A Decaying Old Cabin A Link To Our Future
by Peter Shrake, SCHS Executive Director
From the August 2000 Sauk County Historical Society Newsletter

Massive rough-hewn logs lay rotting atop a collapsing foundation. The dank smell of decay permeated the air and mixed with the soft scent of prairie grass surrounding a two-story log cabin resting on a gentle, rolling hillside in central Sauk County. It is a relic. A relic of a forgotten past, farm and family. A history known only to a select few who had the opportunity or misfortune (your choice) to call this small two-story log cabin home.

It had to have stood there for ages, perhaps as early as the 1870s and had seen much in its time. Originally containing perhaps only three rooms, two on the first floor and an open space on the second. At some point in its life, a lean-to addition provided a long, open room adjacent to the first floor. The addition was simple frame construction. By that time, mills had been established nearby so there was no need to cut more logs, if any could still be had in the area.

Peering inside a gaping hole created by several of the massive logs collapsing, one's eyes were greeted by crumbling lath and plaster. The old place had ended its days as a barn. The rooms were filled with scores of used tractor tires, rolls of old barbed wire, and some rusty boiler-like contraption. A huge hole had unceremoniously been cut into the side of the lean-to addition. A crude door adapted from broad planking hung wide open on rough hinges. Still, you could make out each room, and realize that this was at one time a comfortable and proud home.

Quietly staring out onto a lonely county highway on a pastoral hillside in Westfield Township, the sad remains of the cabin sit slowly collapsing upon itself in forgotten silence. It is a ruin and soon it will be no more. The owner, though eager to see the place preserved in some manner, will probably have the place torn down soon. And frankly, if one looks at it in a practical light, it is probably the only thing left to do with the place. To restore it would take a monumental and arguably impossible effort at this late date. And to leave it be, is to invite the inevitable wanderings of some kid (or historian), who giving way to curiosity, will crawl through its interior only to trigger some collapse resulting in injury or even death.

But to see the place go is still sad. This was a home. A place where the common tragedies and joys of everyday life took place. It is not alone in its despair, however. Every year hundreds of historic structures fall into decay and eventually disappear from the landscape. It is perhaps all the more distressing since with each passing building we lose one more connection with the generations of lives that came before us. People for generations have seen, touched and walked through these places.

It has been said before, and will be said again, old buildings link us to our past on levels of deep emotion and philosophy. Though pragmatism prohibits preserving every structure, still we must try to save as many of our aging structures as we can. They are an integral part of the cultural fabric that is our community. They are a physical part of who we were and who we are as a people. But more important, they should be a part of who we will become.