Here the children grew up with the ordinary opportunities of farmers’ children and had no better advantages; and years later my cousin, Jessie (Reid) Donaldson, my brother, Will, and I used to come here to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of grandfather’s place. Will and I had a little pony called Jenny and a wagon which we used to drive to The Corners for mail. Whenever Jenny wanted to go into the barn or whenever we took her to the blacksmith’s to be shod, she had a funny trick of rapping on the door with her feet. I remember the Baptist people used frequently to come down to the lake in front of my grandfather’s house, and that the minister would there duck the women under the water, according to their custom. My aunt, with great sympathy, would lead the women into the house, where they could change their clothes. South of the house, where a stream ran through the inlet into the lake, was a marsh, in the center of which was an island. Here in those early days deer were often to be seen. Prairie chickens were plentiful on Big Foot Prairie, and in the spring wild pigeons, now extinct, flew over it in countless numbers. Woodcock, ruffed grouse, and squirrels were also numerous. In the lake there was a large quantity of game fish, among which were the cisco. These were seen only during the last days of May or the early days of June when they came from the depths of the lake to the shallow water to feed on the May flies and to spawn. Of the wild life existing at that time, only a fraction now remains. Matthias Mohr owned the old sawmill on the rising ground at the south end of the marsh. The race was fed by a large brook that emptied into the marsh. This beautiful spot, surrounded by bushes and trees, was often visited by me. The old wheel was still, but it was pleasant to listen to the sound of the clear, cold water of the brook as it rushed over the dismantled wheel to its outlet in the marsh. This brook was afterward dammed up and used for raising brook trout. Numerous beautiful springs were to be found running from the higher ground to the lake. About half a mile north of the house was a small schoolhouse where I remember being spelled down by a little girl. The house was afterward occupied by an English laborer by the name of Blackwell, and I have his son Bill in pleasant remembrance. The road past the schoolhouse at the foot of a high bluff ran south by Douglass’ Mill and north to the farm belonging to my grandfather. From Douglass’ Mill,[88] which was built by C. L. Douglass and first used as a sawmill and then as a gristmill, we used to go on up a very steep hill to the road going west to The Corners, about three miles from my grandfather’s house, where at that early day the mail was obtained. The village located where the mill once stood has since been called Fontana.[89]