The Story of Tower Farm
To those who find in history any interest or charm,
There's something quite romantic in the Tale of Tower Farm.
Away off in old England very many years ago,
A gentleman named Bridges was over-come with woe.
He lost his wife, and saw his two fair daughters, drowned,
And these heavy trials plunged him into a grief profound.
Old scenes became too painful -- he longed afar to roam,
So he came across to Canada to seek for a new home.
With other friends he ventured, to this, our own fair land,
And bought a tract of country along the Rice Lake strand.
Where, amid strange new surroundings, he took up life once more,
And strove to "do his duty" as he had done before.
Not far from the lake he chose a very pretty site,
From which through the trees he could glimpse the water bright.
He found a rounded knoll on a gently sloping hill,
And there began to exercise his architectural skill.
The result of his trouble was a quite eccentric mind--
And a building such as he put up, one now could hardly find.
It was several stories high and in form an octagon;
The wood work of read cedar -- walls of brick and stone.
Like a Chinese pagoda the Tower stood erect,
Though with its roots and angles not so ornately decked.
From the first--four rooms around a central square,
Each in lessening dimensions other floors arose in air.
From floor to floor one mounted by means of a spiral stair,
A spinal column for the Tower--planned with the nicest care.
Till from observatory on its highest altitude
Could be seen a panorama of island, lake and wood.
Or on clear and starry nights, the heavens might be scanned,
With reverent awe be studied these wonders of God's hand.
Among the many features which marked this building rare,
Was a subterranean passage leading outside to the air.
The Tower rooms were furnished with rare bric-a-brac and china,
Such silver and quaint furniture are not now found in Mina. (*)
On Sundays when he gathered the settlers around to meeting,
The host would lay his prayer-book down to give his comers greeting.
He fraternized with Indians, wore their blanket suit and belt.
With knife in lieu of tomahawk and moccasins o f soft pelt.
But there was one thing in the dress at which he drew the line,
His own good British headgear, would simply not resign.
He must have cut a figure -- One could not fail to see,
In this unusual garb sure proof of eccentricity.
And when in frosty weather he drove in to market town;
He wore his high silk topper with silk kerchief fastened down.
But some years of country living thus near to Nature's heart,
Did not bring him satisfaction--he grew anxious to depart.
To fresher fields and pastures new so his Tower-land and ?????
He sold to a young Scotchman and was seen around it no more.
Old folks say that this new owner was a man of noble birth,
But he had a little problem well common on this earth--
He tarried long at wine, oft forgot his high estate,
In foolish drunken stupor, once nearly met his fate,
When the Tower with all its treasures was burned right to the ground.
And his life was barely avail. After some looking round.
He builded a more modern house at a somewhat level space,
He planted trees and made of it very charming place.
He found a loving help-mate in his neighbor's governess;
And no doubt they had their days of joy and happiness.
For young faces grew around them to cheer them when in gloom,
And the laughter of young voices echoed oft from ??(to) ????(town)
But into this fair Eden came serpent drink,
And brought ????????????????
cherished a fond hope that if a change he'd make,
He might find new environment be able to forsake, His evil habit.
So the dear old Tower Farm was sold.,
And he went into California, which then lured men with gold.
Since then the farm has had its share of changes and reverse.
But now, long may it prosper under Mr. and Mrs. Nurse.
-- E. Keele
* The post office for the Tower before Rural Routes were instituted.
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