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Written by Elsie Koski Waterman
The preparation to rebuild and pave US Highway 41 affected my life in several ways. The first step was the building of the overpass of the railroad so that the new highway 41 which would bypass Carlshend could be built. The only access to the bridge was through Lindberg's farm along the railroad track. It was hard for me to imagine how a highway could be built there as it was hidden in the woods.
Everyone was quite excited about it because it meant there would be work for the summer. My mother decided that she needed to earn a little extra money by taking in boarders who came to work on the bridge from other communities. We fed about 6-8 men in our small kitchen that summer. I'm not sure what she charged, but it sure was a lot of work. I’m sure she didn't earn too much money by the time she paid for the food etc. I think some of the men slept in our attic and others in a trailer which the Acker Construction Company had parked in our yard.
The big thing I got out of it was a bicycle--and that bike served me well and then my brother inherited it from me. He just complained to me recently that he had always had to ride a girl's bike when he was growing up. I distinctly remember it cost $22.95 ordered from Sears and Roebuck.
When I look back on it, the building of that railroad bridge was kind of the beginning of the end for Carlshend. When I was growing up, there were three churches, a grocery store, and a garage (where the men would gather in the evening to visit and play cards). The train used to stop at the little railroad station there also. In summer, the men would have work on the section repairing the tracks. My father often worked there summers.
Eventually, the store moved to the other side of the tracks where the postoffice was housed for many years. It was a typical country store with everything from meat, canned goods, to dry goods--meaning some types of clothing as well.
Then little by little, as I would return to visit, it began to dwindle. Now as I visit my grandmother's old home, (now owned by my cousin Irene and her husband, Wayne Kangas), I try to identify the little house which my father had built. There are several houses in the area, but none seem to have an resemblance to ours. I thought I could always recognize it by the big tree next to a garage right next to the road. However, the house in that spot looks very different. I finally questioned someone about it the last time I was there, and they seem to think it had been remodeled, making it look different.
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