By KAREN MADORIN
One branch of Mom’s family settled in Ford, Kansas, soon after it became a town in 1885. That group migrated to Kansas from Greene County, Indiana, and one family established a boarding house and livery stable. My great-grandmother was one of the first babies born in Ford in 1887.
Growing up, I discovered Ford because I visited the cemetery each year with my grandparents to put out Memorial Day flowers for my grandfather’s maternal and paternal families. Traveling to Ford, our grandparents enchanted us with tales about our ancestors and their struggles to survive in Southwest Kansas.
After we placed flowers on numerous plots, Grandpa drove around town recollecting locations of the schools, church, and homes where he and his many relatives once lived. To finish our journey, he’d cruise north toward the Ark River to check out the condition of the old Hatfield Livery Stable and Boarding House site where his mom grew up. During my lifetime, only the boarding house remained, but grandpa pointed out where the outbuildings and livery once stood. He’d embellish stories about ornery uncles and his grandma who kept them in line.
At that time, I thought I’d forever remember those stories and later on my mother’s so who needed to write stuff down? Now that I’ve joined the oldest generation, I wished I’d recorded those tales in indelible ink. Details once engraved in my brain have dwindled to knowing the location of the boarding house and finding family graves so I can decorate them.
Over the last ten years, something occurring all over rural Kansas has also happened in Ford. Original buildings dwindle away one broken window, fallen brick, and leaky roof at a time. Until recently, a sequence of families continued occupying that aging boarding house. Despite its decline, I loved spying evidence that kids still played in the yard.
Just south of the old house, Grandma pointed out the red brick Hatfield Mercantile building. In one rendition, this building played a role in our Canadian immigrant family connecting with Hatfields who came from Indiana. Somehow—details fade--a shopping trip led to a marriage and later on births of my grandfather and his brother.
Many Memorial Day visits ago, I can’t even recollect which era, I arrived to decorate and make the pilgrimage to the big white house, where I discovered that old store had tumbled into a pile of brick and dust. Only a foundation positioned just north of an insurance office that also functions as the city office remains.
For the past few years, no one has occupied the old Hatfield house, deteriorated to the point I wondered if this was the year I’d find only a foundation when I showed up Memorial Weekend. Though trees grow very near the base, hope prevailed. I spied a blue scaffold on the north side of the house and two replaced upper story windows.
While that old home once so full of busy lives needs considerable work, I hope new windows indicate its salvageability. I like to imagine a family resuscitating this building full of fascinating stories. What tales those walls could tell! If they start talking, I hope listeners write those stories down.