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Donna's Journal
Fairfax Historical Society


If you don’t read a thing of this journal you must at least click on these beautiful pictures of the area we drove through to get to Fairfax, Oklahoma.

http://www.pbase.com/ron9ron/flint_hills/

The ride is always smooth as silk over these modern highways and a far cry from how the original folks had to bump over them in their wagons and even the Model T’s were not the most comfortable of transportation. A person would have to be totally insensitive not to feel the vast, untamed beauty of the pastures stretching out as far as the eye can see. If new cars in their speed hold true to the road and give us only a tease of the view as we zip along this is okay. A taste is better than none at all, we feel.

At the corner on the central part of main street Fairfax is the ancient bank that could it speak might tell stories so fantastic they would be hard to believe. This is where we were meeting for the Fairfax Historical Society and their monthly meeting. The oil wealth of another day seemed to be sealed in this place where history was now standing still. How humble I felt and wished that I was there for one of those to speak. How much more they could tell than I knew. Nevertheless, I was prepared with artifacts of my own through the antique photographs where my family posed in Sunday best clothing for some photograph who came to Fairfax and Ralston, a town only minutes away.

How gracious and appreciative were these seniors as I shared the antique photographs and spoke briefly of one or the other. These gentle people were descendants of friends of my own family and I felt at home. They, who were empathetic to my tired body after a day of spring yard work, made me a companion of their, too. If they only knew it was I who was hungry to hear the words my father spoke, names of Native men and women, Tish a Walla, Tall Chief, Old man John Stink and so many others.

From the time I had been there before this handful of people had created a museum that could be called unequal to any. No matter that it was small, the history it holds is rare. Who else can tell the stories of beautiful Indian maidens who became world known ballerinas as the Tall Chief girls did. I forgot my camera, but promise to go back and do a visual recording.


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