It’s a beautiful September day. The sun is high in a clear blue sky. I sit in on a very comfortable yellow cushioned vintage chair under a tin gun-metal colored awning supported by knobby pine poles. There is a gentle breeze floating by me. The floor is nothing but dirt and small stones. Behind me is an ancient wooden wall. The greens, gray, and brown sections show the 150+ years of weather. It still stands as a proud Indian Chief in a headdress of feathers, skins, and paint.
I have proclaimed this as my office for writing.
Off to my left about 25 yards, is a small stream which is a part of the Galena River. Over there is my other office. It is simply outfitted with a couple of webbed lawn chairs partly in the water. Not far from that is a circular pile of stones housing smoldering wood and another metal chair.
My dog has approved of this location. She runs into the water through the flight of small yellow butterflies that were sunning themselves on the rocks. While she prances happily, I sit and take photos.
As I watch the water slipping down like a miniature whitewater run, I decided that this is where I just might want my ashes to be placed.
The song of the insects in the trees that surround this little nook of lost time is accompanied by The Basin Street Boys, a Dixie Jazz, and Blues playing band. These are not the same fellows of the 1930s and 40s seen on YouTube, but a group of young lads from the neighboring town of Platteville. Much like the New Orleans’ musicians of the 1930s, they are adorned in the white shirts, bow ties, straw hats, and handlebar mustaches of the days of old.
The people are chatting and laughing as the tuba ommps, the drummer ratta tat tats, and hits his cymbal. The trumpet and trombone join in, and a sultry-voiced singer is belting out her version of the St. Louis Blues.
This is all happening at Council Hill Station, a little-known place to the outside world, but well-known to the locals, and where your name is remembered. This is a place of good music, friendly visits, and where you can unwind from the stressful world.
Council Hill Station is all that remains of a business district founded in 1854 by Europeans when the railroad was built. The general store is full of antiques, collectibles, and other artifacts where a person can see the progression of time. There are works of art by local artists hanging on the wall.
Standing majestically, is a skeleton of a time-worn building, the Woolen Mill. The aged moss-covered stones, beams, and dirt have been a very important part of American history. This is a historical monument for it was where women gathered to make the uniforms for the Union soldiers and most likely shared many stories of the time.
I get up from my comfortable chair to walk across the green field to the stream and sit in my other office to watch the water flow by.
This is truly a place that can be felt as being a part of Heaven.