OLD SETTLERS

One hundred twelve years ago, 1904; the Panama Canal was under construction, Teddy Roosevelt was President and the Wright Brothers kept their new and improved, Wright Flyer II aloft for over 5 minutes. It was the same year the good people in Sheldon, Missouri held a community picnic to recognize its ‘Old Settlers.’ They recently celebrated the 112th Annual Picnic. My dad grew up there, a hundred miles south of where we lived in Kansas City. The last year I went to the picnic was 1951; I had just turned 12, beginning to notice girls but without a clue as to how that would pan out. The carnival midway, crafts and agriculture exhibits, baseball games and dance band were precursors for the modern, County Fair. 

Sixty five years later, yesterday, I drove down for the celebration. It lasts four days now. Thursday and Friday nights are for kids, carnival, live music and exhibits. The weekend is full blown with pretty baby contest, sack races, tractor pulls, antique car shows, live music and a marathon, 16 team softball tournament. Sheldon’s prodigal children from every generation, scattered across the map come back for the weekend and touch old bases. To some extent, I was one of them. 

I found Charles Cole behind the exhibits building, supervising the horse shoes competition. He is generally recognized as the town historian. We are the same age and to my surprise, I learn that Samuel L. Cole wasn’t the only Cole in Sheldon before the turn of the century. If you count surrogate-foster parents as kin, then we were cousins, 5 generations removed. He was surprised I knew as much Cole history as I did and we swapped stories. He had not known about my Sam Cole or his children, my proxy grand parents. He wants any photographs and records of them and their stories. We had a great conversation and exchanged contact information. He sent me across town to talk to Darlene Sheridan, a 93 year-old, old settler. I knocked; she let me in and we talked for over an hour. She had gone away and returned to Sheldon several times. She published the town news paper until the 1970’s when she and her husband sold it to the paper in Lamar, The Democrat. She stayed in the business as a contributing correspondent until the present with a weekly column. Behind the house was a weedy barn yard with several barns. I asked if I could take photographs and she gave it her blessing.

There were two horses sheltering in the shade of the oldest barn. I made my way through dust covered, cobwebbed stalls. The back door was open and the sunlight pouring in against the deep shadows of the barn was surreal. As I turned toward the horses there was a burst of noise from above my shoulder. I had disturbed a barn owl, perched in the ladder that led to the hay loft. I’ve seen lots of owls, hooted my way into in owl conversations; but this was really close. It dropped almost to the ground before two or three deep wing beats pulled it back up, just clearing the door frame as it disappeared and I was left holding my breath. Later in the afternoon, checking out polished chrome and leather of restored, classic cars on Main Street I thought about the barn, the horses and the owl. I love the barn smell, straw and dry manure, old wood and live animals. I loved the 1940 Ford DeLuxe and the ’21 Model T but they’re easy to find and they stay put. The owl made my day. 

The parade was late getting started but aren’t they all? Kids not riding on a float lined the route, collecting thrown candy and trinkets. They all participated in one contest or another and had their little plaques and trophies to mark the day. Something to be said for small towns, that life style, that identity. But one man’s treasure can be another man’s curse. For some, a big splash in small water is its own reward. Others need bigger water to flourish. Some leave and never come back. It’s a big world and life is short. I can speak to that.