History – Page 2 – Adventures in Driftlessness

The Mysteries of Indian Park – Part I

by Terry Burns, Laurie Graney and Kristal Prohaska

[Note : we have added new information to this article as of January 31, 2022. That new information has been obtained as research performed as part of a Wisconsin Humanities Mini-Grant entitled “Unraveling the Mysteries of Indian Park and Developing a Vision for the Future.” We have also added a more formal separate page, “The History of Indian Park,” which includes references beyond what we refer to in this article.]

In the middle of Platteville, Wisconsin sits a small but comely green space called “Indian Park.” Unless you live nearby or have ancestors buried there, you may never have heard of it. But through this small space runs a plethora of historic mysteries, echoing against some of the most painful times in the city’s past: the removal of native peoples, the 1850s cholera epidemic, city founder (and slave owner) John Rountree’s control of the press, and the division of people in town into pro- and anti-slavery factions.

Some readers may have tripped over the line above, “unless you have ancestors buried there.” After all, this is a city park. City parks can’t be placed on top of old burial grounds, can they?

They aren’t supposed to be. That’s one of the mysteries we’ll run into over the course of this article. But there’s no question people— definitely early settlers and possibly Native Americans–are buried there. “Indian Park” is also a catalogued state cemetery.

Some wonder, for good reason, about the name. What connection does it have to the indigenous people of this area? Is that center area a burial, as some have said, or what’s left of a conical mound?

These are some of the questions about Indian Park we have explored. We’ll attempt to answer each of them before this article series finishes. Our story will also lead us through most of the great but often traumatic events of Platteville’s 19th and early 20th century history: smallpox and cholera epidemics, church schisms, a city founder who was a slave-owner in likely conflict with abolitionists and that conflict spilling over indirectly into this small parcel of land. One of those abolitionists, Josiah Pickard, was the first principal of the Platteville Academy, which after a series of mergers and name changes became what is now the University of Wisconsin–Platteville.

Let’s start with some of the most-often-asked questions, and then we’ll give you a timeline of the park/cemetery’s history.

What’s that in the center?

Many local residents remember being taken out to the park from O.E. Gray Elementary in the 1970s and being told that the sidewalk in the center was an “Indian Mound.” Was that true? Others were told that it contained a native burial.

The story is possible and plausible, but we don’t know if its true. That would require archaeological work that hasn’t been done, and invasive archaeological work is not usually permitted in cemeteries. However, there are many stories (ones we’ll get to later in this series of articles) of native gatherings in “Indian Park” as late as 1917.

What we can tell you is the reason why the story is plausible.

First of all, Southwest Wisconsin has the greatest concentration of Native American mounds in the country. Second of all, the “mound in the center” is in a likely location. It could plausibly be what’s called a conical mound.

Mound in Center — Is that circle in the center an Indian Mound? It originally rose at least two feet higher off of the ground. Some people who lived in Platteville in the late 1960s and early 1970s (including Kristal Prohaska, one of the authors of this article) remember that it was once surrounded with an iron fence. As we’ll see in part two of this series, the elevation of the park has steadily increased so that the “mound” now sits only slightly higher than the surrounding concrete.

But, as the Wisconsin Historical Society might also tell us, such a claim could only be verified by excavation or by burial records which (given that conical mounds were mainly created between 350-1300 A.D., well before the European conquest of the Americas) simply don’t exist in written format. Also, many conical mounds don’t contain burials. The main way that one might determine that a conical mound is there is through ground penetrating radar, and a study has never been done.

But is the “legend” itself likely? We will suggest that it has at least a grain of truth, and maybe more. The center of the park contains a rise that may be a conical mound, and apparently the park itself used to have more than one mound. It also used to be the highest ridge in a hilly, spring-filled area. (Here’s an old article about how Platteville looked in 1827 when white settlers arrived; it looked very different back then!)

The conical, linear, and effigy mounds in southwest Wisconsin were not made by any people who still exist, but by their ancestors. Contemporary Ho-Chunk people are among those who consider themselves descendants of these “mound builders” and are the best source of stories about their history. According to Ho-Chunk Tribal Historic Preservation Officer Bill Quackenbush, some conical mounds are burial mounds but some are not. Are there stories about this particular mound? Not that anyone is aware of, but the reason for that should be clear: the Ho-Chunk people were systematically displaced from all of their of our ancestral lands from the 1800s onward through various land cession treaties and then by forced removals to no less than four different reservation sites west of the Mississippi River. The Ho-Chunk in Wisconsin are here today because they literally bought some of their land back. Expecting a story about ancestors hundreds of years ago connected to the area of “Indian Park” is asking a bit much.

It’s plausible but not provable that the center of the park is a conical mound and plausible but not provable that is a native burial, and these are two separate issues.

But whether or not there were native people or at least one native person buried in the center of the park, its certain many early settlers were. For example, retired UW-Platteville mathematics professor Richard Graney’s great-great-grandfather Thomas Aiken is buried there, along with his son’s fiance Eleanor Donelson and other victims of the 1850 cholera epidemic. Perhaps victims of the earlier smallpox epidemic are also buried there. We will look at “Indian Park” as a cholera (and possibly smallpox) burial ground in our second article.

2. Who were the large group of native people who gathered in Indian Park a century ago for a three-day ceremony? Was this a gathering that happened more than once?

Several Platteville residents recall stories handed down by older relatives that tell of a large native gathering at the park around 1915-1917. The gathering, so the stories go, went on for three days and involved drumming late into the night. Then the native people, whomever they were, left and did not come back.

What tribal background were these people from, or were they from multiple tribes? Could the gathering have been a ceremony to say good-bye to departed loved ones, or would it have been for another reason? Do memories of this event also still exist in Wisconsin native communities (or has any non-native person ever asked native Wisconsin elders that question)? We will explore this in the third article in this series.

Father Mzzuchelli's map — An early 1800s map by Italian missionary Dominican priest Samuel Mazzuchelli, founder of the Sinsinawa Dominican Sisters. Public domain map from Father Mazzuchelli’s memoirs, p. 155, of his accounting of where different tribes in the Driftless Area lived.

3. Who else, other than 1812 veteran Thomas Aiken, is buried in the cemetery?

As mentioned, we know for certain that Thomas Aiken, an early Platteville settler and veteran of the War of 1812, is buried in the cemetery. His great-granddaughter Laura Graney, Richard Graney’s mother and the mother-in-law of Laurie Graney (one of the authors of this piece) had a headstone put there in his honor during the American Bicentennial in July, 1976. In fact, it was by comparing documented family history to other documents of the time period that Laurie Graney was able to piece together part of the history of Indian Park.

Thomas Aiken's headstone — Thomas Aiken’s headstone. His granddaughter Laura Graney had the marker installed in 1976. The second article in this series will include two articles from the Platteville Journal recounting how that came about. Google maps street-view, photo courtesy of Jessica Brogley.

There’s also a second stone in the park, one no one so far has been able to read. When we look at the park as a cholera burial ground, we’ll explain why this stone is probably also a burial marker.

Mystery stone — No one has yet deciphered the words on this “mystery stone.” Photo by Kristal Prohaska.

No doubt exists that Indian Park was once the cemetery for the German Presbyterian church (which, through a series of events to be discussed, became the Congregationalist church). An undated 19th century article (below) notes that at one time at there were “about 30 bodies” buried there. The park was at that time known as “Hill Cemetery or “Hill Graveyard.” It doesn’t look too hilly now, except perhaps for the low mound in the center. But as that article about how Platteville looked in 1827 when white settlers arrived explains, the area looked different then. It was a hilly ridge. Fill dirt and even old bricks have been added to the , and others may have been leveled. (See this timeline. In 1917, the city voted to level the park.) The part of the park nearest to 4th street appears to have been disturbed much less, while the area along North Court Street has definitely had fill dirt added.

Thomas Aiken and his son William Aiken’s fiancée, Eleanor Donelson both died from cholera. Others buried in the cemetery were victims of the 1849-1854 cholera epidemic, which peaked in 1850. Significant uncertainty exists about how many Platteville citizens died during the epidemic and who they were, because the only paper in town, the Independent American, shut down during this time so there are no obituaries. Sexton records of the church have not been located, perhaps because of some other unusual events happening at the time (we’ll get to those in part two). Local records shed little light on the subject, perhaps both because of the fear the disease engendered and the fact that Platteville’s mines needed workers. One might speculate that it would be difficult to recruit men to work in the mines if those men knew others in the area had died of cholera.

“Luckily,” though, 1850 was a U.S. Census year, so there is both a census list of those who lived here and a Federal Mortality Index of who died during part, but not all, of 1850. Thomas Aiken and Eleanor Donelson, both of whom are still buried there, are not listed in the mortality index; many others are listed in the mortality index but we don’t know where they are buried. Some families, like the Sprague and Andrews families, had multiple family members die of cholera in just a few short months.

4. If this is a cemetery, why and how did it become a park? (After researching this, we might add another question: Why is it so hard to trace how this property was bought and sold?)

John Hawkins Rountree, founder of Platteville and slave-owner. Public domain photo from *History of the First Methodist Church 1832-1945.*

Rev. John Lewis came to Platteville to serve as pastor of the Presbyterian Church. He and his wife Electa also taught at the Platteville Academy. In 1848, he helped assisted with a form of government and name change for the Presbyterian Church, which then became the Congregational Church. Photo by Kristal Prohaska of the original in the Congregationalist church office.

Many “curiosities” seem to occur in the buying and selling of this property. Some of them may have concerned fear over cholera, a disease that terrified early settlers.

But its almost certain that some of the irregularities were the product of divisions between the anti-slavery and pro-slavery or “no opinion” churches. The views of city founder John Rountree, who owned slaves, were not those of all people in Platteville. While the city founder illegally owned slaves, there were others who were abolitionists including some who vehemently preached against it and who operated safe houses (at least two of them) on the “Underground Railroad.”

One who likely disagreed was the founder of the Platteville Academy, Reverend John Lewis, who was so beloved by his parishioners that some even called him “Saint John.” One of his friends, Alvin McCord, was the chief Platteville “conductor” on the “Underground Railroad.” Josiah Pickard, the first Academy principle (in the days when Platteville Academy and the Presbyterian Church shared a meeting house) also strongly opposed slavery and resigned as principle of Platteville Academy when the Board of Trustees refused to admit a young black woman because southern students objected. Yet slave-owner Rountree had founded the Academy and it was also Rountree who gave the “Presbyterian burying ground” that would become “Indian Park” to the church. The conflict between slavery/anti-slavery factions seems a submerged theme in this park’s history.

Does it account for some of the strange changes in deeds for this park? Is this also why the Presbyterian church took the highly unusual step of changing its entire governance structure and became a different denomination? The answers to these questions are both dramatic and tragic, but they do open a window to a past almost forgotten.

To attempt to answer these questions, we’ll need to circle back through local history through several different lenses: native history, mining history, the history of Thomas Aiken, and the history of a series of confusing land sales and taxes.

That will bring us forward to the area becoming a city park, at which time (1917) the bodies buried there were supposed to be removed by order of the state legislature. But all of them were not. Why?

Here’ we are fortunate to have the Aiken family history and their written record that they were not allowed to remove the bodies. Thomas Aiken’s descendants even paid for new headstones for where they planned to move Mr. Aiken and Miss Donelson. These headstones still exist, unused, on the Aiken-Graney family farm. According to the Aiken family history, the reason why the bodies were not removed is because Mr. Aiken and Miss Donelson died of cholera. Likely that was true of others as well.

Also, some of those interred at the burying grounds may have had no descendants in the area. Its certain that no notice went out in the paper. If there was no family left to dig up a grave, the grave likely remained untouched.

One may wonder why there was no legal notice given in the local paper until one remembers what was going on in 1917 and 1918, the years when the bodies were supposed to be removed. Most in Platteville and the entire United States had their focus elsewhere: on the Great War and the Spanish flu epidemic that followed it. A quick perusal of Platteville Journal articles for those two years will show you that after March 1917, the front page stories almost entirely concern the war, the draft of local boys to fight in the war, battles, and their return home. One soldier who died, Leo Kane, is the man that the Americal Legion/VFW post in Platteville is named after: the same post that worked with Laura Graney in 1976 to secure a military headstone for her great-grandfather Thomas Aiken in Indian Park.

Ready to circle through this story again in more detail? In Part II, we’ll look at Indian Park as a burying ground for cholera victims, and in Part III return to the mystery of the mound(s).

(By the way, if you’d rather see this as a presentation, the authors did present on this at the Platteville Senior Center on February 27, 2020. That presentation is on Youtube in three parts, beginning here. You can also find links to the final presentation, as well as copies of the slides of you’d rather read it than watch it, on our History of Indian Park page)

Slides for “Indian Park” presentation 9-10-2020 Download

The Mick Hill

Cover of Ridge Stories — Gary Jones is the author of *Ridge Stories, Herding Hens, Powdering Hens, and other Recollections from a Boyhood in the Driftless.* This story, like those in his book, recalls events of his childhood in the Driftless Region.

No rolling plains, fruited or otherwise, characterize the driftless region of Wisconsin. We are a land of hills and valleys. Fruit trees typically are raised on hilltops, the height protecting orchards from blossom-killing spring frosts that tend to settle into the valleys. And from those ridges, the blue skies appear especially spacious, the series of hills and valleys in all directions from a summer highpoint lookout, like ocean waves of green.

And because hills and valleys were such a part of the lives of past residents in northern Richland County, they are all named. If from my birthplace on Pleasant Ridge you walk west on County D, you will descend the Mick Hill. Should you walk east, and in a quarter mile turn right on County DD, you will travel down the Dicks Hill. But if you continue on County D along the ridge a couple of miles, you will come to the Pauls Hill.

Hills tend to take their names from their adjacent property owners, and the topographical identifications remained long after the demise of the namesakes, at least among those who remember. Now, if you were giving directions and mentioned the Mick Hill, the Dicks Hill, or the Pauls Hill, you would in all likelihood receive a blank stare from the lost traveler.

Valleys are more likely to take their names from landscape features, Snow Valley, Wheat Hollow, and Bear Valley, and especially streams of water, such as the Upper and Lower Buck Creek Valley, Little Willow Valley, and Fancy Creek. Direction givers, however, now use the alphabetical or numerical identifications of roads, and the confident automated female voice of GPS has replaced neighbors who point in a direction yonder and ramble on listing landmarks to watch for.

If you take County D down Upper Buck Creek (also known as the north branch) you’ll pass the homestead of Isaac Johnson where my future Granny, Hattie was born, and farther down the valley, the home of her grandfather, Civil War veteran John Clark Davis. But if you take the south branch down County DD, you’ll pass the homestead of Fred Jones, father of Charlie, my future Gramp. Hattie and Charlie married and settled on an 80-acre ridge farm located near the convergence of the tops of the two valleys, a topographical compromise symbolizing the nature of a union that results in a long-lasting marriage.

The two branches of Buck Creek merged near the lower junction of D and DD, becoming a tributary of the Pine River that eventually flowed into the Wisconsin River which emptied into the Mississippi River and finally the Gulf of Mexico, water world without end.

Back on the ridge-top farm where I was born, the only water we saw was pumped out of the ground. Buck Creek was a brook we saw on our way to town, driving down the Mick Hill, a landmark that figured largely into our lives. At the end of summer my mother would send me down that hill where I’d climb the fence into the young cattle pasture through the gate by the driven well pipe that filled a stock tank with water and technically was the beginning of our branch of Buck Creek, springs farther down the valley adding to its size.

Up the pasture hill adjacent to our fields was an heirloom apple orchard that bore fruit destined for my mother’s first pies of the season. I’d trudge back up the Mick Hill with a paper grocery bag of apples, gnawing on one during my ascent, visions of fresh pie apple dancing in my head.

The Mick Hill could be treacherous during winter. Country roads at that time were flanked by steep-cut banks bristling with brush. Subsequently even light snowfalls would drift if the wind were blowing. More than once in the middle of a winter’s night we’d hear a pounding on our front door, and after my father had yanked on his pants to investigate, he’d find some guy who on his way home from a night out in Hub City (a village with a church, a gas station, and a half-dozen taverns) had slid off the road and could my father possibly pull him up the hill?

My good-natured dad would agree, and while the unfortunate motorist melted snow on the rug by the front door, Paw would finish dressing, put on a coat, hat, gloves, and boots, and walk out to the machine shed, fetch a log chain, and with the visitor leaning on a fender, drive his tractor down the hill to the ditched car.

Sometimes the assisted motorist would open his wallet, but more often the wallet had been emptied at Hub City and my father would be rewarded for his services only with heart-felt words of thanks.

Farther above our home north forty lay the farm of Don Armstrong, an elderly small time dairy farmer nearing retirement from milking cows, but still going strong drinking beer. He and his wife Tillie, (who always dressed in black and wore a wide-brimmed matching hat, reminding me as an adult of the British gardening expert Gertrude Jekyl) would spend winter afternoons at a tavern in Hub City.

On their way home late one afternoon Armstrong was spinning out and losing traction on the Mick Hill, and in his inebriated concentration didn’t notice when his elderly wife opened the door and stepped outside to push, just as his car regained a purchase on the hill and managed to achieve the summit.

He was sitting blurry-eyed at the kitchen table waiting for his supper when the door opened and Tillie walked in. Oh, he said, finally realizing what had transpired. I wondered who that old woman was I saw walking up the Mick Hill behind me!

My grandparents Jones had taken over the 80-acre homestead of Granny’s father Isaac Johnson, and later Gramp bought an adjoining 100 acres. When my father was ready to retire from farming, I purchased 90 acres of that larger parcel, both as an emotional and financial investment.

After my wife and I had made our final land-contract payment, we found that our tax bill for the property indicated that we held 92 acres of land. This has to be a mistake, my wife said, studying the bill, and phoned the township clerk to clear up the problem.

There can be no orphan land, he said, and then explained that before the 1930s, the road went up the north side of the ravine that led up the Mick Hill. When County D was paved, the road was rerouted up the south side, making the two-acre slice of land inaccessible to the Micks.

Technically, I have a right to rename that ascent The Jones Hill, but I will let tradition prevail. Death and taxes have traditionally been the reality of a man’s existence. The receipt of free land from the tax man was an unexpected bonus and gives me hope for other good things to drift into my life!

Will You Be Mine? (Bevans Lead Mine and the Rollo Jamison Museum)

What’s the first thing you think of when you hear the word “mine”? Is it District 12 from the book series The Hunger Games? Do you think about a cheesy phrase that some people say on Valentine’s Day? Or, by chance, do you think of the wonderful city in Southwest Wisconsin that is Platteville?

Something that makes Platteville unique to the rest of Wisconsin is its immense history with the mining industry. This city stands out with its 200+ foot high “M” on Platte Mound, and it shows miner pride through the University of Wisconsin-Platteville’s mascot, Pioneer Pete. However, perhaps one of the greatest features of this city that showcases its mining history is The Mining & Rollo Jamison Museum, a year-round tourist attraction that I had the privilege of visiting.

Told to wait a while until the tour would start, I decided to meander through the small portion of the museum dedicated to the mine. The other section, situated in the upstairs portion of the building, is the Rollo Jamison section of the museum. But I’ll discuss that topic later on in this blog post.

Railroad and sign — An informational poster titled “Rails Reach Platteville” next to a railway signal.

A visitor can see informational posters littered around the mining portion of the museum that deal with topics such as the history of Platteville, the element of zinc and its uses, early forms of mining, and transporting lead once it had been mined. Many tools, such as shovels, pickaxes, hammers, and helmets, can be found, as well as minerals from the Mississippi lead and zinc district. They are all so eye-catching that I wouldn’t be surprised if they were used in jewelry nowadays. Miniature replicas of the empire mine, the mill, and the roaster to show how they work exist here, as well. And one of the coolest relics in the museum, in my opinion, is the sextant on a tall, wooden tripod, which was used to read the stars in order to navigate. It sits in a replica of an office, possibly one used by Lorenzo Bevans, the man who founded the mine.

The mine itself is 50 feet underground, and when there has been a lot of heavy rain, it can often times flood in the lowest sections, which I got to experience. Yay, Midwest weather! The mining museum provides the hard hats.

There are no elevators to get you up or down, of course, so you have to use many many stairs to get in and out. And if you have asthma, good luck…

Into the mine — These are the many, many stairs that lead down to the mine.

Back in its hay day, the town used this big hole in the ground to mine for lead and zinc. Miners would often work in groups in order to get work done. One example is that one man would hold a large metal spike to a wall of the mine, and another man would hammer at the chisel, creating a hole in one of the walls. Once sufficiently large enough, a miner would use gun powder as a type of explosive to form an even larger hole in the wall. Before lighting the explosive, he would yell “fire in the hole,” which is where the famous phrase came from, or so I was told by my tour guide, and the other miners near him would have to get a short distance away from the explosive.

After new technology had been invented, not only did miners get to use types of drills instead of chisels and hammers to form holes in the mine walls, but they were also able to use real dynamite instead of simple gun powder. However, before lighting the dynamite, every man would have to evacuate the mine entirely, and the miner, who would actually set fire to the explosive, would have to run quickly before it exploded. After the dust had cleared, it was one man’s responsibility to go back into the mine before anyone else to move some of the smaller stones to create a path and to ensure that no other rocks would fall from the ceiling. This man was paid the most out of all the other miners because of his very risky job and the fact that helmets were not really a thing just yet.

Due to the mine’s depth within the earth, the miners came up with a few solutions to deal with scarce lighting. Originally, they tried to keep a few candles on the floor of the mine in order to see. But as they would keep moving into new spaces, they found that this did not work so well. Later, they came up with a fire hazard of a solution: attaching candles to their cloth hats. Though this was rather dangerous, it provided some light in their immediate area so that they could work. Eventually, however, lamps were invented, and they were used on the floors and hung from the ceilings, too, providing exceptionally more light for the workers.

After the tour of the mine and the mill, I explored the Rollo Jamison portion of the museum. Jamison was not the man who founded the mine, but rather he was simply a man who collected a lot of things throughout his lifetime. So the two separate museums ultimately do not have a connection beyond sharing nearly the same space.

A poster titled “Jamison’s Museum” introducing basic information about the museum’s history

Among many of the fascinating things in his museum, Jamison collected arrowheads that started his collection in 1905, a picture of the Oscar Mayer Co. workers in 1914, women’s rights posters, 19^th century bronze, Japanese horseman, medical instruments, war memorabilia, and even the famous stuffed, boxing squirrels. Additionally, in his collection is a piano that can not only be played normally, but also by pumping the pedals it plays a specific song all by itself. There are also recordings of interviews with soldiers and different musical genre records that can both be selected and played by visitors.

A picture of a very old camera taken by an iPhone camera

Even if the mine floods in certain areas and leaks from the ceiling when it rains, even if there are a lot of stairs to climb for the mine and Jamison’s museum, The Mining & Rollo Jamison Museum is a must see when you’re visiting Southwest Wisconsin.

Folklore Village: Dance Yourself into the Past

Based outside of Dodgeville, Wisconsin, what Folklore Village is can be partly deduced by the name: not a village, but a center based around folk arts and culture. Jane Farwell, a native Wisconsinite from nearby Ridgeway who specialized in Scandinavian dancing, founded the establishment in 1968. She wanted a place where she could recreate the music, dance, food, and folk customs from all over the world.

Starting with just a small one-room schoolhouse, Folklore Village has since expanded to include a large barn (named Farwell Hall after the founder), a small house, a historic church (which was moved from near Mineral Point, Wisconsin), and a shed used for blacksmithing. They offer different classes (including blacksmithing, fiddle lessons, wooden spoon carving, soap making, and more), festivals (including New Year Festivals, Scandinavian Weekend, and Cajun Music Weekend), and monthly barn dances.

“Folk dancing is one of those rare activities from which people of all ages and walks of life can readily gain a large measure of satisfaction. In the beginning, most stand outside the fringe of those who ‘belong’ until someone extends a smile and a beckoning hand… we have no chance to wonder what this power is that so swiftly makes friends of strangers, yet we have a good time and the very important feeling of really being included. We realize that the spirit of the people we are with is more important than our own skill in dancing.”

-Jane Farwell, “The Makings of a Good ‘Saturday Night’”

Although FLV was founded for all of these purposes and continues to uphold them, I want to talk about what it is underneath all of that- A place of community and acceptance. I have asked some people around me “What is Folklore Village to you?” in order to give a better understanding of just how deep the connections and sense of community goes.

What is Folklore Village to You?

My mom, Bren Radtke, stated, “Folklore Village is a community for lovers of dance and culture. It is the foundation of how my family emerged and evolved.” This statement helps to clarify my history with the place. It’s where my parents met. It’s where they got married. And it’s where they spent a good portion of time raising us.

My family has even more history embedded in FLV, though. My dad, Steve Sprain, was a member of the original performing dance group and has been attending since the first event. My grandmother was friends with Jane Farwell, and they lived right down the street from the one-room schoolhouse where it all started. On April 30^th, 1969, Jane held an open house and invited all of the immediate neighborhood to join in, and so began my family’s unwavering involvement in FLV. On several occasions in these early days, they wouldn’t have enough people to complete a square for the square-dances, and my father would walk down to his house and bring back my grandparents to finish the set. More than once, he woke them when doing so, but not once did they hesitate to get out of bed and join in.

Wedding — My parents, Steve Sprain (left) and Bren Radtke (right), on their wedding day with Folklore Village founder Jane Farwell (middle).

I was eager to hear what my dad’s first thought was when I asked him “What is Folklore Village to you?”

He told me, “It doesn’t matter what you do or who you are, when you’re there, we’re all the same. Nobody is better than anyone else; everyone is accepted for their own talents.”

FLV is a setting where people of all backgrounds and occupations come together, with no suppositions that any one lifestyle is “better than” another. People from numerous backgrounds can feel at home. There are doctors and lawyers, farmers and truck drivers, astrophysicists and machinists, TV producers and circus performers, professional musicians and those who can’t play a note. Every day we’re defined by these titles, but at FLV, they’re irrelevant.

Dancing of the Franciase at Folklore Village on New Years Eve.

Similarly, my sister Lydia responded, “A place where all are accepted to rejoice in the sound of music and art of dance.” Lydia is wheelchair-bound, and I think the fact that someone who is unable to physically dance like everyone else still feels so included really says a lot. There are simply no barriers (physical, mental, or emotional) between who is allowed to participate and who isn’t.

My brother, Micah, simply described it as, “A place where you can be you without judgement.” Micah has always been “a goofball”, and many environments tend to suppress those with silly tendencies (intentionally or not). At FLV, my brother and everyone else can feel free to be themselves without the fear of judgement or social penalty. If anything, uniqueness and creativity are encouraged, in whatever form they may come in.

Lastly, our family friend Paige Rice stated, “It’s a place where people of all backgrounds can come together and be a community. A place where different cultures and arts are appreciated and celebrated. It unites different ages, races, and backgrounds. There are times I would almost describe as magical; in its serenity and welcoming environment…Though I haven’t been going there as often as others, it has still become somewhere I cherish and keep close to my heart.” Paige was introduced to FLV through my family and is most familiar with the annual New Year Festival. I believe this is what she is mainly referring to when she describes the serenity of the place.

New Year Festival

I have been attending FLV’s New Year Festival since I was born, and I have yet to spend the holiday in any other way. This festival is a fun-filled, event-packed, 4-day celebration. Every year, the classes, workshops, skits, and food are different; but, some things stay the same. There are some traditions for the night of New Year’s Eve that are customary (and some might even argue necessary at this point).

Every year we dance The Heilsberger Dreieck (a traditional German piece) and The Francaise (a 5-part quadrille which was traditionally danced by “higher-ups” in Europe and is still danced there on New Year’s Eve today). We sing in the small church on the property, we gather around a bonfire at midnight, and we then return to Farwell Hall to bring in the new year with peace, love, and togetherness. After some time spent quietly and on reflection, we celebrate with homemade tortes (which are very rich cakes), snap-dragon (a game from the 16^th century- raisins in a bowl of brandy which is set alight, and they are eaten still flaming), and, of course, more dancing.

Barn Dances

Barn dances are held once a month. The nights begin with a potluck where everyone is invited to bring a dish to pass. These nights are often not based on a theme, but rather filled with square dances, contra dances, waltzes, and any requests one might have. An example of a request I often made as a child is the Fox Dance. This dance is a favorite of kids who frequent FLV. One person is picked as the “fox” who “sleeps” in the middle of a circle made by the other dancers. The others do a simple dance around the fox that includes taking a couple steps in and taunting the sleeping fox. After two rounds of these harmless taunts, the fox slyly “wakes up” and catches someone else to be the next fox. Although there are more complex dances (usually saved for the New Year Festival), most of the dances taught at barn dances are simple and easy to follow. This allows everyone to feel included and welcome to join in.

Sword Dance — A traditional sword dance, with Bob Walser on the accordion.

Folklore Village founder Jane Farwell passed away in 1993, but her spirit stays with the place. Her ashes are buried under the wooden star that is placed in the middle of the dance floor.

Folklore Village has a lot to offer, but it’s so much more than just classes and festivals. In one of her many diaries, my grandmother wrote, “We went to pick up Steve from Folklore. And we stayed.” Folklore Village is a lot of things- a place for dance, traditions, art, and expression; but more than all of that, it’s the type of place you can’t help but to stay.