Gads.  I get put off with myself on occasion when I think about my home state of Indiana.  I should know more about it.  I don’t know enough.  I admit it.  Geography has something to do with that.  Living in a county that runs into the Ohio River can do that.  You can’t get more Southern Indiana than that.  We get our television news from Louisville, Kentucky.  I can name more Kentucky polticians than I can Indiana.

I have seen more miles of North Carolina than I have Indiana.  I know Asheville to Wilmington like the back of my hand.  Outer Banks?  Know it.  Research Triangle?  Been there and done that.  Mt. Airy aka Mayberry?  Pilot Mountain aka Mt. Pilot?  Been there many times.  Boone, the home of App State?  How they found 120 flat yards for a football field is a miracle.

The past couple of days,  my dear wife,Carrie, and I spent time at Fort Harrison State Park not far from the I-465 “runaround” that circles Indianapolis.  Ft. Harrison was an Army Post from 1906 to 1991.  In 1996 it gained State Park staus.  I am glad it did.

Fort Harrison State Park is not your regular in the wilderness out of the way place.  The State Park Inn faces a busy street where businesses seem to bustle and living quarters for troops are now home to civilans of all walks of life.

She needs a coat of paint.  Otherwise, the place is a treasure. Once the post hospital, the inn is a peaceful place to land for a couple days.  12 foot ceilings and 12 inch concrete walls see to that.  When you walk in the place, history just whispers to you.

Carrie and I drove through the park and found the visitors center in a remote location.  I must say Carrie and I have stayed at Ft. Harrison in either the inn or the Harrison House, now off limits to single room occupancy for nearly twenty years.  This was the first time we ventured into the “park” side of the place.  There were open spaces and a lake that was more a pond.  But it was quite nice.

Inside the vistors center, we were the only ones in the building.  No one acknowlegded us.  That was fine.  Just quaint.

History and more history there on display.  It was humbling to see all that went on in a space we were now enjoying.

There we were.  All this preserved history and Carrie and me in one room together.  It felt lonely.  Oh I am sure there are times when school groups come in, at least I hope so.  But I wonder.  It took Carrie and me twenty years to get here.  Yes, we had been to the inn for winter getaways.  Stayed there more than once when we went to Indy for Moody Blues concerts.  That we had not made it back to see this visitors center, albeit we did not know what was there, made me a bit sad.  So much history.  So much great service to learn from.  So much sacrifice.

As a child, I listened to my great-grandmother in Brownstown tell me stories about how my grandfather, Herbert Daniel Johnson was in the THREE Cs.  As an eight-year-old, I thought grandma was talking about three seas!  I imagined my grandfather hanging on to the side of a great ship that was taking on water and in peril.

The Civil Conservation Corps  was about putting guys to work in tough times and had nothing to do with the ocean.  I learned that many years ago.  But only now have I seen tangible CCC proof and I enjoyed looking at it.

Seeing this interactive room made me feel better.  Perhaps the word is getting out after all.

At a restroom near the “lake”, I found this:

I had to investigate.  I had not seen a pay phone in a while.

urt

It was still wired.  But there was no dial tone.  Just a low hum.  And no change to be found.

Thankful we got here once again to learn a little more about the Hoosier State.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson