Ghost town, seeking Isaac
September 7, 2009

By noon o’clock today, the view from our front door changed drastically. One minute there were trailers, fifth-wheels, motor homes and tents in every direction and the next we were one of the six remaining residents. The park never did fill up, but it was definitely hopping for the holiday.

Many of the campers were families and groups. I enjoyed watching the couple across from us with two young children. They were such a nice family, reminded me of Shannon, Jim and Bri. Behind us was an older couple with their two young granddaughters; they were enjoying each others’ company, too, giving and receiving shoulder rubs and back scratches. It reminded me of Grandma Grace who was the best back scratcher in the world and of Dad who exercised to maintain the strength in his hands right up until the end. He cheerfully provided shoulder rubs the like of which I’ve not felt elsewhere.

We spent more time this morning entering historical data into the computer and trying to sort out double cousins marrying siblings, which they did just to confuse us, I’m sure. By then, I was worn out again and rested while Chris had a good gum-flapping exchange with the RV park’s owner. In the course of it, Chris mentioned that we were headed to Isaac and Sarah Maitlen’s farm to do some probing for fallen and disappeared gravestones. Ryan volunteered a tool made for that very purpose (well, not for gravestones, but for probing the ground), so we borrowed it and were on our way.

Taking yet another new route, we spied an intriguing ruin of a 1913 brick schoolhouse with mostly only a tall tower still standing. The sight demanded photography, so we quickly turned onto the side road where I had to stand in the pavement to get my shots. I’m sure they don’t do it justice, but I had to try. Luckily, the traffic was light. One passerby stopped to tell us what he knew about the place. Evidently, it was pretty much intact until fairly recently. When the roof collapsed, the rest of the edifice began to follow suit. It appears that it won’t be standing much longer. It is in Knox Township, Jay County.










Near there was a garden with humongous pumpkins, so those got photographed on the way home. I expect they will show up in the County fair.

I had some glorified idea about going over to Jeff’s place (Deb is with her father at the hospital), the old Maitlen farm, and the three of us finding Isaac Maitlen’s long-lost grave, but alas, it was not to be. Chris probed and probed; I probed, and Jeff kept us company all the while, all for naught. Oddly enough, Jeff discovered the bottom of a tombstone as we were walking by the chicken house. It was tucked up in the weeds growing up at the side of the pen. That stone didn’t show a name for the eight-year-old boy it memorialized.

Jeff plans to take down the precariously leaning shed, so perhaps something will come to light then. I’m sure he’ll let us know if that happens. We totally enjoyed our time visiting with Jeff and his son, Sam, what a great family.

Still seeking Isaac . . .

We had filed in the backs of our minds (okay, forgotten) about the fellow Gene (down the road from Jeff, the one who sold us great Silver Queen sweet corn) said had a stone that he thought came from the lost Maitlen cemetery, so we went over and woke up Gene from watching a televised golf game. He phoned Karl for us and we were given instructions to meet him at the American Legion hall in Albany.

All the folks lined up at the smoky bar greeted us with smiles when we entered as Karl asked if we were the graveyard people. We allowed as how we fit that description. Karl was tending bar (I think he might be the commander but I didn’t ask), but generously insisted that he would accompany us over to the Bethel Cemetery, which was where the stones in question are in residence. It is close to the Maitlen farm.

He was also quite an interesting and accommodating person. Turns out he has done loads of volunteer work repairing and restoring stones in that historic resting place where our Sarah Maitlen (Isaac’s wife) lies. In the course of his endeavors, he had located a large ornate stone buried out at the back of the graveyard, dug it up and set it up within the confines of the burying ground. He believes that local farmers who find gravestones on their properties bring them over there and leave them, and thinks that one and others may be from the Maitlen place.

It was not any of our kin; however, Karl showed us a bunch of our kin there that we had missed. They were mostly hard and/or impossible to decipher, so we used shaving cream and squeegee to clarify the inscriptions to be photographed and recorded.

I am so taken with all the folks in these parts. We have been greeted at every turn with welcome, finding everyone more than anxious to be friendly and helpful.

Veterans’ flags, autumn . . .

All this was taking substantially longer than anything we had planned (as if we plan anything). We still had to go to Fairview to replace the American flags on Joseph and Anthony McKinney’s graves with the larger ones we had for them, and then home finally 8ish, mucho tired and hungry.

We’re seeing the beginnings of autumn’s leaf-color change and loads of garden vegetable harvest everywhere. Near here are two very large tomato fields, surprising in the miles of corn and soybeans. Speaking of tomatoes, Jeff encouraged us to again help ourselves to tomatoes from their garden, some of the best I’ve ever eaten. Another sign of fall are the formations of ducks and geese winging their way southward. I love seeing and hearing the geese announcing their departure.

When I saw a small pasture with belted Galloway cattle grazing, it reminded me of the last time I mentioned them in a travelogue. That one passing reference garnered more comments than anything else I’ve written. Melissa said her father kept a few in his pasture just because his wife liked the look of them. I just looked them up on the Internet and it actually said that (not about Melissa’s parents, just in general that they are sometimes kept because folks appreciate their appearance).

Great towns, house concerts, stuff . . .

Every time we drive through Bluffton, we are taken with it. Its really impressive historic downtown is surrounded by substantial well-kept older neighborhoods that make me want to sit on a front porch swing after a summer supper and wave to whoever passes by. It’s really one of the nicest towns anywhere in the area.

One other place we saw recently could be called “little Switzerland”. The town of Berne was settled by Swiss immigrants and obviously continues to celebrate that heritage. We didn’t explore the town, but enjoyed the prevalent Swiss architecture we saw on our way through. There is much in this region that insists we return to spend more time.

I finally sent off the house concert verbiage to trusty website designer Susanne to put up on our Goat Hill Music site. It will be fun to have more of that happen; it’s a great venue for Chris’ music.

Speaking of surprising, the 14-cent drop in gas prices here is most welcome. I’m guessing it must be general across the country.

Now lest we be thought ill of on account of our family history obsession, I quote an authority, author John R. Totten: “Genealogy is a science that appeals to the normal and healthy mind of all intelligent human beings.”