were scattered over the Whitebreast Unit when he died, so in that sense he's still with us.

The fall colors have been spectacular here this week, but won't last much longer. If you don't have time to take a walk, at least take a drive --- and admire some of the trees we own collectively. To learn more about Stephens State, go to the Iowa DNR Web page concerning it, located here.

The benefits of a varied diet

Fun-size Snickers taste better than full-size, we decided at coffee Monday; and no one buys fun-size bars, generally on sale in the days leading up to Halloween, to give away. We buy them, lying to ourselves, to eat (oh heck, they're small, one or two --- or a dozen --- won't hurt).

Then --- realizing the trick-or-treat candy's nearly gone --- make an 11th hour dash back to the grocery store to buy what's left.

By the afternoon preceding beggars' night, all the cheap chocolate's gone. Poor kids. They get those unappetizing little lollipops or disgusting powdery-tasting candies sealed in cellophane.

So driving home, I decided to buy cookies --- figuring they would divert me from the Halloween candy. I only buy Voortman cookies and stopped at Piper's, where Jill sells Voortman cookies by the pound rather than, as at Hy-Vee, in two layers of overpriced and environmentally unfriendly packaging.

She suggested, after weighing my cookies, that a varied diet is both healthy and interesting. Good thought.

When back at Hy-Vee Wednesday morning to buy Folgers after finding only enough beans in the bottom of a designer-blend package to make two cups and caffeine levels had fallen dangerously low, I bought Baby Ruths (no Snickers were left on the shelf).

Now I'm enjoying the benefits of a truly varied diet. But not for breakfast. Not yet at least.

+++

The other crisis this week involves Vicks VapoRub, necessary for well-being during winter months. A light coating applied to the upper lip before retiring produces mentholated fumes that drive cold and flu germs away.

This was another topic at coffee Monday and according to Jane K., Vicks rubbed onto hands and feet causes arthritis pain to go away. If you've got a cold and are coughing badly, someone else said, Vicks rubbed on the bottoms of the feet will cause the coughing to cease.

So you can see why it's needed.

Usually, one jar of Vicks last me about five years --- but when I pulled the jar out of the medicine cabinet over the weekend to check levels it was empty; the inside didn't even feel slick.

I went to Hy-Vee to buy more. They didn't have it. Didn't have Vicks?  I went next door to Pamida. They had it --- priced at $9 a jar. NINE DOLLARS A JAR?

I didn't buy it. But I'll have to --- eventually.

+++

Because of the previously mentioned low caffeine levels, all I managed to get accomplished Wednesday was a haircut. I don't get those very often and there's no reason for that. So far as I know, my mother was not frightened when pregnant by a barber.

The thing is, I don't like long hair and I know I should be grateful that mine still grows (why do men with thinning hair get transplants? Bald is so convenient.) It's just always been a personal struggle.

Others worry more about my hair than I do. I once knew a guy fairly prominent in north Iowa business circles with whom I maintained a pleasant but somewhat distant relationship, talking mostly by telephone. One time, after not meeting face-to-face for about two years, we ran into each other at a meeting and shook hands. "I see you've still not gotten a haircut," he said.

In Mason City, where I patronized Great Clips, the stench of "product" was so overwhelming it was necessary to hold one's breath or go outside to breathe deeply. But here, "The Look" smells pleasantly neutral and Margie remembers my name, even though she sees me infrequently and doesn't have a computer to prompt her.

I probably could have gone another week or two without having the hair mowed and baled. But it had reached the point where everytime I tried to take a photo, hair blew in front of the lense. It's very difficult to frame a photograph properly when you have to hang onto your head with one hand.

So I got a haircut --- and my head felt so light when I got up I thought I might fall over. I mentioned that to  two older women entering the beauty shop as I was leaving. They offered to help me to the truck --- but I made it on my own.

Potholes on the road to Damascus

Recent experiences of the Rev. Bert Oelschig, a Lutheran pastor in Anniston, Alabama, propelled out of his pulpit for daring to suggest gay folks might be God’s children, too, illustrate some of the hazards involved in road-to-Damascus experiences.

According to reports in The Anniston Star, Oelschig and his small 80-member Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) congregation, Trinity, were in agreement until about June concerning the wickedness of LGBT people; united in condemnation of the ELCA mother ship that during 2009 agreed by majority vote to allow gay pastors in committed relationships to serve congregations that wished to call them.

During June, Oelschig set out for an ELCA conference prepared to speak in favor of overturning that 2009 vote, then somewhere along the road something happened.

“I meant to speak to that,” Oelschig told The Star, but “by the time I got there — I can’t put a cognitive handle on it — but in front of God and everybody else, I said I thought we should keep it.”

The shit hit the fan when he returned home to Anniston and tried to explain his new leading on the matter to parishioners, now mad as a flock of old wet hens. He was forbidden to preach on the topic, suspended when kept trying to explain and finally resigned last week as the alternative to being fired. Whoops.

+++

Just out of curiosity, I decided to check out how ELCA congregations in Iowa are handling the issue of LGBT inclusiveness these days, measured by congregational votes to abandon the ELCA ship and join new affiliations that promise to keep the homosexual horde at bay.

The Episcopal Church already has been through this process (with the significant difference that Episcopalians who march off in high dudgeon aren’t allowed to take church property with them, as Lutherans may do). The Presbyterian Church (USA), which also recently opened its doors to gay clergy in committed relationships, soon will be.

My favorite source for ELCA news in this area is the blog of David R. Barnhart, a clergyman who seems to derive a good deal of satisfaction from celebrating the woes of those with whom he disagrees (have you ever noticed that a pissed off preacher can be just as vindictive as the rest of us?).

According to Barnhart’s count, as of August, 54 Iowa congregations have departed --- a significant number, but still a substantial minority. These range in size from Clear Lake’s Zion Lutheran Church, among the larger, to tiny congregations scattered in white-steepled buildings across the prairie. I did see that votes to depart had failed in two of my old home county’s congregations, Bethany Lutheran in Thompson (narrowly) and Winnebago Lutheran Church (decisively) out east of Leland.

Beyond these, there are congregations like West Des Moines’ massive Lutheran Church of Hope (hope, that is, for heterosexuals), among the capital city’s trendiest places to worship, which remains within the ELCA more out of cussedness than anything else, but declines to support it financially.

+++

I’m always mildly surprised that a relatively small band of LGBT people seeking God has managed to cause such a fuss.

Some of the comments made to The Anniston Star by Mike Anderson, chair of Trinity’s church council, offer a few hints about why this is happening:

“We were going to have a revolt,” Anderson said. “People were going to leave en masse if we were going to become the gay church of Anniston … at least that’s what a lot of people heard. It may not have been what (Oelschig) said, but it’s what a lot of people heard.”

And:

“It’s pretty clear that God doesn’t like homosexuality. Mostly what we’ve addressed is openly practicing homosexuals. If you’re gay and not all up in our faces,” Anderson said, “that’s really between you and God. It’s the openly flaunting …. that the council doesn’t agree with.”

So there you have one end of it --- many Christians are horrified that if their congregations appear too friendly, undesirables will start appearing in the pews; others, that the gay deacon everyone knows about but who remains discreetly silent will come flying out the closet during the offertory some Sunday morning. How embarrassing.

And then there are preachers, most fine men and women, many of whom, after considering mouths to feed, pension plans and the like, live in daily fear that their parishioners will find out what they really think. Pastor Oelschig’s experience is a fairly clear example of what can happen when this happens.

It’s not the Bible --- Christians of all varieties manage to avert their eyes and step around anything inconvenient found there; it’s just that different folks find different things inconvenient.

Personally, I think much of it comes down to money and what it buys --- you’ll note the collection’s usually elevated in most churches on Sunday mornings.

If that’s the case, here's the best advice I can offer: If you hit a pothole on the road to Damascus, or see one coming, for God’s sake don’t drop the collection plate.

A procession of urns at Derby

This modest procession of urns marching off toward the woods caught my eye Sunday at the Derby Cemetery, where I'd stopped to admire another tree --- then stuck around for a while. More interested in pattern than people, I neglected to note who rests under them.

This is the tree, outlined against the afternoon's beautiful blue sky --- an aspiring but less accomplished sister to the giant pine at Confidence noted earlier. It has tried to pull the same stunt, throwing out a branch that then turned up to form a secondary spire, but failed to achieve the horizontal panache of its more confident sister.

This tree is damaged, too, split down the middle --- so perhaps is more endangered than its Wayne County counterpart. Admire it while you can.

The Derby Cemetery, carved from the farm of Tom and Nancy (Lazear) Throckmorton, who brought their family in 1856 to what became the Derby community, begins high on old prairie near the road, then descends to woodland.

Ten of the 11 Throckmorton children reached adulthood and three of their sons became physicians, launching what in its heyday was a major Lucas County medical dynasty. The Throckmortons reserved for themselves a circle at the edge of the woods in the cemetery's southeast corner within which many family members are buried. Others are buried nearby. Tom and Nancy continue, however, to have pride of place within the family enclave.

This handmade monument not far from that big pine, although not as impressive as many of the store-bought stones at Derby, certainly is the most interesting.

There must be significance to the seashells embedded in concrete, but there's not even an inscription on it to tell who is buried here let alone the reason for the shells.

A somewhat enigmatic note in the Lucas County Genealogical Society's 1981 compilation of county tombstone inscriptions suggests that Richard Dodson is buried here. He reportedly was born on March 16, 1855, in Kentucky, and died Jan. 11, 1934, in California. Beyond that, you'll have to try deciphering his story from the shells stuck in concrete here in Union Township, Lucas County, Iowa, a considerable distance from the sound and sight of the sea.

Seed pods and Samaritans

I took off Sunday afternoon for favorite prairie patches down east of Derby to look for orchids and gentians in the grass, knowing it was most likely too late --- and it was. But the search was the important thing, not the finding. And there were other things to see.

Colors are muted now and the shapes of things are beginning to emerge as leaves continue to fall. Stalks and seed pods demonstrate structure now that brilliant blossoms no longer distract.

Coming home the long way, I drove north from Derby on U.S. 65 and down into the Whitebreast valley, then east on U.S. 34 to Chariton --- one of the loveliest and most accessible drives in the county. The timber --- oak and hickory --- has fully turned now and soon all the leaves will be gone.

It was a beautiful afternoon --- brilliant blue sky with scattering clouds, mellow sunlight, falling leaves; a festival of a day.

+++

After giving us a little rest, Republican politicians were back in town over the weekend, posturing for the thousand or so who attended the allegedly Christian Iowa Faith and Freedom Coalition fall banquet at the state fairgrounds Saturday night. All were there other than the most likely GOP candidate, Mitt Romney, and his fellow Mormon, John Huntsman, who wisely steered clear.

Abortion seemed to be the principal topic and, unsurprisingly, all of the six gathered were against it --- under all circumstances, or so they said. Bachmann and Santorum probably are sincere in this, the others --- Cain, Gingrich, Paul and Perry --- probably not. Beware of those who say what they think you want to hear.

Bachmann came on down to Osceola on Sunday to preach at Calvary Bible Church; the others went home. Ho hum.

+++

Sunday’s lectionary Gospel lessons focused on the great commandments, for morning worship the version from Matthew 22: “When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 'Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?' He said to him, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: `You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."

The daily office reading, which covered the same territory from a slightly different perspective, was taken from Luke 10, where the linked commandments flow into the uniquely Lukean parable of the Good Samaritan.

I keep reminding myself that there are no if’s, and’s or but’s built in here and wishing I were better at obedience.

+++

The most interesting Sunday sermon (via the Internet) was by the Rev. Victor M. Parachin, a Discipes of Christ pastor, and had been recorded last summer at All Souls Unitarian in Tulsa.

His topic was SBNR --- shorthand for a growing trend among those turned off by what passes for Christianity these days who now describe themselves as “Spiritual But Not Religious.”

Parachin, describing rather than lamenting this development, offered his own four-point foundation for a faith that could be either spiritual or religious.

First, he advised, “practice sameness” --- that is, look for what unites, not what divides. Then “slow down,” noting a study that demonstrated that the bigger hurry we’re in, the less likely we are to be Samaritans. Third, “serve others,” he said. And finally, “cultivate hope,” quoting a saying attributed to the Buddha implying that hopelessness is more than anything else laziness; that to remain hopeful requires work.

So I’m trying to begin the week hopeful with those two linked commandments in the back of my mind. We’ll see how long that lasts.

You treat me like a stepchild ...

I've never understood why the Bethlehem Cemetery is not as well-loved as its well-groomed and more popular graveyard siblings in Wayne County's Union and Wright townships, New York and Confidence. What's the deal here? Even Morgan Parr, the Campbellite preacher to whom Bethlehem is sometimes attributed, was buried at New York when he died in 1867.

I got so involved in thinking about that apparent affectional disparity Friday, I failed my Mason cousins by neglecting to photograph all their tombstones here. I did take a shot of Hiram, their great-great-grandfather, now reposing at something of an angle, but neglected his wife, Jane, and the rest. I'll have to go back.

The usual date of origin for Bethlehem, the village that once thrived modestly at the crossroads just to the north, is 1852 (platted 1853), which makes it I think one of Wayne County's oldest places. In addition to the Parrs, a distant cousin of mine, Dr. John Boswell, practiced here in the very early days before moving into Corydon, then heading out for the Pacific Northwest. He and my great-great-grandfather, Peachy Gilmer Boswell, were among the founders of Corydon's First Methodist Church, a fact that mildly aggravated a branch of the family that later turned from the Wesleyan light and became Baptist.

Not that Bethlehem isn't cared about. It's gateway arch, almost folk art created from what was at hand, is relatively recent, although leaning; the gates within it much newer, the grass is neatly clipped and the galvanized-pipe railing/fence freshly painted.

There are far more graves here than appear when the grounds are viewed from the gate. Walk among the standing stones and you'll discover rows of tablet stones dating from the 1850s onward that have fallen onto their backs and now are partly buried.

I walked out to the northwest corner to visit Belle McMurry, who I remember in her four-square, then-pink house just west of Bethlehem. WHO-TV used to talk with Belle on Christmas Eve --- among the few Iowans then living at Bethlehem on that significant date.

Walking back, I noticed the Kastners and got to wondering if or how they were related to the Kastners I remember.

And thinking back to play day at the Bethlehem school --- that was an annual (I think) occasion when scholars from several neighboring rural school districts, including Dry Flat, gathered at one or the other to, well, just play.

My dad used to talk about stopping at one of the Bethlehem stores, when there were stores in Bethlehem, to buy the makings of picnic meals when riding along horses-and-wagon with his dad and uncles toward the little coal mines east of Sunny Slope church to lay in a winter's store.

The most notable features at Bethlehem now are the huge Rathbun Rural Water System tower, Bethelehm Chapel (crafted from recycled remains of the Bethlehem Methodist Church I think), a newer home, a trailer house and a derelict trailer dragged here for some unknown reason. Nearly everything else is gone. I think I've been told that the Dry Flat bell hangs in Bethlehem Chapel. I'm going to have to drive by again, see if that's true and maybe try to ring it.

This shall be my Confidence

I'm not sure who named Confidence "Confidence" back in the 1850s, or exactly why --- but I'm glad somebody did. And I resent the fact I'm finding online references to it as a "ghost town."

Ghost is a relative term --- New York is a ghost town, Bethlehem's darned close. By comparison, Confidence isn't. There's New Providence Baptist Church, still active; and the old Church of Christ/Christian Church (which isn't), a nice park on the site of the little brick bank building I remember that burned and a scattering of houses.

Although it once was larger --- a modest farm village with an economy that benefitted from nearby small coal mines --- Confidence remains recognizable, and that's enough for me.

I came back Friday afternoon --- a beautiful day following our first frost (moderate, neither light nor "black"; the garden's a gonner but the geraniums aren't) --- to visit the Confidence Cemetery. I was just here last week with the Fox cousins, but wanted to spend more time with one of my favorite tombstones and a tree that would be on the National Register of Remarkable Pines --- if there were such a thing.

The Confidence Cemetery, at the crossroads just west of town, is divided into two parts by the road that now serves not only as Confidence's only street but also as a major gateway to Rathbun Lake. Sunny Slope Church of Christ is a mile and a half south. But the fact vehicles always are passing doesn't seem to detract from the peace of the place.

The older part of the cemetery is to the south and once was the location of New Providence Church, moved into town after a fire. Death exceeded initial expectations, however, and the newer and larger part of the cemetery was platted on more level ground to the north. I know far too many people in the newer part of the cemetery.

We were here last week to visit the graves of Missouri (Fox) Clowser (1851-1880), her husband, James M. Clowser (1844-1888), and two of their children who died relatively young, daughter Nevada (1873-1892) and son Alburton B. (1870-1896). And, yes, the Fox family had a proclivity for naming children after states. Missouri had a sister, Nebraska, who married George W. Stephens. This is the Clowser family tombstone closest to us here and a challenge to decipher because of the nature of stone it's constructed from and its shaded location.

This is the tombstone I came back to admire Friday, however, marking the grave of Emma B., wife of J.W. Sayre, who died Oct. 29, 1886, aged 25 years, 6 months and 6 days. I know nothing about Emma, or the Sayre family, but the shape of the stone caught my eye because it echoes the shape of spirit houses often seen in southeast Asia where earlier traditions have been absorbed by Buddhism.

I'm reasonably sure this is not something that would have occurred to the Sayres, when selecting a tombstone; I just think it's cool. The lavish stone bouquet of lilies and roses is realy nice, too.

This is the tree, deserving of a major award not only for survival but also for the stunt it's pulled in the process of developing into a monumental example of bonsai on steroids. Isn't it wonderful?

Look at the giant limb extending parallel to the ground before shooting upward into a secondary spire. How in the world did it manage to do this?

The bad news here is that lightning's struck this giant at some point, leaving a scar from top to bottom along the north side of the main trunk and a little rot has set in at the base. Pine trees also have been having a hard time of it in Iowa lately. So like nearly everything else, this natural wonder won't be around forever. Admire it while you can.

Here's a view from under that tree off east toward Confidence and another, south toward Sunny Slope across a newly harvested soybean field.

Finally, I whistle a lot. Some find that annoying, but I was born to whistle. That may seem irrelevant here, but the thing to keep in mind is that I always carry my own background music with me. So driving through or walking around Confidence, I always whistle a wonderful old Lutheran Easter hymn, also appropriate for funerals, "Jesus lebt, mit ihm auch ich," translated, "Jesus Lives, The Victory's Won" and sung to the hymn tune, "Jesus, meine Zuversicht."

Each verse concludes with a rising triumphant refrain, "This shall be my confidence." I'd hoped to find a choral version out there, but couldn't. So here's a guitar version. Practice it, and the next you're wandering around Confidence, whistle or better yet, sing it. What could be more appropriate in a cemetery of the same name?

The hope and harm in mendacity

Just for the record, the world didn't end --- again. And I'm pretty happy about that. The forecast calls for a beautiful day. Whether or not the frost predicted for overnight occurred is another question and dawn will tell. For now it looks like a "no," 34 degrees and holding.

I'm not even sure how many noticed that Harold Camping, who stirred up quite a fuss among the fearful earlier this year by declaring that believers would be raptured on May 21, had recalibrated --- today was to be the end of the world as we know it. Apparently not. Poor Harold. I'm sure he intended to be helpful. But he's still 90. One way or another, his end is near.

That's the big problem with premillenialism --- start calculating precise times and dates for the end and making specific predictions and you're headed for trouble. All in all, the preterist/amillenial approach is safer if you're into eschatology --- or just don't worry about those troublesome books, Daniel and Revelation, at all. Focus on the present.

I spotted the silver birch leaves here, glowing like stained glass as the sun moved downward, along the trail yesterday --- and that was enough to clear my head, briefly at least.

I'd been thinking about, of all things, mendacity and its sometimes hopeful, although harmful, nature after waching the clip below of Randy Roberts Potts, gay grandson of the late televangelist Oral Roberts, delivering a sermon on that topic at All Souls Unitarian Church in Tulsa during July.

It's a clip worth watching, but because its sermon length, requires patience.

Potts is talking mostly about mendacity within his own family, and the harmful results of hopeful lies. I was thinking of mendacity paired with premillenialist thinking in current GOP politics --- signs that the end is near, presentation of self in messianic robes, the promise of redemption and a 1,000-year reign if Rick Perry, Michele Bachmann, Herman Cain or (insert your favorite candidate) is elected. Of course Barack Obama rose during the last election cycle on a wave of more secular messianic thinking with less emphasis of premillenialism.

Wouldn't it be nice if they'd all get over magic thinking and start focusing on problem-solving in the here and now?

Clarence Rose and the Courthouse

Lucas County Historical Society Collection

I love it when patterns emerge serendipitously to enlighten something or another, and that's what happened yesterday when Wanda Frye Horn added a comment to the previous post here, a post that contained a photograph, perhaps dating from 1894,  of the north side of the Chariton Square showing clearly that Rose's (photography) Studio was located on the second floor of a building known as the Mallory Brick.

"Your photo showing Rose's Studio caught my eye because the photographer, Clarence Rose, was an older half-brother of my grandmother, Charlotte Rose Roberts," Wanda wrote. "We have several old family photos from his studio. Clarence left Chariton in the early 1890s and went to New Mexico hoping to find a cure for his "consumption." However, when his health continued to deteriorate, he went to the home of his aunt in Benedict, Nebraska, where he died in October of 1899."

I have several family photographs taken, too, at the Rose studio and was really pleased to find out more about the photographer. One distinctive feature of every Rose photo I've seen is that the images have a rose-colored cast to them, causing me to wonder if that wasn't kind of a trademark of Clarence's work, based upon his surname. That, however, would be difficult to prove.

I went to the online version of Darlene Arnold's Chariton Newspaper Index and found reference there to a story in The Patriot of Jan. 18, 1893, stating the Clarence had just purchesed the "photo gallery of J.H. Needham," probably adding a date to the start of his photographic venture.

The index also points to articles reporting his marriage to Helen Losier (or Looser) during 1894; and to reports of his death in Nebraska in all three Chariton newspapers during July of 1899 --- Herald and Patriot issues of July 6 and the Democrat edition of July 7. These imply a date of death prior to October.

One of the most beautiful examples of Clarence Rose's work is the portrait of the brand new Lucas County Courthouse at the beginning of this post (from the LCHS collection). Because the perspective is perfect, I'm guessing it was shot from a window of his studio in Mallory Brick, perhaps even from the roof. The view must have been taken during late winter or early spring, 1894, since leaves have not yet emerged on the trees.

Turn the photo over and you discover "Some descriptive facts" about the courthouse printed on the back of the mounting card, a notice that the image had been "Copyrighted by Rose, 1894" and, in very small print, notice that the mounting card had been printed by the Herald Printing House, Chariton, Iowa."

I'm guessing that this was a souvenir card prepared by Clarence for sale prior to and/or during the dedication of the courthouse on May 22, 1894, which was quite an occasion in Chariton.

Wanda, by the way, is the only person I know who remembers me as a very young vacation Bible school scholar at First Baptist Church in Russell (extremely precocious, she began teaching VBS at age 5 I believe). Her late husband, Charles, was First Baptist's pastor for a time. I also discovered, reading the newspaper index, that she was valedictorian of her Russell High School graduating class --- and county spelling champion. That's a little intimidating for someone who struggles sometimes with spelling, but uses a dictionary with a reasonable degree of competence.

What was the occasion in Chariton?

Now what do you suppose was going on in Chariton when this old photograph of a band marching alongside the north side of the square was taken at some point after 1893 but well before the turn of the 20th century? I'm speculating that it might have been related to festivities during 1894 surrounding dedication of the new (and current) Lucas County Courhouse, but that's just speculation --- so don't quote me.

I can tell you more about some of the buildings, however. The brick building in the foreground, containing three street-level storefronts, was known sometimes as Mallory's Brick because it had been built during 1870 by Smith H. Mallory. "Brick" was added because all other buildings on the north side were in 1870 of frontier-town frame construction, so "brick" was remarkable at the time.

This old building was a survivor, the only structure west of the alley to survive a series of major and minor fires that burned everything between it and North Main Street --- several times. Eventually, it was torn down and after 1900 replaced by the current double-front building that houses U.S. Bank.

Rose's (photography) Studio was on the second floor and perhaps that firm's chief photographer was responsible for this image.

The triple-front Brown Block, just east of the alley and dated 1893, probably was the newest building on the north side when this photo was taken.

I'm not sure who occupied the easterly Brown Block storefronts, but the one nearest the alley was occupied by A.E. Dent & Co., purveyor of dry goods and shoes. Albert Eli Dent, born during 1832 in Ohio, was a distant cousin of mine who first was employed by, then became the partner of, pioneer Chariton merchant David D. Waynick. His marriage in 1879 to David Waynick's daughter, Orilla, probably facilitated that business partnership. During 1886, Albert became sole proprietor after operating a similar business for a time in Cambria. Not long after 1900, the Dents left Chariton to settle in Washington state.

The Piper Building was in place at the east end of the north side when this photo was taken, but the area now filled by the Blake Building (now Ben Franklin) and the I.O.O.F. Building (Lindy's Closet) appears to have contained a two-story frame building, a gap and then a double-front one-story wooden building. The sign on the storefront closest to Piper's may read "Eureka Bakery," but I can't be sure.

The old hotel, sometimes known as the Chariton House, that dated from the city's earliest days still was in place on the northwest corner of the square when this photo was taken. It would be replaced by a department store, which burned; a legendary but temporary gospel tabernacle; and finally, by the Hotel Chariton.

+++

There are two interesting stories, to me at least, in The Register this morning. The first involves Oak Grove Cemetery near Lehigh in Webster County (northwest of Des Moines) where erosion has deposited some occupants unceremoniously in a ditch and threatens the final resting place of others. This has been going on for two years, apparently, and no one is willing to step forward and take responsibility for rectifying the situation. Fortunately, there are no similar situations in Lucas County. I can think of a couple of cemeteries where erosion could become a factor, but so far it hasn't.

The other involves Liz Kruidenier, now dying of cancer at age 85 and among the last of a generation of priviliged, progressive Iowa women (the late Louise Rosenfield Noun was another) who devoted themselves to causes many benefitted from --- the arts,  civil rights, Planned Parenthood and more.

Her life-long partner was the late David Kruidenier, a member of the legendary Cowles family, publishers at a time when most major newspapers still were privately owned of The Des Moines Register & Tribune and The Minneapolis Star & Tribune, and a social activist alongside his wife.

+++

We're still dodging frost here, and the flowers still are blooming --- remarkably late into October; it can't last much longer. Tonight's predicted low is 32 and tomorrow's, 30, and that may be the end of it. I finally gave in yesterday morning and turned the furnace on and admitted it was time to find an extra blanket. We're pretty good at denial in Iowa, but that can go on for only so long.

Red Oak's grand parade

Red Oak's George Marshall house.

Still stuck (figuratively, not literally) in Red Oak this morning --- but that's a good place to be. Anyone who loves old buildings could spend a day or so here just looking, then come back to look some more.

Downtown Red Oak, in part because of the way it is designed and in part because most of its buildings look as if they're cared about, has great presence. The city itself is larger in population than Chariton by about 1,000 and it gives the impression of having been, and continuing to be, substantially more affluent. The city certainly is better groomed.

Turning east off Broadway, the major north-south route through town, the courthouse square is first, surrounded by several public buildings; then a business block, then the town square proper around a well-groomed park centered on a fountain (below), then another business block and finally the rise to a spectacular residential neighborhood known as Heritage Hill.

As in other Iowa county seat towns, there are many vacant downtown storefronts. But a majority of the buildings have had their facades attended to. It looks like a place someone hoping to open a retail business would think seriously about.

I got a kick out of this building (below) for two reasons. First, gothic revival is relatively rare in Iowa. Secondly, because it illustrates what happens sometimes on town squares. This has been a double-front facade with another bay window at some point but a newer facade has been imposed over its western half to create a uniform front for a business occupying part of another building. The result is a quirky half-facade.

The stars of Red Oak's show are on Heritage Hill, which rises to the east of downtown, a dozen or so grand dames, most in a high state of preservation, dating from Red Oak's earlier glory days. I wish I'd had more time to photograph more of them, but we were on a tight schedule Friday. Broad (and well-maintained) streets and sidewalks plus an abundance of mature trees help to make make this sizable neighborhood very special.

This brick Italianate with later classical revival porches was built during 1881 by Smith McPherson and his wife, Frances, the first of two in the Heritage Hill district attributed to them. McPherson served, among other capacities, as Iowa attorney general and federal court judge in the Southern District of Iowa. The architect was George West.

During 1896, the McPhersons built this larger Richardson Romanesque-inspired home a couple of blocks northeast, also in the Heritage Hill district. It was designed for entertaining on a grand scale and reportedly had only one bedroom originally with "his" and "hers" sitting rooms adjoining it. The architect was George W. Maher.

This gorgeous Queen Anne next door to the first McPherson house was built during 1894 for George Marshall. Roberta was impressed here by the soaring chimneys. Nothing of this sort has survived in California, she said, because of frequent earthquakes.

This is the A.C. Hinchman home, another dramatic Queen Anne also dating from 1894 and built for Mary and Amos C. Hinchman. He was a banker and owner of Hinchman Drugs downtown. It's unique because it has a square tower at its northwest corner and a round tower, to the southwest. Surrounded by trees, it is challenging to photograph, however.

This 1874 brick Italianate was designed by George West for Col. Alfred and Anna (Huntington) Hebard. He was a pioneer lawmaker and surveyor wise enough to invest in the substantial tract of land where Red Oak now stands.

This Queen Anne, also built during 1894 --- obviously a good year for power houses in Red Oak --- belonged to William and Mary Malony. He was a dentist and hardware merchant, an unusual but apparently profitable combination.

\

This Queen Anne does not appear to be on the official Heritage Tour trail, but I liked it anyway. Especially because a large plastic Santa Claus lives just behind the tower window.

For inexplicable reasons, this was my favorite of the Heritage Hill houses --- now having its porches restored. The Heritage Hill guide book I've been using as a resource here identifies it as the home of a Red Oak mayor, Thomas Griffith, and his wife, Mary, with unknown origins. Obviously, it's an 1880s frame Italianate with later classical revival porches. I wanted to bring it home, but there wasn't room.

This is only a sample of what there is to see on Heritage Hill and in Red Oak in general. This is all only two hours due west of here and more than worth the drive.