This poem was provided to me by Merrilou Joanne Wilder Inks, granddaughter of Fannie Green Lastinger. The Lastinger family was the first to homestead in Lake Placid around 1890.

A PIONEER MEMORY
By: Bessie Mae Lastinger Peeples-Deckhut
(Daughter of Joshua Lastinger, who homesteaded the shore of Lake June property)

Said Father Josh to Mother Lou, “The hills are calling me,
My heart is fondly longing, for a land that’s wild and free,
I hear that crystal lakes abound, ‘mong hills and hammocked dells,
That homesteads there may now be had, by those that meaneth well.

“So pack our small belongings; dress well the children dear
And with your faithful ox-team, we’ll hie away from here.
We’ll take a homestead ‘mong the hills, away from noise and strife,
We’ll ask the Lord, our work to bless, and guide us on thru life.”

For many days sweet mother Lou, was busy here and there,
While gay and gleeful children, for the journey did prepare.
And then at last, the day arrived, a lovely Springtime day;
When fond farewells were said to friends, and the wagon rolled away.

Along the quiet country road, familiar scenes passed by;
Until the prairie came in view, where landscape met the sky.
One lonely group of stately pines, across the plain did rise.
‘Twas here we planned to camp that night, and rest our weary eyes.

When at early dawning, the sun rose o’er the plain,
We quickly packed our camp things, and resumed our trek again.
Another day of travel, another day across the cattled plain,
Where miles of lovely flowers, waved like fields of ripened grain.

Again the sun passed overhead, and glided to the West,
Again a glowing campfire, and a night of peaceful rest.
At early morn we once again, beheld the blazing sun,
And we knew that ere it rose again, we’d be a-nearing home

We now had reached the timbered land, and next the lakes and hills,
Our faithful father blazed the trail, our hearts with gladness filled.
Said Father Josh to Mother Lou, “Guide well the team, my dear,
For should they espy the lake so blue, we might have cause for fear.

Then Mother Lou, in apron white, so feminine and so sweet,
Sat primly up and drew the lines, to guide the oxen’s feet.
But now, alas, the thirsty steers the shimmering lake had espied,
And lifting high their horned heads, they ran in rapid strides.

“O, stop them! Stop them! Joshua, dear, they’re headed for the lake!”
As down the hillside steep they ran, dust rising in their wake.
Then climbing quickly to his seat, dear father seized the lines,
Then swung them around across the hill, just in the nick of time.

Three large oak trees, with branches spread, a kindly shelter made,
They also gave protection from the rain, also a welcome shade.
‘Twas here we loosed the oxen, the weary journey done,
On the beautiful shores of old Lake Stearns, eighteen hundred ninety-on

The stove was firmly set in place, against a hickory tree,
The stove pipe wired to the body large, was as steady as could be.
The dining table next we set, upon the hillside steep,
We children found it very hard, food in our plates to keep.

But father was a carpenter, and his spirit leveler brought,
Which with his ingenuity, some needed changes wrought.
Next were the beds to set in place, with ends both up and down,
For should we roll into the lake, we knew we’d surely drown.

Cheesecloth nets were firmly stretched, from boughs of nearby trees,
The lively tune of mosquitoes, said we’d have good need of these.
After a good hot supper, and the evening prayers were said,
Seven tired and weary souls, tumbled into bed.

Watched o’er by a Heavenly Father, protected from varmints wild,
We peacefully, fearlessly slumbered, as the sleep of a little child.
When the day appeared at dawning, dark clouds hung overhead,
With saw and hammer in his hand, dear father calmly said,

“Come, girls, a shelter we must make, to keep our household dry,
There’s nothing quite too hard to do, if we will only try.
Two sisters, Laura and Sallie, quick answered to the call,
Before we ate our breakfast, the trees began to fall.

All day the saw and hammer flew, no idle, hands were there,
And ere the sun sank to his bed, we had a shelter rare.
It turned the sun, it turned the rain, it anwered every need,
While smiling faces, cheerful words, bespoke the inward glee.

How few know the meaning of “Pioneer”, and the hardships he bravely bears?
And who knows the meaning of “Pioneer Wife”, his trials she so patiently shares?
Still there are joys and thrills in store, which none but the pioneers feel,
There is health and wealth, and skill and stealth, in the gun, the rod and the reel.

We chased the ‘gators away from our store, we climbed with the squirrels in the trees
The fish we brought out, the bream and the trout, and gathered nuts in the Autumn breeze.
Say, little child of the frontier wild, for a school, o, what did you do?
My dad was a teacher, Sir, you see, and he was a good one, too.

With pen and paper, and pencil and book, our studies we did pursue,
Ready to help with the evening chores, when the lessons were over and through,
The wheel of time rolled steadily on, some changes in our home had wrought,
Two of my sisters had married and gone, and a wee brother to our home was brought.

Laura was now a woman grown, and efficient teacher was she,
She relieved dear Dad of the momentous task of schooling we children three
Other families had now moved in, and a schoolhouse the men did build,
With cabbage palm leaves for roof and walls, high on the top of a hill

With sister we climbed the hillside steep, to the cabbage shack on the hill,
With eleven pupils she patiently toiled, and the three “R’s” partiently drilled,
But not “To the tune of a hickory stick”, as was often in the days of yore,
But with patience and kindness she guided us, thru books we had learned to adore.

On the day of worship unto the Lord, the community wended its way,
Up the hillside steep to the little schoolhouse, to read the Scriptures and pray.
Then songs were sung from the old Sacred Harp, in praise to the Lord on high,
Followed by prayer from dear father’s lips, then the handshake and goodbye.

Changes have followed the years that have flown, most all of the first pioneers are gone.
No longer we see the cabbage palm shack, but a brick schoolhouse and a railroad track.
Modern homes stand snug on the hills, interspersed with orange groves of gold,
While automobiles skim over the hills, on wide, hardsurfaced roads.

‘Twas father’s hand that planted first, an orange grove on those hills
‘Twas he who gave the right of way, for the road where the train whistle yells.
Dear father and mother have gone to their rest, their little cot gone from the hill,
Yet sweet are the thoughts of my childhood home, that daily my memory fills.

O, give me a home where God’s creatures roam, where hearts beat warmly with love,
Where the Bible is read and prayers daily are said, and guidance is sought from Above.
May God’s blessings rest on the sunny hill crest of Lake Placid, the home of my youth,
Long may she live, God’s praises to give, and hold high the banner of Truth.

(Lovingly dedicated to my parents, the Lastingers)