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Down this dusty road is found the path of a million dusty footprints The natives to the land gathering for the long and desperate winters The deer running through the forest as the hunters track and trail with the arrows of their Fathers Creeping past the creek near white men’s homesteads Uncertain what a meeting meant between them footsteps treading lightly past the trails of smoke from occupied cabins Families who know nothing of the wilderness and who themselves would brave the winters to make this their home in the west—rich farmland to be sewn Edwards came home after many years Chasing the Indians himself—but not with distain or harm toward them With interest for their way of life--for their ceremony He photographed them—a feat that was rare if ever done His pictures came to Crossman Gallery with Rick’s and so many other’s help Jeanine watched as he explained to group after group the meaning of this exhibit to this community—she actively joined with him in his dream and went onto support those that proudly battle with Cancer—as did Cheryl and others too numerous to mention—the churches, the women—strong women of Whitewater uplifting others in their despair—yes we are proud men and women who work to build bridges and live in peace. The Victorian on Main stands proud and silent as the tour passes How much history has passed through town—past her door How many strangers have come by on their horses the hitching post bares the history of many horsemen Lincoln—yes the president had been in the area—a fine honest man if ever there were Near Cold Spring—rumored that he slept on the hill Artist and teachers—a teacher’s school People from all walks of life The underground railroad rumored under Hamilton House held many an interested student in years now gone--to spook each other as they searched the for “tunnels” Milton has the Octagon house and Janesville the Tallman Children anxiously awaiting the stories of history to meet with the 6th grade field trip At Tallman to climb the tower where the lantern hung The stain glass window panes a part of the signal given for safe passage Few questioned that this indeed was part of the history of this small Midwestern town Few passed through without some speculation about the pictures painted in the stories told This hometown where the circus train annually treks Where one street once cobblestone and rough has the tough look of taverns in the west Wagon wheel railings and once and awhile a patron too rowdy found outside the establishment to cool their heels a bit But mostly it is a town where everyone knows a little about someone A stranger is known not only by the difference in their license plate but the difference in their talk, their stride, their distance from townies That’s usually how it is in smaller towns But Main Street so quaint won an honor To keep it’s look—to draw more business and to be a state project for awhile So many people involved in making it so Fancy fish sold at market—for the art Chairs converted to cows, musical fantasy, sunburst, optical tools And sold to keep the art alive with the alliance standing firm The big chair that seated so many of the notables A symbol of the community and its’ appreciation In this town the food pantry is never bare—food and blood drives keep thriving Families are surviving because of the people of this little town farmers and townies alike—students and faculty supporting the cause The pantry, the clothes closet, thrift, Bethesda, the Gathering, Habitat for Humanity—the University, the churches and all their goodness—working with hands together to make it a good place for everyone Names on buildings don’t tell the stories well enough—but they denote a willingness to support—names that most know the stories behind and willingly would share about this little town. The numbers of people it takes to raise our children and grandchildren into citizens of which to be proud. It is the friendliness in the air The fresh green fields that bare the staples The backyard summer barbecues And the forth of July parade Thanksgiving where often a student who wouldn’t otherwise go home comes to dinner It is the dedicated individuals that serve as volunteers to help their neighbors A good police chief—a force willing to serve and deter crime—to keep all safe Firemen who put out the fires—transport the injured—use tools and brawn to save lives Volunteers who help others cross a street or help a child or Senior read a book Give a ride to church or deliver a meal to someone who needs a friendly face Or the parents that stand in the bus line with all the children to deter bullying It is the Parents that raise neighborhood children along with their own-- teaching them To know right from wrong To be kind and giving To do what is right and frown on what is wrong To stand together and embrace community issues with heart as well as mind The blustery Autumn wind breaks at the top of Hillside Cemetery So many at rest The families of the first And all those that followed them to this place Grandpa mowed the lawns here Knowing someday he and Grandma would make their last debut In the freshly uplifted earth—planted like the tree above them Among so many good people Family, friends and neighbors Of our little town


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