While I was just a baby I was a little girl, my dad let me accompany him on Sunday afternoons for a visit to Banner Hill, an abandoned mine site.
It was a tranquil spot, a field covered with bushes, and plenty of butterweeds. There were times when I saw scattered wildflowers. There were no trees. Dad was rummaging around, taking a bolt or screw or scrap of wood, or other items my mother labelled junk. I was concentrating on finding stones that enticed me by their color or shape , and how they felt in my hands. Every now and then butterflies flew across the field, and I could hear birds calling.
As I look back, I’m wondering why I was so excited about the Sunday afternoon on Banner Hill with Daddy. Maybe it was the sheer pleasure of riding alongside him, secure and confident while he rode the dusty curves on an unpaved road.
Daddy whistled when he walked, and even when I wasn’t on his feet, I knew that he was near. When he stopped his whistling to take a breath I yelled out for him unreserved. The response whistle was the form of a soothing whistle.
The small community in which our family lived wasn’t peaceful. A depot was situated close to railroad tracks for trains just across the highway. A post office and a company store office were situated near the depot. The train that carried passengers and mail ran daily, providing an exciting day. A maintenance crew was on the train tracks. Steam engines stopped at a nearby tanks to draw in water. In the night, I sometimes woke at the crack of dawn when a burst of steam erupted and the light of the engine of a train was visible in the night sky.
After a few years, after we left the community we lived in close to Banner Hill that I learned Banner the mine that was abandoned area that Daddy me and my dad visited, was the site of one of the largest coal mining disasters that was recorded within the United States in the early 1900s. The mine exploded in April 1911 and killed more than 128 persons. The victims were convicts, a lot of them had been sent in the mine by contract with state prisons. We knew about the possibility that Banner was once a convict’s couldp. It’s difficult for me to comprehend that the peaceful spot where Daddy and I walked during Sunday evenings, was the site of such a tragic incident.
The article Looking for the Sunday activities at Banner Hill appeared first on The Andalusia Star-News.
