A few weeks back in an article about the Bacon families, one fact that was neglected is a story about Henrietta Bacon, the wife of David Bacon, who lived on Redfield Road.
Henrietta was a poet and she wrote about her favorite things, family and friends. Her poetry was published in a little book that I imagine was printed at the Edwardsburg Argus newspaper office.
The newspaper owner and publisher Henry Andrus printed many items for local residents, and I believe he printed this little booklet of poems titled “Do You Remember?”
It was printed in 1960, and the forward in the booklet was written by her friend, Hazel Westfall, who was a first grade teacher at the old school on U.S. 12. These are the words of  Hazel Westfall about her friend Henrietta:
“Henrietta Bausman Bacon was born in Pittsburgh , Pa., in 1885 and educated in public school.
Most of her married life was spent on the Bacon Centennial Farm near Edwardsburg as the wife of David Bacon.
She was a friend to all who lived in her neighborhood, especially the children who spent much time in her home under her guidance. They were always welcome.
Her affiliation with various groups in the community afforded her a large acquaintance who remember the warmth of her greetings and the depth of her friendship.
She was an avid reader and fond of poetry.
One of her hobbies was collecting poems and paraphrasing them.  Whenever Henrietta was asked to contribute to a program for Eastern Star Chapter, PTA and church; she responded with a reading.  Often, it was her composition of rhymes to get the occasion.
Her rhymes were written for the pleasure of people who enjoyed sharing them. They are an expression of her imagination and adjusted to the mood and purpose of the occasion for which they were written. They need no explanation for they are delightfully simple full of fresh and spontaneous friendliness.”
Since this is the year of the 100th anniversary of the Village of Edwardsburg, this poem written by Henrietta Bacon probably 60 years ago was fitting at this time:

“The Little Village”

Have I ever told you the story,
The story I love to tell,
The story about a village
Where my friends and kin folks dwell?

Have I ever told you the very place
Where the little village now stands
Was once an Indiana camping ground
Known throughout all the land?

Have I ever told you of the old Oak Tree
Which the red men sat beneath,
Where they held their councils of war
And smoked their pipes of peace?

Have I ever told you of Ezra Beardsley?
In eighteen twenty-six, he came, and of his son in law, Edwards,
I think Thomas was his name.

And how they named the village
And called it Edwardsburg,
The only village by this
So I have often heard.

And how in eighteen forty eight,
My how the village had grown!
Three churches and a brick school house
Where three hundred people call home.

Oh yes, they had a wicked saloon;
The men had to have their gin
And then for more than fifty years
The village was rid of this sin.

Have you heard of two churches,
One of red brick and one of white,
Where the villagers on Sunday
Went to learn how how to live right?

Have you heard of the lovely shade trees
Along the village streets?
And the lawns in front of the houses
were always cut very neat.

And the people of the village
Were always so nice to greet
Anyone coming to their home
Or the ones they met on the street.

An then just north of the village
Is the peaceful cemetery
It seems so quiet and serene
A last resting place for you and me.

Near the banks of Pleasant Lake
On road One Hundred Twelve
Is where you will find this village
The village I love so well.

I hope you have enjoyed my story,
The story I love to tell,
The of the little village
Where my friends and kinfolks dwell