I wonder if the reason that we “can’t go home again” is that, when we leave, we really take so much of home with us.
A quintessential small town, Williamsburg, Iowa is surrounded by century old houses, corn fields, churches and schools, and friendly folks. Tom’s father grew up there during the Depression, one of five sons. Tom spent many a summer day there visiting his Iowa relatives. They are all now gone; moved or passed away. It had been many years since Tom visited this burg and we thought our trip up north a good opportunity to take this little detour.
Williamsburg still has a town square with a gazebo and bricks evoking an era where the band played music on a summer’s night under the shelter its trees and the stars above. The gas station Tom’s uncles owned is boarded up and waiting for whatever may come next. Grandma Kate’s house is looking a bit sad with a for sale sign in front, but, the original clapboards are still on it. Watching Tom touch them, I could almost feel his youthful spirit riding a bike, walking with his Uncle Irish to the creamery for an ice cream cone, or sipping a cherry coke at the soda fountain with his cousins. I wrote about Irish here.
St. Mary’s church, where family members were baptized and buried, and regularly attended mass, is still standing, though the doors were locked on the day we came by. A nice young mother stopped with her children and talked to us for a spell when she, too, realized the doors were locked. It softened the disappointment and reminded us of the friendliness one can find in a small town.
We peeked inside the windows of the Historical Commission, wondering what there was to see, admiring the old tin ceiling and artifacts. A woman poked her head out of the pharmacy next door and called “would you like to come in?” Oh, the wonder of small towns!
We stepped into the pharmacy and Tom explained that his father grew up in Williamsburg and that he, himself, had spent some wonderful childhood moments in the town. As he recalled a soda fountain where he drank his first cherry soda, the woman said “it’s right behind you” and there it was!
As our eyes scanned the store, we could see the original built-in cabinets and apothecary jars. The swinging door to the pharmacist’s room, with the round hole that children could peek through to see the pharmacist filling prescriptions. The back room, now a museum that was the first library of Williamsburg.
Would you like to see?
As our gracious host showed us around, she talked about knowing Irish. She explained how the doctor’s office and surgery had been upstairs, and was still intact. She talked about about a record book of surgeries and births (and showed us Irish’s, the only son to be born in the hospital), and oh-so-many more items found in a pharmacy one hundred years ago.
The intercoms for the surgery and the pharmacy.
Talcum was put inside this box and essence added. Brushes mixed them together creating dusting powder!
While we were busy taking pictures, our friendly host called the historical commision next door. Before we knew it, we were talking with another women, who is working on the geneology of Williamsburg. She, too, knew Irish and two of Tom’s cousins, some of the ones he played with so many summers ago. She invited us in and graciously pulled obituaries. We were thrilled to have some we have never seen before. Obituaries, years ago, especially in small towns, were so eloquently written. One, in particular, stirred our emotions. It was of Tom’s grandfather, whom he is named after.
T.F., as he was called, was born in 1877. He was a good family man. He was a teacher, a businessman, an elected official. He was the county recorder, on the town council, and a school board member. One article told of the family home, where he was waked, as was the custom of the time and place, where his body was “visited by thousands of friends” and that it was “the first time that the church was inadequate to house the congregation that assembled” for the funeral service.
In the articles I found so much of my own Tom. I think he found a bit of himself as well.
You “can’t go home again”, but, you can find bits and pieces of your self, sometimes lingering on the dusty shelves.
We left, sated with all we drank in. I wonder if it was why the rainbow found us about an hour later.
Gosh, *what* a wonderful post. It reminded me of so many small American towns we’ve stopped at on our trips to the USA. Thanks for bringing back such lovely memories and for sharing your own.
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Thank you, Cath. I’m pleased that this reminded you of trips here. I appreciate your comments.
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Great pictures of everything, and retelling of your trip! So glad you guys got to to this. It’s always nice to pick up more family history.
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It is, isn’t it Jennifer. I’m glad we were finally able to fit it in and, yes, indeed, it is nice to pick up more family history. You and Jason have to take a drive here sometime. You will like it.
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Yes, the wonder of small towns. It one of the things I love about returning to this area. No, you can’t go home again, but you can return with a fresh perspective and a body of experiences that creates a new life in familiar surroundings. That’s my belief, anyway. 🙂
This sounds like a really sweet time with many good memories. It must have been fun to have glimpses into Tom’s childhood.
I do believe in rainbows and their promise, which is really a promise of life’s goodness.
What a good feeling you’ve evoked in this post.
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“a new life in familiar surroundings.” I really like that.
It was a sweet time, Teresa, and fun as well. We were lucky to pack so much meaningfulness in such a short time.
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This was so, so moving. It brought tears to my eyes. Really. I went back and read the piece about Irish, too. Were you the tiniest bit tempted to move into that house? I recently read a book where a woman goes back and ponders what it would be like if she bought the old home. All your pictures are wonderful.
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That is so nice of you to say, Nan, and yes, just a wee bit of a fantasy with the house, then, reality strikes. Thank you.
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Penny, I loved your story of Williamsburg . . . . .returning to the roots of life and the two of you so taken in by it all. It truly brought tears to my eyes and I don’t even know Tom. A beautiful tribute to your husband’s youth. Loved your wonderful pictures that too made me feel it even more!
Mary Anne ox
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That is sweet of you to say, Mary Anne. It was fun and it certainly unfolded as the day went on. Thank you.
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Excuse the capitals, Penny, but what a FABULOUS visit! To find that beautiful little museum, and the soda fountain just where it used to be, and so much more…I was with you every step of the way. The light in your photos is so beautiful, wide and warm. Reading was like taking a little expedition myself – thank you so much 😀
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No excuse needed, Kate. I thank you. Sometimes the things we are looking for are right in front of our eyes, aren’t they?
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Wonderful post Penny – the story together with your photos. How lovely for you both but especially for Tom to revisit his home area and to have people share with you the history of the place, and Tom’s family. Being a genealogist myself this is just the sort of visit that I would love!
No we can’t go home, we can revisit, and we always carry it with us.
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Thank you, Marilyn. It was good for Tom to have this time – and me, too. Your family stories and genealogy are always so inspiring and, you know, though a hemisphere separates us, the family stories have the same thread it seems.
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I’m so glad you got to meet those friendly people and some that even knew family members. This stop must have more than made up to Tom for the stop at Burr Oak although I suspect he enjoyed that as well!
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It was worth the trip, Joyce. I made sure we stopped here first. Hedging my bet as the saying goes. haha! Seriously, it was fun for both of us seeing each other’s joy.
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I really enjoyed your story and photos. How nice to go back to a town
where Tom has strong family memories. This story tugged at my heart.
Thanks for sharing this heart felt story with us
Roz
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Hi, Roz. I’m glad you enjoyed the story. It was such a nice little trip and I enjoyed sharing it.
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This is a wonderful post. I am so happy that you and Tom were able to enjoy his “blast from the past”. I love the way small town folks are so friendly and helpful. I love to visit old haunts, even if they are another person’s and they are telling me about them. I live in a small town with a square and a Gazebo where a band still plays once in a while and we have the old brick court house.
I know how those people are. Most conversations involve a family tree.
This was so lovely and what stories you have to pass on to Kezzie.
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Thank you, Janet. We did have a “blast” and the folks were so very friendly. Your town always sounds so lovely. I didn’t know there was a court house there. Is it still used as such, or has it been, repurposed?
I’m sure you do. We wanted to eat some lunch and there was a woman who walked by, hands full of envelopes. She’d probably just come from the post office a few doors down and was headed back to work. She took the time to find out about us and point to where we could eat, telling us to cut through the square, which we, of course, did. Love it.
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Lovely post! Have to admit that when I saw the title I was expecting an entirely different place. I liked you and Tom’s Williamsburg better than the one I first thought about. We both grew up in a teeny tiny town in Eastern Washington — no family left there any more either. Been a long time since we’ve been there, but I’m sure we’d see the same homes, schools etc that were there when we grew up.
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Thank you, Sallie. Ha! I did that on purpose to see what would happen. Silly girl that I am. We have been to Williamsburg, VA and loved it, but, this was an Iowan one. It’s a little sad when no one is left, isn’t it, but, as you say, much the rest says the same. A “teeny tiny town in Eastern Washington” – and look at all the places you both have been to since. Wow!
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Thank you for a wonderful look into the past. Today we have to grab our personal encounters where we can get them, but back then it was all so personal – no recordings on phones, internet banking, etc.! As for Tom, isn’t it amazing that his grandfather was on the School Board and so was his wife!
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Hi, Janet. You’re welcome. It was fun to do. You are so right. It is always the personal contact that has the greatest impact. Funny, just before I read this comment, Tom and I actually received an email from a sister of one of women who talked to us in Williamsburg looking for information from us.
Tom thought it interesting as well.
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