THE CITY REBORN FROM THE ASHES OF AMERICA'S MOST DISASTROUS FOREST FIRE
From Our Readers...
Issue Date: October 21, 2021
Editor:
My wife and I attended the sesquicentennial celebration in Peshtigo and were very impressed by all of the events. It was amazing to me that such a small town could organize a large celebration and have it come off so well.
I have been interested in Peshtigo history as long as I can remember. It was of special interest to me as my great grandparents, Lars and Louisa Hansen, were survivors of the fire. Their daughter, Ogadt Hansen Farm, was a survivor of the fire and lived with my family on West Front Street until she died in 1953. Their story is mentioned in several books on the fire.
I was especially impressed by the parade which went off so smoothly. I watched it from in front of the cafe where I did crossing guard duty many many years ago. I don't think I have ever seen so many fire engines! I especially enjoyed the festivities in Badger park, the re-enactors were especially interesting. I loved the information they shared and the stories told.
My wife and I also enjoyed stories told by the folks in the cemetery. They really made the history come alive. Thanks to the folks who put this together. They did a fabulous job.
Stephen and Laurita Anderson
Flowermound, Texas
"Wild Stallions"
Running wild, free without end
Wild stallions once ran with the wind,
Through canyons and valleys under the sun
Only resting when the day was done.
Echos of memories, echos of love
A cool breeze blows from the mountains above,
And there sat a poet writing all he would see
Watching wild stallions running free.
The valley was rich with green grass and red clover,
The days grew shorter, the nights got colder,
Another season will pass with autumn's reminder
That winter's coming turn the memories unkinder.
The sound of their footsteps thundered through the hills,
The land rumbled as the clouds stool still,
But like everything under the bast blue sky
The thunder would end and the dreamers asked why.
The painted prairies have become lonely,
The wild stallions all are gone,
But an old man still sits on the edge of the rin
Dreaming of wild stallions running again.
A cool breeze blows still from the mountains above
With echos of memories and echos of love,
The dusty trails that have become weeded are all that remain