Tag Archives: history
Cities developed as population centers to exploit agricultural products, natural resources, transportation routes, and later industrial production. Historically their first responsibilities were to provide for public safety – law enforcement and fire protection. In time their duties evolved to include essential public works that promoted the health and welfare of their citizens – sanitation, drinking water, streets, stray animal control, street lighting, and power. Or as long-time councilman Blake Chambers says, “plow the streets and keep the lights on.” Later…..
Well, I think the hard part is done, at least I hope so. I’ve been obsessing on my project and neglecting this blog for nearly three months. What have I been doing? I’m glad you asked. You did ask, didn’t you? With a great sense of relief, and pleasure I can report that I’ve finished the manuscript for Those Kids Deserve Water Too: A History of the Patoka Lake Regional Water and Sewer District, and sent it off for editorial…..
I’m afraid that I’ve been preoccupied with Patoka and neglected this blog, my apologies. Single mindedly I researched my topic, carefully peeling away the layers of the onion when out of the blue, Lisa Gehlhausen asked me to speak. She’s the Executive Director of the Indiana 15 Regional Planning Commission. “I think the Commission would like to hear about your book,” she asked. “We’re having a celebration for our 45th anniversary, could you talk for ten minutes?” Well, I’m not…..
I reached the rendezvous point early, so I turned into the parking lot. It was empty except for three Asplundh trucks, their buckets stretched skyward as if pleading for rain. The day had been a scorcher, typical of July. Luckily a brief shower had taken the edge off. I parked and rolled my window down to wait for my contact. He had called two days ago. “There’s a Cemetery Board meeting Monday at 6:00,” he reported. “Why don’t you…..
The outhouse no longer stands guard on the hill. It’s been gone for years. As have the chicken-coop and the cattle. Once the farm teemed with livestock, now all is eerily quiet. Through the eyes of a young boy, the green-shingled house was huge. Nearby the barn was painted a vivid red. Its cavernous interior a haven for life: cows, cats, mice, owls, and countless spiders and crickets. In the Barnyard stood the skeletons of better days, the hog-houses. Sheltered…..
“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.” – Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories ‘Tis hard to believe that it has been two months since I embarked on my latest endeavor…..
With a boom that shook the walls and rattled the windows, he slammed the door. The boy stomped into the room and flopped on the couch. Grandpa shook his head and sidled over. “What’s up?” he asked, taking a seat beside the boy. The boy sighed, “It’s my research assignment; it’s too big. I’ll never get it done!” “Why not?” With a teenage eye roll, the boy tried to explain; there were too many references, too many quotes, and too…..
It was an old barn, nondescript, unassuming. Once hundreds of such barns dotted the countryside. Under their towering roofs lay the key to the country’s economy. What was that key? Was it coal, gas, perhaps oil? No, long before cars, trucks, or tractors, America’s three- mile an hour economy was horse-powered, and horses required hay. Hay was the key and barns the mainstays of farm life. The boy standing outside the barn knew none of this. In fact, by the…..
Stealing down the stairs, the young boy listened to the rustle of morning dishes. At the bottom, he paused and carefully peered into the living room. In one corner, a floor lamp illuminated an old man deeply absorbed in his morning paper. The boy quietly approached and tugged the man’s freshly starched sleeve. Startled, the man peered over his glasses at the intrusion, the young whippersnapper that dared to disturb his reading. The man had a reputation as strait-laced, yet…..
The old man sat on a park bench. Slowly he ate his hot dog, oblivious to the whirl of festivities, music blaring, children playing, and parents struggling to keep track of their offspring. “Yep another July 4th,” he laughed, sipping his drink. A boy quietly approached his seat. “Grandpa!” he yelled. The old man grinned, “Why hello, how are you?” Scooting to one side, he made room on his bench. “Fine, what ya doing?” the boy asked. “Oh, I’m just…..