Wednesday, May 6, 2015

On our first morning at Johnny Appleseed Campground, Sam and I stumbled on the reason for its name.  I didn't have a camera with me Monday but Joani joined us as we revisited the hilltop graveyard and memorial this morning in the fog.  There were no signs, but it was not too difficult to find.   From the campground, we walked past the dumpster, over the guardrail and up the hill.  Jonathan Chapman was born in Leominster, Massachusetts in 1774, but passed away in Fort Wayne, IN in 1845 while visiting a friend, David Archer, and was buried in the Archer family cemetery.

The grass was so thick with dew, our feet quickly became soaked.  The color of the spring flowers struggled without the sun to brighten them up.

A small graveyard (with half a dozen stones) was perched atop a mound and surrounded with flowering apple trees.

John Chapman (Johnny Appleseed) 1774-1845

We learned Johnny was quite an entrepreneur.  He traveled to an area just prior to its being settled and started apple tree nurseries.  When settlers arrived, he sold them seedling trees to start orchards on their homesteads.

I believe crab-apple trees have a deep rose colored blossom.

There were so many petals on the ground you would think the trees would be bare!

The fog was gone and the sun was out as we tried to find Joani's childhood home.  The neighborhood was a bit sketchy, but we had no problems as we drove slowly down the streets.  Once in a while, something would trigger a wave of nostalgia, but for the most part, it had just changed too much.

This is the alley behind my childhood home (2949 Winter Street, Fort Wayne, IN), but the house itself is gone-the shed is gone-the lilac bush is gone.  The yard in the front used to be elevated about 3 feet, but is no longer.  I assume they used the dirt to fill in the basement's hole left after ripping out the house.

This is the back of Max and Erma Baron's house, across the street from our side.  All I can think about is how upset Mr. Baron would be by his neighbors taste in paint.

This was my playmate, Dickie Douglas' house, kitty-cornered from mine.  Things that I will always remember:  he had the best toys, Lincoln Logs and Tinkertoys, the Legos of my day - his mother's name was "Bumps," (Mrs. Douglas to me!) - Mrs. Douglas explaining to me that they didn't put a green wreath on the door at Christmas because in her day that meant there was a death in the family.