All of this area (the lower half of Michigan) was once covered with forest growth and prairie land. As settlers came, they cleared the land in order to grow food and rear live- stock. So, all of lower Michigan was free of trees only a few years after man's arrival. Trees were cut and used for building barns, homes, heating, and making furniture, machinery, utensils, wheels, and sometimes even shoes. The homes needed wood for stoves, fireplaces, and cooking. Saw mills became a necessity. Trees were logged and sent by wagon or downstream to the newly built mills. Michigan also had many lakes, marshes, creeks, and rivers; and any area with water as well as trees was quickly settled.

In 1895 my father, known as "Dr. Will," bought 40 acres of land, which is now Brook Lodge, from my mother's family, the Babcocks. He used a creamery on the property only a short while before remodeling it into a nicer home for his family. Through the years he bought more acreage. Brook Lodge had been left with few trees so he planted poplars first because they grew fast. When my father wanted more stable trees, he asked his friends to help in planting on an island, included in the property. The trees were named after each friend who helped. They had a regular gay get-together, and with no alcohol.

The trees were maples, elms, oaks, and willows, the principal trees of lower Michigan. The willows were unusually lovely and they grew fast near the water, leaning their long branches down to the ground. (The elms in later years were killed off with Dutch elm disease). A little park emerged on our property, giving shade to a once barren land.

Marshes were drained, making more land useful and decreasing the number of flies and mosquitoes. There were no pine trees; these were added later when my father built his rock garden. Pine trees were natural to the northern part of Michigan. In the south were deciduous trees.

At one time Brook Lodge had had a creek running through the property. This had been dammed up by former owners; maybe the first owner used Brook Lodge as a saw mill (I understand that some people knew it was so). The dammed up area made a pond with a waterfall going into the creek, which rushed by our home. I shall always remember the sound of that rushing water.

The original tiny home had been built according to the contour of the land, with the main part of the building on top of the land and the basement in the ground underneath - very similar to what builders do today. The creek dropped water into the basement from an area outside called the "mill-race," which must have been at least 20 feet long by about 4 feet wide. A water wheel had been installed and was in place when my father bought the property. The water wheel was turned on by hand every evening. This motion started the wheel going around, picking up the water, and giving force to make parts of other equipment work. The power may have been used to separate cream from the milk and operate a saw mill.

There was marsh land around the house and creek, with high grass and many snakes -black snakes, water snakes, rattlers, and blue racers. In fact, I remember walking on the bridge that crossed the creek one particular day. I put my hand on a snake, which had wound itself around the bridge railing. I didn't like the feel of the snake, but it didn't hurt me, so I went on my way calmly. As the property developed, the snakes became quite a nuisance. Therefore, every morning for awhile my cousin Arch Campbell took his gun and visited their habitat, where he shot them - especially the rattlers.

"Arch" was Archibald Upjohn Campbell, the son of one of my father's sisters. He moved into our home at the turn of the century when his mother died and he lived with our family until he married.

We had help of a kind in our home, a lone housekeeper whom I remember as a quiet, kindly person. The yard around the house had been cleared, and there was a brick walk across it. One day I came upon .the housekeeper, who had a broom in her hand. She was playing with a rattler that was trying to wind itself in and around the broom. I stood there, fascinated and a little scared. I was very young and wondered what to do. Just then Arch emerged from the basement with an ax in his hand. He ran up the steps quickly and cut off the snake's head. I was too young to realize how really dangerous all of this was, but I do know I stood paralyzed, watching this happen and wondering what the snake was going to do. Arch arrived at the right moment. The housekeeper sighed with relief and walked away. I imagine Arch cut off the rattlers, as they were a great prize to own.

In the early years, of course, there was no running water in the house. All of the water used was pumped by hand from wells outside. These had windmills over them for pumping water out of the ground. The water was pumped from the wells by hand pumps, which were attached to pipes leading into the wells. The pumps had to be primed before each use. Water was carried into the house in pails, heated on the stove, and used for cooking, cleaning, and washing. On Saturday nights we had our baths in the kitchen. Warm water was poured into small metal oblong tubs. We sat upright, our knees pointed toward the ceiling. The bowls we used for daily washing were placed on chests in each room along with a large pitcher of water. When we were through with the water, we emptied it into a slop jar near the chest. These jars were emptied every day. We used outhouses for our bathroom privileges, but at night had small potties that fit under the beds.

Dr. Will hired John DeYoung, a young man working at the Upjohn Company, as his caretaker. He and his wife moved to Brook Lodge and lived in a white house on the property next to the road. They raised four children. There were red barns, filled with horses, a few cows, chickens, and ducks. John, with a helper, took care of the place, mowed the lawns (with hand-mowers, of course) and kept us supplied with eggs, milk, vegetables, and berries. How well I remember John bringing in the milk; pouring it in round, shallow pans, where it would stay until the cream accumulated on top; then taking the thick, yellow cream off. The rest was skim milk. We also churned our own butter from this milk.

We had an ice box, supplied from an ice house on the property, so that we could keep our milk fresh. The ice was cut annually from frozen lakes and stored in a building. Individual squares were stacked with sawdust in between the layers to keep them from melting and sticking together - a custom at that time. My father and mother soon started to rebuild the small house that was called the creamery on the property. By adding and changing here and there on the first floor they made a bedroom, living room, dining room, and a long narrow room from the living room behind the bedroom. This last room had a red window at the end, so we called it the rose room. It also had a telephone on the wall. There was a door that led out to a porch, which was the length of the house on the east side. Most of this new addition was high above the ground because of the contour of the land.

Two large fireplaces - one in the living room and one in the dining room - were made from boulders found on the property and were various shapes and shades. The fireplaces were very attractive. When the house was being remodeled my mother and father spent several days at a time living with Cora and John DeYoung so they could supervise the work.

Our evening light was from kerosene lamps or candles until Father bought a dynamo and connected it to the water wheel with a belt. By using this method he was able to generate electricity around the house. My father had rewired the house to make this all possible, and it resulted in bringing electric light into every room. This was a great event around 1900! We were one of the first users of electricity in this area, and it was all due to water power and my father's ingenious ability to see the possibility and put it to use.

I can recollect that each evening just before dusk one of the men, my father, Harold, or Arch would go down to the basement from the outside stairway and turn on the water wheel that started the dynamo, which then turned on the lights. Before we went to bed one of the men would return to the basement and turn off the water wheel for the night, and we would then go to bed by the light of kerosene lamps. Because of the power we were able to have a bathroom on the second floor. The water was pumped into a tank in the attic -  a great innovation for the time. No potties any more!

Now we needed a place for sewage from the bathroom and the sink in the kitchen. The creek next to the house was used for this purpose. We contaminated the water in the creek, so my father diverted it and made two creeks - the one by the house that we used for sewage, and the next one turning away and then going parallel across the lawn, making a long, wide island between the two creeks. Quite a way down the lawn the creeks joined once more and eventually emptied into another creek, then into the Kalamazoo River, and on into Lake Michigan, 50 miles away.

It was in this second clean creek that we had a great time, playing and wading. Several years later a swimming pool was built near the end of the new creek. We walked from one side to the other on little wooden bridges, except where the creeks came together. In order to cross this spot large stones were placed close together from the island to the mainland. They were flat stones, stepping stones we called them. One of my happiest memories is of walking barefoot across these to an apple tree on the other side. I lived without shoes and stockings as much as possible. I climbed the tree as high as I dared, and looked out over the land, feeling as though I were part of the world - a wonderful feeling. The tree really wasn't very big, but it was for me. I hung on with my knees, but only on the lower branches. It was my trapeze act and lots of fun. The apple tree wasn't far from the barn. I often walked there, playing with John's children and the ducks and chickens. These birds roamed freely and used the barns and barn- yards as their territory. They had no fear; there was always open land, and no cars to frighten them.

We had two horses - Spoonie and Spooks. Originally they were used to bring in hay as it was cut. Often the De Young children and I rode the hay wagons from field to barn. We played in the hayloft, jumping from a ledge into the hay that was piled on the lofts. The center of the barn was left open to the ceiling so the wagons could be drawn in and the hay forked up on either side. Later it was used as feed for the cows and horses.

Spoonie lived to be an old horse. He was finally used only for trips to Augusta, where we shopped or picked up guests who came out from Kalamazoo on the Interurban, an electric street car on tracks. Dorothy often drove the wagon. One day she harnessed Spoonie to the buggy, climbed in with her friend Betty Burdick, who had been visiting and was to return to Kalamazoo by Interurban. John's youngest boy, Myron De Young, (about 5) and I joined them. I was probably 11. Spoonie was very tired that day. Dorothy could not get him to trot. She used the whip gently but that did not help. We arrived on the outskirts of Augusta and Spoonie slowed down then stopped. He pulled but couldn't make it. Then he collapsed and died right there on the Augusta country road.

Fortunately we were near a house, so the four of us climbed out, looked helplessly at poor Spoonie, and then went up to the house, where the owners took us in and were very kind. Dorothy called back to Brook Lodge for help, and John came after us, taking over the responsibility, along with the men who lived in the house. As we children sat on the porch and waited, Myron started to cry. I could not seem to calm him. The sad, long ride had overcome him. When his father arrived, Myron threw himself into his arms and was comforted.

Many, many years later when John died, Dorothy and I called on the family. I spoke to Myron about that day. He was then grown with children of his own, and he said, "Do you know, that was the first time I had seen death. I loved Spoonie and it hit me very hard."

Our family spent every summer at Brook Lodge for many years, going out there from Kalamazoo first by horse and carriage, then by Interurban, to Augusta where John DeYoung would drive the mile to our summer home. Later we came by automobile. At first, Dr. Will felt he could make a go of this property by farming, but he eventually found the soil was too bad. It was during this period that my father began feeling the need for a caretaker. He built a caretaker's home several hundred feet from the main house, south of the pond. The first man hired was Peter Peterson, who, with his wife and daughter, assisted for many years with the rock garden, rose garden, the shrubbery around the grounds, and the greenhouses, which came later. I do not know who was caretaker after Peter; but I do know that Peter was a fine, competent man, a tremendous help to dad and a good friend.

My Father's Peonies

The second summer after Mother's death, Dorothy and I spent the day before the 4th with our cousins Ruth and Amelia at Gull Lake. We went from there to Brook Lodge. Lo and behold, the fronts of the fireplaces were covered with fireworks which Arch Campbell, our cousin, had put together. This was to say, "The Fourth of July is a sad day for you, but it is a holiday and should be celebrated as you have celebrated for years. This is what your mother would want." So from then on we celebrated the Fourth of July along with our friends.

We stayed at Brook Lodge the rest of the summer and got into a new way of life without Mother. Winifred took over the responsibilities of the household, as well as caring for Dick, who was then four years old. One never forgets a sad occasion, but personal sorrow should not be a burden for others.

Dad became more interested in Brook Lodge. He had hoped to make a farm out of it but that didn't work. He became interested in flowers, trying Japanese iris at first - beautiful things that took lots of care and water. Then he discovered the peony and before long he had many of them. By 1912 he had hundreds of them in large areas, making a big display as they blossomed in June. People came from all around - Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, and Northern Michigan - in June of each year to see them. His Sundays in June were always busy as he spent his time in the fields with guests, mostly strangers; but this was a great joy for him - talking peonies, picking peonies, and showing off his spectacular display of white, pink, and red.

The peony interest became quite a problem too, because visitors soon began using our place as a picnic ground. They would look into the windows of our house, hang their feet in the pond's natural fountains, and have picnics on the lawns. The road on which visitors entered Brook Lodge came from what is now 42nd Street, crossed the lawn, passed the pond, and then merged into another road. This caused a real traffic obstruction. But dad loved the whole confusion. It provided him with company, someone to talk to about his flowers.

There were two fountains on the property, one small round one and another long one with round areas at each end. These fountains were natural, as the force of the water coming over the waterfall was so strong that it spurted water into the air. For several years after mother's death we continued going to Brook Lodge. The peonies were my father's salvation and his companions. He loved growing them; he loved talking about them; he loved picking them, he even wrote his own definitions of the different varieties and had them printed in a booklet. Peonies were picked and put into bouquets for the guests to buy. Many were given away to the public schools and colleges for graduation each year.

The crowds were heaviest on Sundays. In fact, there were so many people seeing the peonies that we stayed inside. Often when Dad had the urge, one of us would go to the field with him and walk through the peony beds as he picked them and put them in our arms until we were carrying almost more than we could handle. I loved doing this.

Changes at Brook Lodge

With a lovely new wife and a thriving business, my father became more interested than ever in Brook Lodge. He had something to live for and to love once more. The peony fields grew and became more and more numerous. He had to buy extra land to take care of them. Thanks to the new Mrs. Upjohn, father was persuaded to give up the driveway in front of the house, and make an entrance from 42nd Street directly into the fields and out again the same way. It was easier for guests to park and wander around. This cleared up the confusion around the main house, too.

Many changes occurred in the house, too. He and Carol added a lovely new wing to the main floor. The addition included a big room and a second long, narrow room on the east side, dominated by a large window. This second room was dad's office. He wanted a big window so he could sit at his desk and look outside at the fountain and his beloved land. He did quite a bit of work in this room.

A greenhouse was attached to the bigger room and over the years father grew out of season tomatoes, melons, and long cucumbers that were a rarity in those days. The green- houses grew in numbers as the years went by. Then he grew luscious grapes and nectarines, which are still there. A bathroom was added downstairs; the old living room, bedroom, and rose room were made into one large living room; the kitchen was remodeled and a lovely entrance way developed. A sunroom was added; and, as my father grew older, he used this as his bedroom during the day.

The upstairs was changed also. Two small rooms at the end of the hall were made into one, and a dressing room was made out of the west bedroom, which was once used by Harold and Arch. A bedroom and bath were later added, making this a suite for dad and Carol. It was sometime during the 20's that a separate building was constructed for dining, by the architect, Aymar Embury II. It was a lovely brick building close to the pond, a good walking distance from the house, but not too far. My father said he did not like to smell cooking in the house. Walking back and forth from the dining hall was my father's excuse for exercise, too. One day he said to me, "Why did I build this dining hall. For exercise, yes, but how do we know what Brook Lodge will be used for eventually? Maybe an old folks' home - or maybe the company will find a use for it someday."

Carol's pride and joy was the rose garden, which she herself dreamed up and had planted on a small hill at the near end of the second creek above the swimming pool. This was a lovely spot with all kinds of roses. It was approached by walking up stone steps. The swimming pool was not modern as we think of them today. It was a long narrow one, and the sides were made of rock - dirt for the ground and a trellis over the top. There was a little covered lounging area at each end. The water was made to go over small falls to fill the pool. The creek was stopped until it emptied out at the far end into the larger creek again.

It was lots of fun; of course, it was not heated. Frogs and occasionally snakes joined the swimmers. The pond was not very deep and full of high, thick weeds, so swimming was not good. We would take our row boat down the pond, which narrowed into a spot full of lily pads blossoming during the summer. When the flow was too great and the falls too noisy to sleep, we controlled the amount of water over the falls by placing an extra board across the entrance of the pond as it flowed into the waterfall, thus making a dam. It was great fun sitting at the top of the falls, hanging our legs over as the water rushed by our bodies, After a few years, Dad built a cookout at the end of the rock garden near the water lilies. We could approach it from the road, but we often walked to this beautiful place, where we had many picnic suppers.

By then the automobile was a "going" thing, and we had our friends calling on us regularly. In the early days there was also a bicycle path on which our men used to pedal back and forth to work from Brook Lodge through Augusta and into Kalamazoo. When Dorothy and I shared the same room and bed at Brook Lodge, we would retire early with our lamp. And the mornings came early. We heard the birds, many of them around 4 o'clock, then the crowing of the roosters and other sounds from the farm yard. I am sure that John got up and milked the cows, but we went back to sleep.

The roads were dusty and warm on our bare feet. I remember walking on those roads finding all kinds of wild berries and flowers growing by the wayside - cherries, raspberries, strawberries, butterfly weed, daisies, goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace, and many grasses. Occasionally we walked around the block, but that was quite a jaunt -maybe four miles. Often we would wade in the creek, jump, lose our balance, and land in the creek itself.

There was a tennis court built near the front road; first it was grass and then clay. It wasn't used too much as I remember. Brook Lodge was built on a corner with a road that came up from the main highway, passing John's house as we entered. This road extended to our house beyond. We drove past the pond and up a hill, passing Pete's house, into a second road that branched off from the main road. Years later a house was built for Pete not far from our house and we often called on his wife, Edith. It was a lovely, small home that is still there, blending into the landscape. This made the corner of the farm. A stone wall was built around these corner roads. At one time we raised pigs in this area. We were not isolated. There were farmers up and down these roads, living their own lives, several of them working for Dad.

As we left the property on our way to Augusta there was a small parallel path which went through the creek and led down the main road. The horses loved this route. They would stop and drink cold water and paw the stones with their hooves. Automobiles were not common yet, and the horses were frightened of them. Whenever we would approach a horse-drawn wagon Dad would stop our White Steamer to give the farmer a chance to get out and hold the bridle of the horse to keep the animal from running away as we passed. The horse snorted and pulled at his rein, but the farmer had a firm hold on the reins. Many a farmer swore at this inconvenience and shook his fist at us.

There is one instance I remember clearly. We were in the car driving from Gull Lake to Brook Lodge. There was an open one-seated carriage in front of us holding a woman driver and two children. The sound of our car startled the horse and he started to run away. The woman could not stop him and her carriage tipped over, dropping her and the children on the side of the road while the horse kept on running, dragging the carriage behind him until he returned to his barn. No doubt, the carriage was torn to pieces. We stopped the car (a Michigan car by then?) and Dad out and calmed the mother who was in tears. None of them could speak English. They were immigrants, new in United States. We took them home, only to find that they were living in a tiny house - a sad, poor looking home near a marsh. The man had brought his family over to United States, expecting to become a farmer in a new land. On arriving in the States they left their ship, managed to get through Ellis Island, then wondered where to go.

As was the custom early in the century, men from around country met these immigrants as they landed and sold them property from a map! A salesman from Michigan had approached this family and talked them into buying property "beautiful Michigan, good farm country". So this family landed in a strange place with all their belongings. They were totally alone in a new country. The poor man had bought property without seeing it, only to find as he arrived in Michigan that the land he had purchased was not good for farming; in fact, it was mostly marsh land.

Somehow the family had survived, and he had managed to get his property in shape and to purchase a horse and carriage. I have no idea what my dad found for the man to do, but I am sure that Dad appeared to this immigrant like someone from heaven. I am also certain my generous father saw to it that his family was taken care of. No doubt the man found his place in this strange country because he apparently had energy and a willingness to work.

We grew vegetables on our farm. When the corn was ripe, Dad had corn roasts and invited his friends out to enjoy themselves. First, a pit was dug in the ground and a roaring fire started in it. As it died down to hot coals, he would first put in potatoes to bake, then later add the corn. When all was ready, the potatoes and corn were raked out of the coals and we had a delicious meal. Of course, the corn had to be prepared for this. First it was picked, then looked over for worms, and sometimes a few of the outer husks removed, but not all. Bushels of corn were brought in from the fields, and our helpers sat around getting out the silk from the top of each ear. All of this was done before putting the corn into the coals. Sometimes the corn with husks was soaked for awhile in water first, but I think we put ours right into the coals.

Within ten minutes after the corn was in the fire, it was raked out. The guests sat down to the hot potatoes or potato salad (prepared earlier), corn, and lots of butter and salt. Chicken and cake had been prepared in the kitchen, but the men especially feasted on the roasted corn. It was nothing for them to eat six or eight ears each. Some of the corn was partially burned; this helped the flavor.

Another place we enjoyed was our porch, which was built off the living room sometime between 1900 and 1904. It was high above the ground, and had no steps going down; we entered from the rose room. There was plenty of furniture, a hammock, and no screens, so we always fought the mosquitoes and flies, and they were bad. It was an enjoyable spot, looking out over the large fountain and beyond, to the farm house. There was a large tree not far from the porch, and when we were older and our young guests came out for a day, one of the sports for the boys was to reach over to the tree and bring a branch to the porch. From this they would climb to the ground. Fortunately, no one was ever hurt. Another stunt was to push bicycles and riders into the millrace. We didn't do this very often.

We had several groups during the summer among all of us. They came out in cars and others still biked out. We did nothing special - just enjoyed the country. We did have croquet. After the swimming pool was built we used that a lot.

Although the members of our combined families married and had their own homes, Dad and Carol continued to spend their summers at Brook Lodge. Carol gave Brook Lodge a charm it had never had, for she had such dignity. For awhile she had teas late on Sunday afternoons when she entertained the children and grandchildren - Dorothy with Barbara, Suzanne, and Bill; Harold and Grace with Janet, Mary, and John; Donald and I with Carol, Jane, and Martha; Winifred and Rudolph with Dick and Rudy; Ruth and Stanley with Gail and Jim; and Irving.

Sometime during this period, my father and I were walking back to the main lodge from the dining hall together. He was frail, had a bad heart, and used a cane when walking. We stopped to rest in the shade of an apple tree overlooking the pond and garden, which he loved so much. An enormous bull frog came rushing past me. He was stretched his full length - a huge frog. I had to move quickly so as to give him room; nevertheless, he ran over my foot. He was followed by a large blue racer snake. The frog was headed for the pond, and the snake was gaining on him, looking for a good meal. Dad got up quickly for a frail old man and hit the snake with his cane two or three times, breaking its back. The snake wiggled around a little, but his life was over. The frog was free. He made the pond. As dad sat down, he said to me, "I bet your heart is going faster than mine." I'm sure it was. We measured the snake afterwards - 62 inches long and large around. My father died on October 18, 1932. He was living in his favorite place when this happened - Brook Lodge. He loved this spot better than any other place he owned. It was his life.

Later Years at Brook Lodge

During World War II Brook Lodge was used by the Kalama-zoo County and Battle Creek Red Cross Chapters. Regularly each week motor corps volunteers and nurses' aides went to Percy Jones Hospital, an Army Hospital in Battle Creek, two or three times a week. From this hospital paraplegics were carried to station wagons and taken to Brook Lodge for a day's outing. Percy Jones Hospital was between Augusta and Battle Creek, and Brook Lodge was only a mile from Augusta; so it was a very short and easy trip for the boys.

Canteen corps members planned lunches that the patients would often eat near the pond, and, occasionally there was entertainment in the house - piano playing, singing, and such. All of this was planned by Red Cross volunteers. This was a day the men looked forward to and loved. They were taken out from the hospital and given a few hours of nature and home. This meant a great deal to them, and something they would always remember.

It was shortly after Carrie Upjohn's death that The Upjohn Company asked to use Brook Lodge for their sales meetings and other company activities, which involved housing many people. This was an experiment and a great success. How happy our father would have been. In order to accomplish this experiment, they used the bedrooms of the main house by doubling up two or three salesmen. They also turned the garage into bedrooms.

This was so successful that on June 15, 1956, The Upjohn Company decided to make this a permanent arrangement and purchased Brook Lodge. Mrs. Markley was hired to take care of the kitchen and housekeeping for the men. Before many months were out, small houses were dotted around the grounds of Brook Lodge, each taking care of 8 or 10 men, with a separate bedroom and bath for each. The architect was Mr. Clyde Kellogg. Also, the main house bedrooms continued to lodge guests. The new room downstairs was used for gatherings of all kinds. The four rooms on the original floor - the living room, bedroom, rose room, and dining room - were made into one large room where the men relaxed and played games. A new entrance to the main lodge was built. The kitchen in the dining hall was also enlarged. Another room was added to take care of more tables and chairs. They built a conference hall for meetings. The architect was Edward C. (Ted ) Embury, son of Aymar Embury, II.

Most of the peonies were destroyed to give room for a baseball diamond and the new guest houses, but they did keep a small bed of peonies from the original plantings. (I often wondered where all the peonies went.) I had the honor of being on the decorating committee with Mrs. Markley, who was in charge of the dining room building. In fact, I am going to say that (just maybe) I "saved" Brook Lodge; because when the men decided to use it as a company meeting place and living quarters, I was shocked to find them serving meals with heavy china in what was once a delicate room, with lovely antiques and beautiful china. So, I asked to be put on this committee. Mrs. Markley and I worked long and hard, buying blankets, sheets, pillows, bedspreads, china, and outfitting the kitchen. We suddenly realized we had taken on quite a chore, so we called in Eleanor Austin, a decorator, to take care of decorating the rooms.

In this way we kept the elegant tone of the place, which had been established over the years, especially through my step-mother's efforts. Eleanor Austin used all of the fine old furniture, which mother-Carol had collected, as well as a few of the earlier pieces. (Not much, as the early furniture was very unattractive but useful.) As time went on and activities at Brook Lodge increased, Mrs. Markley retired, married a second time, and moved to Augusta.

Catherine Vander Bunde, from Grand Rapids, was the next head of housekeeping and the dining hall. There were others from The Upjohn Company itself who took charge of the whole project as it grew. One of them was Hal Maloney, the husband of my daughter Jane. He had this responsibility for several years. They then moved to Sedona, Arizona, and this job was taken over by others.

The Lodge is still being used, and I hope it will continue to be for many more years. The company is glad to have it. Employees love going out and staying a few days at a time. Brook Lodge is still a beautiful spot, and I am sure that many people have experienced a memorable occasion there.