“D”ams make great bridges

One of my favorite places in my adopted home of Indiana is Bridgeton Mill, which is still family owned. For one week and two weekends a year, it is one of the hosts of the Parke County Covered Bridge Festival. It’s the most popular time when many of our smaller towns welcome thousands of crafters, food and art vendors and other folks, and where tens of thousands of people (locals and visitors) come to celebrate fall, friendship, food and fun!

This grist mill in Bridgeton is the oldest continually operating mill in Indiana. They claim to have been “open every year for over 180 years.” The grist mill’s massive stones weigh over 2,000 pounds and are estimated to be 200 years old. Some things can’t be improved upon and I put witnessing the process of gently grinding wheat into flour and corn into meal as one of these pastimes.

The Bridgeton Mill is a fun place to visit outside the confines of the Covered Bridge Festival. In fact, you get a completely different perspective when the waterfall and mill are in their normal “habitat.” You can actually visit the mill and purchase stone-ground products, ground at the mill, and bagged by the family. No additives or extra processing ensures that you get a fresh, locally produced product. Note: the buckwheat comes from northern Indiana and the popcorn comes from Illinois. The rest of their products come from as farm away as Montana, Missouri, southern Mexico and South America. Who knew?

Big Raccoon Creek flows under the Bridgeton Covered Bridge, and the force of the crashing waterfall is music to my ears. It’s like a lullaby to my soul and immediately puts me at peace. It reminds me of when I would visit the Platte River in Colorado with my dad, who loved to fish.

I first visited Bridgeton on a meandering drive one weekend. My friend and I stopped and admired the creek, dinked around the town and visited the mill, which was open. It’s an amazing step back in time, walking through the mill’s front doors.

Recently, I revisited this spot, across from the mill and next to the stream, to set up a crochet circle of friends. We brought wine (I don’t think I’m supposed to say that part). We brought chairs and after visiting the creek’s edge, we settled in for an afternoon of crochet and chit chat (otherwise known as fiber arts.) It was glorious. We found a perfect spot under large Sycamore shade trees. We talked, and welcomed other visitors who chose to drive by or fish at a favorite hole along the creek. We almost felt like locals.