By Joann M. Ringelstetter
On April 28, 1868, according to an entry in the journal of James O. Crosby, a cable car containing 3-5 tons of quarried limestone creaked and bounced along a set of wooden rails as it was lowered from the top of the bluff to the banks of the Turkey River. As it moved slowly down the side of the bluff, an empty cable car was pulled back up to the top.
Crosby was an attorney and surveyor who platted the once-thriving town of Motor in the northeast corner of Iowa, along with starting a school and attempting to establish a post office. He was also a quarter owner of a six-story limestone grist/flour mill, known as Motor Mill, and a construction engineer during the building of the mill.
The mill was built beside the Turkey River with the limestone that was quarried on top of the bluff. German stonemasons were hired from surrounding towns to dress the stones, cutting them into suitable sizes and surfaces. Then the stones were layered to create foundation walls that were five feet thick. Locally harvested oak trees were used to create enormous support beams. When the walls were complete, they towered 90 feet above the banks of the river.
Operations began at the mill in the fall of 1869. They ground barley, oats, and rye for livestock feed, corn for cornmeal, and wheat for flour. Motor Mill was soon very successful, so other buildings were built to support this thriving business. A limestone cooperage was built near the mill where wooden barrels were made to store and ship flour and corn meal.
A limestone inn was built, just down the road from the mill. It was used by travelers and workers. It also served farmers who came to have their grain ground at the mill.
Next to the inn, a stone livery stable was built to care for the horses of the people staying at the inn.
On the other side of the inn, a limestone ice house was built to store ice blocks that were harvested each winter from the Turkey River. The ice blocks were used in the warmer months to refrigerate food.
In 1899, a Pratt Through Truss steel bridge was built across the Turkey River between the mill and the cooperage. It replaced the original high-sided wooden bridge that was built in 1868.
Despite the booming start to this historic mill and the town of Motor, the mill closed after only 14 years of operation. The closure was caused by several catastrophic events. Cinch bugs and droughts destroyed local wheat crops. Farmers began switching from wheat to corn, cattle, and hogs. The construction of a narrow-gauge railroad, which would have eased the transportation of raw materials and products, was never completed due to flooding, which also damaged the dam. And, worst of all, there was friction and disagreement among the mill owners.
In 1903, the Motor Mill property and buildings were purchased by the Louis Klink family, who converted it to a farm. They removed the milling equipment and some of the flooring to make room for the storage of hay. The other buildings were also used to store hay and grain. And for a while, draft horses were stabled on the first floor of the mill.
Eventually, the livery stable was modified to serve as a dairy barn. For 80 years, the Klink family farmed the Motor Mill site. In 1977, recognizing the historical significance of the site, they nominated it for the National Register of Historic Places. In 1983, the Klink family sold the buildings and 100 acres to Clayton County. In 1992, the county acquired another 55 acres.
In 2004, the Motor Mill Foundation was created, with a mission “to protect and preserve the architectural integrity, history, natural beauty and serenity of the Motor Mill site and its surroundings.” Motor Mill Historic Site is open year-round. However, the buildings are open only for tours and special events.
In the fall of 2019, Motor Mill Historic Site celebrated its 150th anniversary. If you ever get the chance to visit, you won’t be disappointed!
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
Shunpiking To Heaven Backroads Blog
Showing posts with label Mills. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mills. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
Sunday, February 4, 2018
Farmers Milling & Elevator
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes. Just click on the desired photo and look for the blue “BUY” button.
Joann and I didn’t start our true shunpiking journey until about 20 years after we left the farm. And even then, we didn’t think to start our explorations around the East Bristol and Lake Mills areas where we grew up.
We started with mills and barns around Wisconsin from books by Wisconsin author Jerry Apps, and the list of mills was small, and some of those already gone. Even after joining the Society for the Preservation of Old Mills (SPOOM), we knew there had to be more mills in Wisconsin than they included on their inventory.
One day I stumbled on a picture of an old mill along the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul Railroad tracks in Jefferson County, with the faded Farmers Milling & Elevator Co., mill name on the side. I sent the picture to Joann, as I often do, to get her excited to go and hunt it up. And still, it took years for us to get there.
Finally, one day in late July of 2013, when the forecast was for a “not too hot and humid” day, we took our list of Jefferson County locations and headed out. Even with stopping for other photo opportunities along the way, we were in front of the mill before 7:00 A.M.
This was a rye mill built in 1913 for $14,000. By the end of 1914, it was producing 100 barrels of rye daily, along with buckwheat, whole wheat, and graham flour, along with corn meal. In the early 1900’s rye was a common crop in southern Wisconsin. It is still grown in small amounts in Wisconsin and is being more widely used as an overwinter cover crop. Unfortunately, I don’t think we would recognize it, because we didn’t grow rye on our farm and we’ve never really researched this crop.
At some point, this mill became a feed mill and elevator, where farmers had their grain stored, ground, and mixed with other nutrients. On the side of the mill facing the railroad tracks is a large Purina Chows sign. The Purina Chows product line (pet food) has been in existence since the very late 1800’s.
Whenever we visit old mills, we’re reminded of the times we went along to the feed mill with our father. There were sacks of grain everywhere, and everything was covered in a layer of grain dust. After we moved from East Bristol to Lake Mills, the mill services came to us. A big mill truck picked up the crops and brought back the ground grain which was loaded into the granary above the front of the barn.
At the end of January of 2017, we made another trip to Jefferson County, this time to check out a few places we remembered from our time spent living in the area.
Near the end of the day, we had one more place to check out before we lost daylight when we suddenly remembered this old mill. Geez! We almost left town without checking on it. We had already crossed the railroad tracks where it sat off to the left, with Joann looking at the road ahead and me looking down at the map.
We made another of our many turn-arounds and drove back a couple of blocks, and sure enough, right at the railroad tracks we had just crossed, sat the mill.
We were on the other side of the mill from our prior visit and in winter with a little snow on the ground and different lighting conditions, the colors of the mill looked a little different. Even a small amount of snow on the roof made the mill name and Purina Chows lettering stand out a little more.
Knowing how long it took us to finally get here, and how finicky Wisconsin winters have been in recent years, Joann worked the mill over taking every angle. Since it is no longer a functioning mill, we never know when we’ll visit the area and find that nothing but the tracks remain.
When we finished at the mill, we had precious little daylight left to make it to our last stop - a “quilt barn.” Rather than the normal single quilt block, this one has a mural with a clothesline full of quilts.
By the time we finished, it was too late for any additional stops, so all we could do was drive straight home (in the dark), which is a typical end to our photographing days.
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes. Just click on the desired photo and look for the blue “BUY” button.
Joann and I didn’t start our true shunpiking journey until about 20 years after we left the farm. And even then, we didn’t think to start our explorations around the East Bristol and Lake Mills areas where we grew up.
We started with mills and barns around Wisconsin from books by Wisconsin author Jerry Apps, and the list of mills was small, and some of those already gone. Even after joining the Society for the Preservation of Old Mills (SPOOM), we knew there had to be more mills in Wisconsin than they included on their inventory.
One day I stumbled on a picture of an old mill along the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul Railroad tracks in Jefferson County, with the faded Farmers Milling & Elevator Co., mill name on the side. I sent the picture to Joann, as I often do, to get her excited to go and hunt it up. And still, it took years for us to get there.
Finally, one day in late July of 2013, when the forecast was for a “not too hot and humid” day, we took our list of Jefferson County locations and headed out. Even with stopping for other photo opportunities along the way, we were in front of the mill before 7:00 A.M.
This was a rye mill built in 1913 for $14,000. By the end of 1914, it was producing 100 barrels of rye daily, along with buckwheat, whole wheat, and graham flour, along with corn meal. In the early 1900’s rye was a common crop in southern Wisconsin. It is still grown in small amounts in Wisconsin and is being more widely used as an overwinter cover crop. Unfortunately, I don’t think we would recognize it, because we didn’t grow rye on our farm and we’ve never really researched this crop.
At some point, this mill became a feed mill and elevator, where farmers had their grain stored, ground, and mixed with other nutrients. On the side of the mill facing the railroad tracks is a large Purina Chows sign. The Purina Chows product line (pet food) has been in existence since the very late 1800’s.
Whenever we visit old mills, we’re reminded of the times we went along to the feed mill with our father. There were sacks of grain everywhere, and everything was covered in a layer of grain dust. After we moved from East Bristol to Lake Mills, the mill services came to us. A big mill truck picked up the crops and brought back the ground grain which was loaded into the granary above the front of the barn.
At the end of January of 2017, we made another trip to Jefferson County, this time to check out a few places we remembered from our time spent living in the area.
Near the end of the day, we had one more place to check out before we lost daylight when we suddenly remembered this old mill. Geez! We almost left town without checking on it. We had already crossed the railroad tracks where it sat off to the left, with Joann looking at the road ahead and me looking down at the map.
We made another of our many turn-arounds and drove back a couple of blocks, and sure enough, right at the railroad tracks we had just crossed, sat the mill.
We were on the other side of the mill from our prior visit and in winter with a little snow on the ground and different lighting conditions, the colors of the mill looked a little different. Even a small amount of snow on the roof made the mill name and Purina Chows lettering stand out a little more.
Knowing how long it took us to finally get here, and how finicky Wisconsin winters have been in recent years, Joann worked the mill over taking every angle. Since it is no longer a functioning mill, we never know when we’ll visit the area and find that nothing but the tracks remain.
When we finished at the mill, we had precious little daylight left to make it to our last stop - a “quilt barn.” Rather than the normal single quilt block, this one has a mural with a clothesline full of quilts.
By the time we finished, it was too late for any additional stops, so all we could do was drive straight home (in the dark), which is a typical end to our photographing days.
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Monday, October 23, 2017
Evening Encounter
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes. Just click on the desired photo and look for the blue “BUY” button.
Two years ago, on September 22 at 6:30 a.m., Ruth and I started our day photographing in a cemetery in Richland County, Wisconsin. We photographed our way to the apple orchards in Crawford County, spending several hours in the area. As the afternoon waned, we wandered back through Richland County. Around 6:30 p.m., we found ourselves near one of our favorite rock formations called Steamboat Rock.
We’ve visited Steamboat Rock many times over the years and it never disappoints. For years, there’s been an old abandoned spring house at the base of the rock. It always amazes and delights me to find that it’s still there. However, on a visit there a week ago, it was obvious that it may not be there much longer.
And on another autumn visit over 10 years ago, we discovered upon a close study of the beautiful patterns in the rock, that there was a hornet’s nest camouflaged among the patterns.
We never visit without taking a few photos, so on this autumn day, we drove down the county road that goes past Steamboat Rock and turned off on Steamboat Hollow Road, which was a safer place to park the car for a few minutes. It was a beautiful, warm autumn evening and a peaceful country quiet surrounded us.
As I stood in the road with my camera on the tripod and pointed toward the rock, an old convertible slowly approached. There was an older gentleman driving the car and a young girl on the passenger side, and both of them were thoroughly enjoying the ride. We waved at each other….a sort of acknowledging wave that said, “What a gift it is to drive through the countryside and enjoy the scenery!”
After I finished taking a few photographs, there was still a little daylight left, so we decided to go check on the remains of the old Bowen’s Mill, which is a short distance from Steamboat Rock. Our first visit to this mill was in 1998. Ten years later, on an autumn 2008 visit, it still looked the same.
Bowen’s Mill was built as a flour mill in 1867 on the Pine River. People from the surrounding counties brought their wheat to Bowen’s Mill for grinding into flour. Four generations of the Bowen family owned and operated this mill, which became a feed mill in later years.
And now, it was another seven years later and, other than the landscape being overtaken by trees and shrubs, it still looked the same. We keep expecting to find a pile of rubble whenever we make a return visit, but the old mill continues to stand the test of time.
As I stood there with my tripod and camera, admiring the strength and determination of this old building that was close to 150 years old, I noticed the convertible that I had seen by Steamboat Rock coming toward me. The driver stopped the car in the middle of this quiet country road and said, “Are you the same person who was over by Steamboat Rock a few minutes ago?" “That I am!” I responded. “You’re everywhere!” he exclaimed. “As are you,” I replied.
We both laughed, and then he told me that he was sharing his joy of the open road (and his open car) with his granddaughter. I bid them farewell, and Ruth and I headed for home.
In case you’re wondering if Bowen’s Mill actually made it to 150 years, it did! Ruth and I checked on it a week ago, and it’s still going strong.
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes. Just click on the desired photo and look for the blue “BUY” button.
Two years ago, on September 22 at 6:30 a.m., Ruth and I started our day photographing in a cemetery in Richland County, Wisconsin. We photographed our way to the apple orchards in Crawford County, spending several hours in the area. As the afternoon waned, we wandered back through Richland County. Around 6:30 p.m., we found ourselves near one of our favorite rock formations called Steamboat Rock.
We’ve visited Steamboat Rock many times over the years and it never disappoints. For years, there’s been an old abandoned spring house at the base of the rock. It always amazes and delights me to find that it’s still there. However, on a visit there a week ago, it was obvious that it may not be there much longer.
And on another autumn visit over 10 years ago, we discovered upon a close study of the beautiful patterns in the rock, that there was a hornet’s nest camouflaged among the patterns.
We never visit without taking a few photos, so on this autumn day, we drove down the county road that goes past Steamboat Rock and turned off on Steamboat Hollow Road, which was a safer place to park the car for a few minutes. It was a beautiful, warm autumn evening and a peaceful country quiet surrounded us.
As I stood in the road with my camera on the tripod and pointed toward the rock, an old convertible slowly approached. There was an older gentleman driving the car and a young girl on the passenger side, and both of them were thoroughly enjoying the ride. We waved at each other….a sort of acknowledging wave that said, “What a gift it is to drive through the countryside and enjoy the scenery!”
After I finished taking a few photographs, there was still a little daylight left, so we decided to go check on the remains of the old Bowen’s Mill, which is a short distance from Steamboat Rock. Our first visit to this mill was in 1998. Ten years later, on an autumn 2008 visit, it still looked the same.
Bowen’s Mill was built as a flour mill in 1867 on the Pine River. People from the surrounding counties brought their wheat to Bowen’s Mill for grinding into flour. Four generations of the Bowen family owned and operated this mill, which became a feed mill in later years.
And now, it was another seven years later and, other than the landscape being overtaken by trees and shrubs, it still looked the same. We keep expecting to find a pile of rubble whenever we make a return visit, but the old mill continues to stand the test of time.
As I stood there with my tripod and camera, admiring the strength and determination of this old building that was close to 150 years old, I noticed the convertible that I had seen by Steamboat Rock coming toward me. The driver stopped the car in the middle of this quiet country road and said, “Are you the same person who was over by Steamboat Rock a few minutes ago?" “That I am!” I responded. “You’re everywhere!” he exclaimed. “As are you,” I replied.
We both laughed, and then he told me that he was sharing his joy of the open road (and his open car) with his granddaughter. I bid them farewell, and Ruth and I headed for home.
In case you’re wondering if Bowen’s Mill actually made it to 150 years, it did! Ruth and I checked on it a week ago, and it’s still going strong.
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Sunday, May 5, 2013
The First Case of the Missing Purple Bag
Starring: Good Car (gone but not forgotten), Joann, and Ruth
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
Our first picnic bag was a white nylon tote. It served its purpose, but it wasn’t always the most convenient. The top was open, and the sides weren’t sturdy. It never stood up and often things spilled out.
Then Joann discovered she had an unused sports bag that would work perfectly. It was purple…and pink! But it had different compartments and a zipper to keep it closed. It also had sturdy sides so it would stand up in the back of the car when it was loaded down with all of our picnic and other travel supplies.
We had been using the purple bag for years when we started to pack for our trip to North Carolina in 2010. By this time, it was starting to fray around the zipper and the seams. Joann had done extensive searching online and around town to find another bag of almost the exact size, but she came up empty-handed. Because they were so hard to find, we decided to use the purple bag until something happened to it so we couldn’t use it anymore.
We were in North Carolina the first time the purple picnic bag went missing. This was in the days of Good Car, and sadly, we have to admit, Good Car was not at fault. Usually we have a morning routine of getting the car packed to hit the road. We both work on taking items out to the car. When I think everything but the last little bit is in the car, I climb in and get Irwin, our trusty GPS, fired up and our starting location keyed in. Meanwhile, Joann does a once-over of the room, locks the motel room door, closes the back of the car, and off we go.
On the morning of day nine of our 14-day trip, something went awry, yet we didn't notice for hours. We had gotten up early, packed the car, and headed off in the darkness. Our first stop was an old general store. It was vine-covered with a faded sign and old rusty Coca Cola signs.
Several hours later, we stopped at an old mill. A couple of dogs came running down from the house up on the hill. They were bringing me sticks to throw while Joann headed off to photograph. She asked me to get breakfast ready because it was a peaceful place to enjoy our morning meal. After playing with the dogs for a while, I washed my hands, opened the back of Good Car, and got our fruit and yogurt parfaits ready to eat.
When Joann returned from photographing the dam behind the mill, we enjoyed our breakfast as we listened to the sound of the water rushing over the dam. When we were done with breakfast, we put our bowls in the dirty dishes bag, closed the back of the car, climbed in, and headed on.
Several more hours passed as we worked our way north. At lunchtime, we located a park where we could eat our lunch, found a picnic table, and parked the car. Then we opened the back and started to get out the things we would need for lunch.
After getting what we needed from the cooler, Joann looked around for the picnic bag. It was NOT in the back of the car! Did we leave it sitting on the ground when we ate breakfast? No, we used bowls that were not in the picnic bag, so we hadn’t even noticed it was missing. Joann couldn’t believe she had somehow overlooked a bright purple and pink bag when we packed the car early that morning.
We managed to eat our lunch with what we could find in the car and while we ate, we debated what to do. It was quite a ways back to the motel, and Joann suggested that we leave the picnic bag there and stop and buy what we needed. I was torn.
There was an old general store in the area of the motel that we had wanted to photograph. It was down a long driveway with a gate, and the gate was closed when we had passed by earlier. We still had several days of our trip left, so we would have to take the time to go shopping to replace everything in the bag.
Should we go shopping to replace everything, or should we call the motel and go back for the bag if they have it? After much discussion, we called the motel and found out that they had the purple bag. We decided to return to pick it up, which would allow us to stop at the general store for some photos.
That purple (and pink!) bag had been all around Wisconsin and had traveled with us to many other states. It was a vital piece of our travel gear and it felt so good to get it back. The first case of the missing purple bag was unsettling, but easily solved. We tried to be much more careful from then on.
Stay tuned for the second disappearing act and, once the weather is warm enough, have a picnic, but keep your eyes on your “purple bag”!
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
Our first picnic bag was a white nylon tote. It served its purpose, but it wasn’t always the most convenient. The top was open, and the sides weren’t sturdy. It never stood up and often things spilled out.
Then Joann discovered she had an unused sports bag that would work perfectly. It was purple…and pink! But it had different compartments and a zipper to keep it closed. It also had sturdy sides so it would stand up in the back of the car when it was loaded down with all of our picnic and other travel supplies.
We had been using the purple bag for years when we started to pack for our trip to North Carolina in 2010. By this time, it was starting to fray around the zipper and the seams. Joann had done extensive searching online and around town to find another bag of almost the exact size, but she came up empty-handed. Because they were so hard to find, we decided to use the purple bag until something happened to it so we couldn’t use it anymore.
We were in North Carolina the first time the purple picnic bag went missing. This was in the days of Good Car, and sadly, we have to admit, Good Car was not at fault. Usually we have a morning routine of getting the car packed to hit the road. We both work on taking items out to the car. When I think everything but the last little bit is in the car, I climb in and get Irwin, our trusty GPS, fired up and our starting location keyed in. Meanwhile, Joann does a once-over of the room, locks the motel room door, closes the back of the car, and off we go.
On the morning of day nine of our 14-day trip, something went awry, yet we didn't notice for hours. We had gotten up early, packed the car, and headed off in the darkness. Our first stop was an old general store. It was vine-covered with a faded sign and old rusty Coca Cola signs.
Several hours later, we stopped at an old mill. A couple of dogs came running down from the house up on the hill. They were bringing me sticks to throw while Joann headed off to photograph. She asked me to get breakfast ready because it was a peaceful place to enjoy our morning meal. After playing with the dogs for a while, I washed my hands, opened the back of Good Car, and got our fruit and yogurt parfaits ready to eat.
When Joann returned from photographing the dam behind the mill, we enjoyed our breakfast as we listened to the sound of the water rushing over the dam. When we were done with breakfast, we put our bowls in the dirty dishes bag, closed the back of the car, climbed in, and headed on.
Several more hours passed as we worked our way north. At lunchtime, we located a park where we could eat our lunch, found a picnic table, and parked the car. Then we opened the back and started to get out the things we would need for lunch.
After getting what we needed from the cooler, Joann looked around for the picnic bag. It was NOT in the back of the car! Did we leave it sitting on the ground when we ate breakfast? No, we used bowls that were not in the picnic bag, so we hadn’t even noticed it was missing. Joann couldn’t believe she had somehow overlooked a bright purple and pink bag when we packed the car early that morning.
We managed to eat our lunch with what we could find in the car and while we ate, we debated what to do. It was quite a ways back to the motel, and Joann suggested that we leave the picnic bag there and stop and buy what we needed. I was torn.
There was an old general store in the area of the motel that we had wanted to photograph. It was down a long driveway with a gate, and the gate was closed when we had passed by earlier. We still had several days of our trip left, so we would have to take the time to go shopping to replace everything in the bag.
Should we go shopping to replace everything, or should we call the motel and go back for the bag if they have it? After much discussion, we called the motel and found out that they had the purple bag. We decided to return to pick it up, which would allow us to stop at the general store for some photos.
That purple (and pink!) bag had been all around Wisconsin and had traveled with us to many other states. It was a vital piece of our travel gear and it felt so good to get it back. The first case of the missing purple bag was unsettling, but easily solved. We tried to be much more careful from then on.
Stay tuned for the second disappearing act and, once the weather is warm enough, have a picnic, but keep your eyes on your “purple bag”!
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
A Mile Past Crooked Tree
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
On our first trip to Ohio in 2009, Joann and I crisscrossed the southern part of the state hunting up Mail Pouch Tobacco barns and detouring now and then for other interesting things, including old general stores, covered bridges, and abandoned houses and farms.
One of the other things on my list that I wanted to visit was the H. C. Ogle Planing Mill near the town of Crooked Tree. A planing mill is a mill that takes cut and seasoned boards from a sawmill and finishes them for construction.
My directions for the mill said that it was less than a mile southwest of the town of Crooked Tree. We turned onto Crooked Tree Road from a highway east of Crooked Tree and expected to drive through the town of Crooked Tree before finding the mill. However, we came across the mill before reaching Crooked Tree.
The mill was a series of weathered buildings stretched out along the road. Most of the buildings had no windows, but the main building had multiple windows on both floors. The trim was painted white, which stood out in contrast to the weathered wood.
The mill was owned and operated by Harley C. Ogle who was a native of Crooked Tree. He was born January 21, 1891 and died November 23, 1982. He constructed his mill in the early 1900’s. The mill was powered by steam. Above the entrance door of the main building are wooden letters spelling "H. C. Ogle.”
Recently, I read that the mill was completely gone. We hope to visit the location of the mill on our next visit to Ohio and see for ourselves if the mill is truly gone. If it is, we will be saddened by its passing, but will be thankful that we found it in time to photograph it on our first visit.
Sometimes, due to inaccurate location information, rural architecture is reported to be gone. In this case, we have our fingers crossed that, because the directions were wrong, the person reporting its demise looked for it in the wrong place.
We’ll keep our hopes up until we know for sure.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
On our first trip to Ohio in 2009, Joann and I crisscrossed the southern part of the state hunting up Mail Pouch Tobacco barns and detouring now and then for other interesting things, including old general stores, covered bridges, and abandoned houses and farms.
One of the other things on my list that I wanted to visit was the H. C. Ogle Planing Mill near the town of Crooked Tree. A planing mill is a mill that takes cut and seasoned boards from a sawmill and finishes them for construction.
My directions for the mill said that it was less than a mile southwest of the town of Crooked Tree. We turned onto Crooked Tree Road from a highway east of Crooked Tree and expected to drive through the town of Crooked Tree before finding the mill. However, we came across the mill before reaching Crooked Tree.
The mill was a series of weathered buildings stretched out along the road. Most of the buildings had no windows, but the main building had multiple windows on both floors. The trim was painted white, which stood out in contrast to the weathered wood.
The mill was owned and operated by Harley C. Ogle who was a native of Crooked Tree. He was born January 21, 1891 and died November 23, 1982. He constructed his mill in the early 1900’s. The mill was powered by steam. Above the entrance door of the main building are wooden letters spelling "H. C. Ogle.”
Recently, I read that the mill was completely gone. We hope to visit the location of the mill on our next visit to Ohio and see for ourselves if the mill is truly gone. If it is, we will be saddened by its passing, but will be thankful that we found it in time to photograph it on our first visit.
Sometimes, due to inaccurate location information, rural architecture is reported to be gone. In this case, we have our fingers crossed that, because the directions were wrong, the person reporting its demise looked for it in the wrong place.
We’ll keep our hopes up until we know for sure.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
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Wednesday, March 20, 2013
It's a Small World
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
Autumn of 2011 was a disappointment to us because there seemed to be eternal sunshine, which makes for difficult photography due to harsh shadows and washed out colors. So Ruth watched nearby weather reports and it looked like we might find some overcast conditions in Minnesota. We then quickly planned a three-day trip to the Southwest corner of our neighboring state.
Unfortunately, it was very sunny there, too, but we made the best of it and we always took advantage of first light, which is soft and even. On the third day, we arose early and, after photographing a few lighted subjects in the town of Spring Grove, we headed for our beloved backroads. As we drove slowly along a gravel road that was high on a ridge, I told Ruth that we probably should have been there a week earlier. It was still a beautiful view, but many of the leaves had already fallen or been blown off by the wind and the colors were rather muted. Sitting along the side of the road, however, was an old green Oliver tractor that beckoned to be photographed.
I parked the car on the side of the road and started to take my camera equipment out of the back seat. And then I heard a loud voice coming from a man who was descending from the house up the hill from the tractor.
“You’re a week late!” he said with a grin.
“Yeah, we were just saying that a minute ago,” I responded.
“It was beautiful here about a week ago, before the wind and the rain came through,” he said.
As we talked, I noticed a set of steps that would allow someone to climb over the fence into the field, which would eventually lead to the valley below. There was also a sign that said, “HARTland (Hunting, Access, Recreation, and Trespassing). At the bottom, it said, “Tom and Betty Sawle.” So I asked him what the sign meant. He explained that he was more than happy to let people hunt or hike his beautiful land, as long as they asked permission first. What he didn’t appreciate was trespassing.
Then Tom asked me where we were from. I told him we were both from the Madison, Wisconsin area.
“I’m from there, too,” he said. “Well, actually, I’m from Hyde. Do you know where that is?”
“You’re from Hyde?” I asked, as it suddenly dawned on me that his last name was Sawle. “We go to Hyde all the time to photograph Hyde’s Mill. Are you related to Ted Sawle?”
“Yup, he’s my dad,” Tom replied proudly.
“Wow, it’s a small world,” I said. “I met your dad back in 1996. He was very kind to me and my family and he took the time to tell us about the mill and to show us his antique Oil Pull tractor and all of his antique tools.”
After I finished talking to Tom, I photographed his antique Oliver 70 Rowcrop Tractor and another view or two of his land. Then we headed on down the road.
A couple weeks later, there was a craft fair where I work and I had signed up to show some of my photography. As people mulled around looking at my photographs, a woman named Chris, with whom I had recently begun working, pointed to a photo of the Glade Creek Grist Mill in West Virginia and said, “That’s not MY mill.”
“Your mill?” I questioned.
Chris then told me that Ted Sawle was her grandfather and that she and her cousin had dug stones out of the mill pond to give the waterwheel enough clearance when her grandfather installed it on the mill at Hyde.
I told Chris about meeting her grandfather back in 1996 and then about meeting Tom Sawle recently in Minnesota and she informed me that Tom was her uncle.
Whenever we’re out on the back roads, no matter which state we travel through, we never know whom we might meet. And, often, it truly is a small world.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Autumn of 2011 was a disappointment to us because there seemed to be eternal sunshine, which makes for difficult photography due to harsh shadows and washed out colors. So Ruth watched nearby weather reports and it looked like we might find some overcast conditions in Minnesota. We then quickly planned a three-day trip to the Southwest corner of our neighboring state.
Unfortunately, it was very sunny there, too, but we made the best of it and we always took advantage of first light, which is soft and even. On the third day, we arose early and, after photographing a few lighted subjects in the town of Spring Grove, we headed for our beloved backroads. As we drove slowly along a gravel road that was high on a ridge, I told Ruth that we probably should have been there a week earlier. It was still a beautiful view, but many of the leaves had already fallen or been blown off by the wind and the colors were rather muted. Sitting along the side of the road, however, was an old green Oliver tractor that beckoned to be photographed.
I parked the car on the side of the road and started to take my camera equipment out of the back seat. And then I heard a loud voice coming from a man who was descending from the house up the hill from the tractor.
“You’re a week late!” he said with a grin.
“Yeah, we were just saying that a minute ago,” I responded.
“It was beautiful here about a week ago, before the wind and the rain came through,” he said.
As we talked, I noticed a set of steps that would allow someone to climb over the fence into the field, which would eventually lead to the valley below. There was also a sign that said, “HARTland (Hunting, Access, Recreation, and Trespassing). At the bottom, it said, “Tom and Betty Sawle.” So I asked him what the sign meant. He explained that he was more than happy to let people hunt or hike his beautiful land, as long as they asked permission first. What he didn’t appreciate was trespassing.
Then Tom asked me where we were from. I told him we were both from the Madison, Wisconsin area.
“I’m from there, too,” he said. “Well, actually, I’m from Hyde. Do you know where that is?”
“You’re from Hyde?” I asked, as it suddenly dawned on me that his last name was Sawle. “We go to Hyde all the time to photograph Hyde’s Mill. Are you related to Ted Sawle?”
“Yup, he’s my dad,” Tom replied proudly.
“Wow, it’s a small world,” I said. “I met your dad back in 1996. He was very kind to me and my family and he took the time to tell us about the mill and to show us his antique Oil Pull tractor and all of his antique tools.”
After I finished talking to Tom, I photographed his antique Oliver 70 Rowcrop Tractor and another view or two of his land. Then we headed on down the road.
A couple weeks later, there was a craft fair where I work and I had signed up to show some of my photography. As people mulled around looking at my photographs, a woman named Chris, with whom I had recently begun working, pointed to a photo of the Glade Creek Grist Mill in West Virginia and said, “That’s not MY mill.”
“Your mill?” I questioned.
Chris then told me that Ted Sawle was her grandfather and that she and her cousin had dug stones out of the mill pond to give the waterwheel enough clearance when her grandfather installed it on the mill at Hyde.
I told Chris about meeting her grandfather back in 1996 and then about meeting Tom Sawle recently in Minnesota and she informed me that Tom was her uncle.
Whenever we’re out on the back roads, no matter which state we travel through, we never know whom we might meet. And, often, it truly is a small world.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
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