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CRABAPPLE COMMUNITY: This series of pics follows the route to the Community Center, the old school house (where John wants to live), crossing Crabapple Creek, a view from Nigel the Land Rover, and finally the view from the high hill of the Crabapple Cemetery.

Crabapple Community
A World Unto Itself.

Story & Photos by IRA KENNEDY

There was a time when places like the Crabapple Community
were alive with activity.  Much of that came to an end between
1949 and 1957 when the rural schools merged with nearby ISDs.

I'll never understand how more and more folks can crowd into the state
leaving some of the most charming spots virtually abandoned. 
I know -- wills, lawyers and relations can get a decent structure tied up in limbo
for decades or even generations.  It still doesn't make sense.

C.jpg (7922 bytes)rabapple, Texas is one of the best kept ghost towns you'll ever lay eyes on.  Fortunately, every now and again a wedding reception, family reunion or such is held there.  Over a decade ago I had the privilege of attending a reception in the Community Center and there's something about the experience that stays with me as one of those timeless moments that could have occurred a half century earlier.
Richard Zelade has posted some nice photos of Crabapple HERE.)
       The Crabapple school opened in 1878 educating some 40 students until 1957 when it merged with the Fredericksburg ISD.  The school started taking shape when local farmer, Mathias Schmidt, beat out several other contenders in a footrace for the honor of donating the land for the school. ( Is that anything like running for the school board?) 
       Another fine structure is the St. John's Lutheran Church (photo below) built in 1897.
church.jpg (26173 bytes)       After John and I stopped for a look-see we drove a little further looking for a turnaround.  That's when he spotted the neat limestone house tucked away behind the Community Center.

       "Stop!" John commanded.  "Now there's a place I'd like to live."
       "Who wouldn't?   There must be a really idiot reason its sittin' empty."
       "I can do idiot.   Maybe I'll qualify."
       "Well, don't let me hold you back.  I'll even write up a character reference."
       "Look," he continued ignoring my offer. "there's the sign for the Crabapple Cemetery.  Let's check it out."
       "A cemetery on a "Dead End Road".  How cool is that?"

I've been down more dead end roads than most folks - so much so that I'm surprised I haven't had to junk my car with all the miles and wear it's been put through - but after living in this piece of Texas for decades I'd never been down that road which
is remarkable considering my affinity for all things old, wore out or worse.

       The road crossed Crabapple Creek, one of the sweetest streams in these parts.  As I paused to take a drive-by photo out the window of Nigel the Land Rover, John spotted some fair-sized bass lurking near the low water crossing.  
       "Shoot!" he exclaimed (Okay, he didn't actually say shoot).  "If I had my rod and reel I could fish right from here and never leave the air conditioning."
       There was a time, back in the 70s when neither of us would have been unprepared for such an event.   But we were younger then and ready for any eventuality.  But the world didn't didn't come apart as fast as we expected and our vigilance has relaxed a mite.
marker.jpg (18681 bytes)        Up ahead, the road was tightly wrapped in a tunnel of live oaks and just beyond it opened up exposing a high hill on the right.  On its summit a lone grave marker stood like a sentinel as the only sign indicating the cemetery's location.  We climbed the hill and explored, careful not to be intrusive, and took in the vast panorama of the valley below.
       Before long I had taken us south toward Fredericksburg turning left just where Balanced Rock an old landmark used to be until some culprits dynamited it off its pedestal.  We were headed to a spot I discovered about a decade ago which, given John's interest in ancient artifacts, I knew he'd appreciate.
       Along the route there is a stretch, perhaps a mile long, that was an ancient Indian flint quarry.  Virtually every limestone cobble along the way was whacked open for quality flint -- the first process in flint knapping arrowheads and other stone tools. 
North of here the land is mostly granite and there is no flint to be had.  I reckon this was The Last Chance Flint Quarry for several thousand years.
       Just as I figured, I had to drag John away from the place and caution him, more than once, to stay on the right of way.  When Cork and I took the same route we were so busy talking about past lives (or, more specifically, youthful experiences) we missed it altogether.  In fact, somewhere just after the Balanced Rock turnoff, Cork pointed out a spot alongside a creek, tucked tightly away in a grove of live oak near a quiet stream, where he had his first romantic encounter in Texas.  (Somehow I'm disinclined to believe such conversations are just a guy thing.)
        There are a few ways to meander between CR965 and Hwy16, but any of them are equally pleasing but once that is done you have to take in Willow City Loop.  



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