DAYS 119 & 120 - Frankton, IN - 2312 miles from home

Esther Lisa Tishman
Nov 1
4 min read

It’s easy to get complacent and all-knowing about small towns - even when you're slow walking through the countryside at 3 mph. It's easy to think: oh, here's another one - struggling to rebuild after industry left - good schools but not a lot of young families - historic churches with declining, low-double-digit congregations - Dollar General but fortunate to have a good grocery store (*in Frankton that would be Harvest Market, boasting the best meats in Madison County - by the way, not the covered-bridge Madison County, that's in Iowa)...

It's 'just another small town.' It's easy to think you've got this down, you know what you've got - but that's why I like to spend a couple of days in place. Everywhere is its own. Everywhere is someone's home. Frankton reminds me of Richfield, Idaho - reminds me of Hay Springs, Nebraska - reminds me of Moravia, Iowa - reminds me of Havana, Illinois - but it's also absolutely entirely its own. I know nothing about it, yet, really. We've just been shaking hands for a couple of days. How delightful!

In Frankton Bob and I have been embraced by the warm, and yes teeny-tiny, community of the Madison (Disciples of Christ) Christian Church - and bunking in supreme comfort in the farmhouse of church trustee Myron Etchison.

The community welcomed us on Thursday night at the church: two long tables spread out with deliciousness in the Fellowship Hall. Yes, there were casseroles (what Church gathering would be complete without them?) - but also salads with late summer produce, fresh from folks' gardens, and Hoosier-specific comfort food: "Chicken and Noodles" and "Sugar Cream Pie." Bianca's rhubarb cobbler was maybe my favorite - "the last of my rhubarb," she said. Warm, tart, sweet, perfect.

The dinner conversation that night - and the following night, when we again joined folks at church for a Halloween celebration with grandkids - was deep and sincere. We talked about work and work ethic, about the anxiety and paralysis of young folk, about the history of Frankton, about family. It seemed that half the folks in presence were teachers, retired and/or still working. From Bianca McRae - who taught middle school science for years at the Ball State lab school (spending six years in charge of the science fair) - to Andrea, Myron's daughter, who is still teaching high school English, despite plans for retirement - to Bryan, another escapee from early retirement, who's returned to his work as high school counselor - to Bob, retired high school math teacher and pastor (who still hits the pulpit as a Sunday preacher:"How can a person not be working?" he asks).... And there's Myron himself, who has had more varied careers than anyone I've met (with the exception, perhaps, of my husband). "Everything Dad touches," says Andrea, "he turns pro." Law enforcement and FBI agent, entrepreneur, professional contest fisher ... I lost track.

The next day, Bianca showed me around town - with the loving eyes of someone who's lived in a variety of cities and towns across America, and who nonetheless chose to settle here in Frankton. She showed me the beautiful houses, the best place to eat in town (Bernie's - "like a lot of bars, it actually has good food," she says), the amenities of the strong public library, and finally a lovely coffee house - Maranatha Coffee Company - owned by Mike and Debra Hermann.

Inspired by a number of global mission trips and animated by a desire to keep active into their retirement years, Mike and Debra have a coffee sommelier's appreciation of beans, roasting their own single origin brews. I've been in a lot of Christian-owned cafes, and have often seen the humorous plaque: "Fueled by Jesus and Coffee" - but Mike and Debra take this sentiment to the next level. Mike made me one of the best cups of coffee I've ever had - lightly sweetened with a steamed honeyed oat milk that merged perfectly with the deep Columbian brew. And then Mike and Debra joined hands with Bianca and me, and prayed for the safety and success of Liberty Walks.

Bianca also pointed out the old train depot, derelict at the moment but with funds being raised by the Frankton History Club.

History is, perhaps, everything. I write these words sitting in the living room of Myron's farmhouse. He and Loretta live in town now, keeping the farmhouse open for visitors and guests like us. They live kitty-corner to Loretta's 100-year-old mother, Minyoughn (a Brittany spelling, I imagine, of the French word "Mignon"? Minyoughn was named, as I understand, for a French Canadian Indian.)

Myron's farmhouse was built in the 1800s, moved off its foundations across the road in the early 20th century. The narrow stairway, solid walls and old thin-plank oak floors announce its vintage - but otherwise, the house has all the mod cons, including WiFi and fantastic showers.

Across the road from this old farmhouse, is a huge agricultural processing plant. It's Saturday morning, but the trucks and grain elevators are active.