The hill was the one upon which sat the farmhouse of my Shipley Grandparents. The ruins of the old log cabin were an easy walk down the hill. The children playing on the cabin are my Dad, Uncle Gordan, and Aunt Maudine. Maybe Uncle Roscoe took the picture. I played on it too, some twenty years later. There were fewer logs when I played on it.
It was here-and-now evidence of my own pioneer heritage. There were many such relics. This one was mine. Life in North Missouri right up to the middle of the twentieth century was virtually unchanged from the previous century. I’m grateful for the early days I spent in that world. I wrote about it in my essay, Last Exit to Yesterday. It was history and archaeology that could be seen and touched.
I didn’t know who built the cabin or why it was abandoned. About forty years later I found mention of it
in the, History of Mt. Moriah Missouri, book - which was largely written and produced by my cousin, Mina Power Hickman. There, on page 382, two paragraphs explained.
The cabin was built in 1880 by John Schreffler. He and his wife Melvina produced eight children, two of which died at birth. They lived in the cabin until 1901. In the fall of that year Mr. Schreffler’s went hunting. While climbing over a rail fence the top rail broke, throwing him hard to the to the ground. The impact somehow caused the shotgun to fire.
He was hit in the stomach, dying four hours later.
After his death, the Schreffler family abandoned the cabin. They had lived in the cabin for twenty-one years. Somewhere around twenty years later, my youthful Aunt and Uncles were climbing the ruins. A generation later,
I was too.
Would the Schreffler’s like being remembered so many years later? I hope so.
One of the Schreffler children, Anna, was a playmate of my Grandma Ollie. During the early years of the 1900’s the two girls walked daily up and down the hill to play together.
This information was not in the Mt. Moriah book. I didn’t learn about it until, in the course of research, I asked my Aunt Maudine and Cousin Donna what they could recall about the cabin down the hill. I told them I had found out it was built by man named Schreffler.
They said, with no surprise, “Oh yes, the Scheffler’s”. Then they told me about Grandma’s childhood friend, Anna.
This was news to me. I’ve no idea why I hadn’t heard the story before. Many of the Shipley family have a tendency to remain silent until asked a direct question. Happily, when they are asked a direct question, they remember sidebar stories I also didn’t know about.
Near a quarter mile west of the ruined cabin the dirt road turns north toward Mt. Moriah. There is a small creek at this point spanned by two stout planks placed wide enough apart to carry a double set of tires, or wagon wheels. These planks served as bridge long before I was born and long after.
In the early nineties I drove my brand-new Cadillac back to visit the old places. I was accompanied by a city friend of mine from Cleveland, Tom Simon. We had driven up from a photo shoot in Kansas City. Tom was taken aback by the “bridge”. It was completely unchanged from my boyhood days. He said, “I really don’t think we should to try going over that with your new car”. He considered getting out while I made the attempt.
We rolled smoothly over, without incident.
Maybe the past remains longer in North Missouri than elsewhere because there’s no good reason to replace it.
Uncle Gordan, Aunt Maudine, Uncle Roscoe and Dad several years past their cabin climbing days.
Grandpa Joe, Cousin Donna, myself and Grandma Ollie.