.
Exploring the washed out mill dam south of Waumandee, Wis., and its rusting equipment was a highlight of my childhood.
The mill dam, built in 1854, had washed out several times during the 80 years that it had been in use. Early settlers were most dependent on the local mill. Not only did it grind animal feed, but it also provided flour for all residents living in the township. The flour milled here was called “White Rose.”
A favorite story was about a farmer carrying a sack of grain more than 20 miles, to Fountain City, Wis., to have it ground into flour.
During a 1940 flood, the mill pond washed out and was never reconstructed. Electricity had come to the valley, and Mr. Grulka, the miller, purchased electric motors to replace the gigantic groaning mill wheel.
Exploring the old equipment was great fun. I still try to envision what the dammed creek was like for a mile or two upstream. I like to imagine the wheel turning and its energy being transferred by shafts and gears to the grinding wheel and the other equipment in the unique building. I’d like to have seen the giant stones grinding oats. I’d also wish that I could have talked to the miller and the journeyman who regularly would come to dress the mill stones.
Well anyway, it’s gone, and will never return.
After wandering around we would eventually find ourselves in the mill and exploring all the shafts, gears, pulleys, long belts, and wooden chutes. There would be dust, chaff, and gunny sacks. We could smell the oats, corn, barley and animal feed additives. One of the most unusual smells was blood meal that supplemented hog feed. One of the millers would open a small door in worn wooden chutes to examine the grain he was processing. We occasionally were allowed to put our small hands in the chute to catch some to help analyze it.
By the time I began to hang out at the mill, Grulka was aging and his son, Paul, had taken over the majority of the heavy lifting. Paul’s nickname was “Duke.” I’m not sure how he got that nickname. We used both names interchangeably when visiting with him.
Duke wore khaki pants and either a matching shirt or sometimes, in summer, a white one. He wore a pencil thin moustache and was well groomed. Although his cap was non-distinct, it was ever present. It probably advertised Archer Daniels feed. His attire blended well with the mill dust he stirred up, but his tan trousers were in direct contrast to the blue overalls of his patrons and other men of the valley. He was strong and fit after spending a lifetime throwing around 100 pound sacks of feed. I especially liked his quiet, deep voice. By speaking quietly, he also kept an attentive audience.
Paul’s mother must have watched for kids, because she often would bring Paul a treat while we were asking questions and keeping him from his duties. She would have extra goodies on the plate for us. Paul and his mother would accompany us outside and sit and visit with us while we ate the snack.
I can still see the worn bumpy pine floors with raised knots as we exited the building. I think the lunch was a way to get us outside and away from the line shaft, conveyers and steep steps.
If you checked the obituary page recently, Paul Grulkowski is now at peace. I hope his mother, and neighbor David, are sharing a plate full of cookies with him.
Until next time, Orlin Brommer.
Brommer is a lifelong resident of Buffalo County. “Therefore being normal is a constant struggle. Maybe the hills, coulees and dugways are to blame for the imbalance,” he says.
.
Advertisement
