Today Gary and I had errands to do in Appleton, just a little shopping here and there. On the way home, Gary decided to take French Road one of the longest and loveliest roads in the state. It took us up and down hills where we could look across valleys to the wooded hillsides. The autumn colors were almost past their prime but still vibrant. We passed enormous flocks of Canada geese and found turkeys, too.
(I wish I could show my readers photos, but I have managed to break both of my cameras in the past month so am now shopping for another.)
Finally we came to the old South Osborn Grade School and along the road to North Osborn Grade School, the one room school I attended grades 1-8. That stretch held farm homes I often visited when I was a child. With memories in hand, I looked at each house.
The Kleist house caught fire long ago, burning the top floor. The Kleists saved the ground floor and from then on it was a one story house. It worked because by then the children had grown up and left. Now the house is beautifully painted and surrounded by a porch.
The top floor of old cheese factory is still a family home but the cheese factory ceased production years ago.
The Ganzels raised their children in a farmhouse that had seen better days. Now it has been remodeled, spiffy indeed. The same can be said of the Culbertson house, another surrounded by porches.
When I was a child, the Marcheskes lived at the next farm. By the time I was in high school, they had moved out and the Fischers had moved in with an enormous family. They added on to the house and did some exterior work. Mrs. Fischer was an artist and the house showed it. I don't know who lives there now, but the exterior paint is peeling. However, it looks better than the house I grew up in which seems to have no paint whatsoever. The white house is now gray, not the house I remember. Gary said we should buy it and turn it into a national landmark, the childhood home of Colleen Sutherland. Not likely.
Some houses have disappeared entirely. Some fields have been replaced by new houses, a small subdivision. North Osborn School was closed soon after I graduated. It became the Osborn Town Hall for some decades but now it is a Baptist church.
So many changes, so many memories.
(I wish I could show my readers photos, but I have managed to break both of my cameras in the past month so am now shopping for another.)
Finally we came to the old South Osborn Grade School and along the road to North Osborn Grade School, the one room school I attended grades 1-8. That stretch held farm homes I often visited when I was a child. With memories in hand, I looked at each house.
The Kleist house caught fire long ago, burning the top floor. The Kleists saved the ground floor and from then on it was a one story house. It worked because by then the children had grown up and left. Now the house is beautifully painted and surrounded by a porch.
The top floor of old cheese factory is still a family home but the cheese factory ceased production years ago.
The Ganzels raised their children in a farmhouse that had seen better days. Now it has been remodeled, spiffy indeed. The same can be said of the Culbertson house, another surrounded by porches.
When I was a child, the Marcheskes lived at the next farm. By the time I was in high school, they had moved out and the Fischers had moved in with an enormous family. They added on to the house and did some exterior work. Mrs. Fischer was an artist and the house showed it. I don't know who lives there now, but the exterior paint is peeling. However, it looks better than the house I grew up in which seems to have no paint whatsoever. The white house is now gray, not the house I remember. Gary said we should buy it and turn it into a national landmark, the childhood home of Colleen Sutherland. Not likely.
Some houses have disappeared entirely. Some fields have been replaced by new houses, a small subdivision. North Osborn School was closed soon after I graduated. It became the Osborn Town Hall for some decades but now it is a Baptist church.
So many changes, so many memories.
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