The Mausoleum, Revisited

It had been, oh, forty years, I suppose, since I last visited McDowell's Mausoleum, a few miles southwest of Fairbury. I traipsed along that trail several times with my family, as I was growing up. We hiked somewhere or other, nearly every weekend, just because we loved to get outside and walk. I remember being amazed that few of my friends had ever heard of the mausoleum, and even fewer had seen it.

The mausoleum is a hand-carved tomb, built into a sandstone cliff in the early 1900's by Nelson McDowell, a rich bachelor whose father was one of Fairbury's founders. He worked for nearly a decade before the tomb was finished. However, when he was killed suddenly, in a car-train accident, state law prevented his burial in the mausoleum. So, it sits there today, on the bank of Rose Creek, empty as ever.

(When I first wrote about the mausoleum a few years ago, I included more historical details and family trivia. You may click here to read my previous blog.)

I don't know how we got on the topic of the mausoleum at my class reunion last weekend, but Jerry volunteered to take anyone who wanted to go on Saturday afternoon. 

Looking down on Rose Creek from the bridge.

Eleven of us, classmates and some spouses, met at the McDonald's parking lot and followed Jerry out to the Rose Creek Wildlife Management Area. Since the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission purchased the land, there is a new, graveled, parking area just off the road. The first part of our trek was easy: we just followed the old two-track road until we got to the bridge that spanned Rose Creek. We paused briefly there to speak with the man who was shooting cans off a couple of fence posts, just up the abandoned road. He assured us that he would continue his target practice in a different direction until we returned. Then we resumed our hike, following the road until we came to the pond. At that point, Jerry gave us two choices: we could either hike around the pond and through a couple of draws, or we could hike up and over the hill. After studying the maps Jerry had so thoughtfully printed from the internet, we elected to climb the hill, since that way seemed to be quite a bit shorter.

The Pond

85 degrees was bearable when we were hiking along the shady road. It seemed a little warmer as we made our way uphill, out of the trees, and through the tall grass and poison ivy.

Jerry was pretty sure he knew the way, but he confessed he had last been there four years previously, so he wasn't totally confident that he could lead us directly to the mausoleum. By then, I was a little concerned, too, because I remembered hiking on a wide, rambling path along the river, with no hills to climb. 

It seemed like everyone was perfectly comfortable crossing fences.

We crossed a couple of barbed wire fences before heading back downhill toward the river. After a little zigzagging, and a brief stop under a tree to gulp down some water, we finally made it to the mausoleum. Only then did Jerry let us know that the familiar, old path along the river had eroded away several years ago, the victim of one too many floods.

We made it!

For several of my classmates, this was the first time they had ever seen the mausoleum. Aside from the eroded path, it hadn't changed much. We could still read the "Mausoleum" sign etched into the smooth sandstone above the arched doorway. Inside, the first chamber has an intricately carved ceiling. The second, pleasantly cool, inner chamber has a slab carved into the wall on the left, and another one on the right, as well as a couple of carved niches. Over the last century, lots of people have carved their names or initials into the soft sandstone of the tomb, inside and out.

 

Inside the mausoleum, flashlights ready.

The mausoleum itself was interesting, for sure, but the surroundings also captured our attention. 

Several people discussed this towering tree's exposed roots. We wondered how long they had been like that, and whether the roots had always been covered with bark.

If you look closely, you can see Rose Creek right behind these two hikers. It was near enough that we needed to be careful we didn't step over the edge of the bank. As hot as we were, no one really wanted an unexpected swim.

After we explored the mausoleum and its surroundings, we were ready for the half mile hike back to the parking lot.

Single file, through the woods.

The trek back to our cars seemed quicker, maybe because it was downhill most of the way. I picked up a few huge acorns for Levi and my grandkids, and stopped briefly to snap a picture of the nearly ripe milo growing next to the old road. We don't see milo too much these days, since very few farmers grow it now. As it turned out, though, I wasn't the only one whose dad used to grow milo.

The field of milo reminded me of the farm near Bloomfield, where I spent my preschool years.

We could hear gunshots as we neared the bridge again, so we made lots of noise to make sure the shooter heard us approaching. Then, we hiked the remaining distance back to our cars, and headed to our respective weekend homes to shower before our evening reunion banquet.

++++++++++++

If you are ever near Fairbury, I would strongly encourage you to take some time to visit the mausoleum. But, take a guide. Otherwise, you could wander around for hours.

Thanks, Jerry!

“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” 

1 Corinthian 15:55