When a snapshot of history is only a mental picture
When it comes to resolving a history research matter, it's hard to not get immersed in a mission.
A few of my friends and I have been recently talking about the "good old days," which in some aspects were not always as great as the cliched phrase implies. However, in this case, we were sharing fond memories of going to sixth grade camp.
For my small group, that was in the mid-1980s, and Addison Middle School students went to Kimball Camp YMCA near Reading in Hillsdale County. The three-day adventure was complete with rustic amenities, cabin raids, campfire songs, fun activities and a tour of the grounds.
Circa 1985, only the most affluent kids had their own camera, and in our adventures and tour at the complex, we were shown a battered tea kettle maybe 15 feet up in a tree. It was a visual reminder of the 1965 tornado that had obliterated Kimball Camp minutes before it crossed into Lenawee County. Word was it came from the camp's kitchen, a 1960s aluminum water kettle with a black handle and flip-top cap. The rest of the lodge was completely blown away.
Since 2017, when I started updating my book on the topic, I've been looking for a picture of that tea kettle. I reached out to Kimball Camp staff. No one had heard of the kettle or the tour about it. That told me the kettle had been gone for at least 20 years, based on the longest-serving employee's record. I asked my friends. Many of them remembered it, but no one had pictures.
It's not just me and my friends who have an interest in this small icon. I recently asked on a social media history page what people remember most about the 1965 tornado. One man responded, without prompting, "In the mid-1970s, there was still a tin coffee pot up in a tree at Kimball Camp."
Because I am in the "home stretch" of finishing the second edition of "Night of the Wind," I called Kimball Camp again to seek permission to look through their archives. I was granted unfettered access. On Aug. 16, I was met at the camp by friendly and enthusiastic staff, also eager to learn if somewhere in the archives was a photo of the battered kettle. For some-30 years, the kettle was a symbolic testament to the rise of the longtime facility after adversity. By best guess, the kettle fell out of the tree in another storm or was taken, unnoticed. The trees in that area are long gone, replaced many years ago by "Goliath," a giant climbing structure in an area of zip lines and other outdoor adventure games.
In a narrow, back corridor at the main lodge, I sat on the floor as staff brought me album after album and boxes, in front of an open closet of historical items. I got excited when I saw many of the albums contained color slides from the 1970s and 1980s. Hundreds of pictures. Was my quest about to be fulfilled? Surely, someone captured this local legend on film.
Alas, no.
As I closed the last page of the last album, I was neither better nor worse off than when I started. At least I knew where such a photo wasn't. The camp staff is hopeful I will locate a picture of the kettle. Until or unless that happens, it remains only a picture locked in my and my friends' aging memories.
So, "campers," last call before I shut off the light, does anyone have a picture of the famous kettle in the tree?
Dan Cherry is a Lenawee County historian.
This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Dan Cherry: When a snapshot of history is only a mental picture
