Dam Photo :-)
Here are a couple newspaper stories provided by Lynne Rice of Medina County, Ohio.
"Lodi Review," Lodi, Ohio March 9, 1950
About 70 years ago, before the local farmers used their spare time and heavy teams to build a railroad through Lodi, the town boasted a tavern, (the Bailey House,) the Ainsworth Building, the Higbee dry goods store, now Hower's (the first owner with an early Hower having left for Cleveland to establish a store on the public square) and 2 or 3 smaller stores on Wooster Street. A fourteen year old, Clem Rice passed through the town four times a day with a team of husky black horses and a wagon. He was either hauling 2 tons of coal at a dollar a ton from Burbank
where the railroad ended, to his father's grist mill in Chatham township or returning from the mill to the railroad yard for another load.
He often met a man named Stiles who was driving a lumber wagon with a squared tree for ship timber out of a lane (now called Harris Street) on his way to Burbank and the railroad. The wagon wheels stood 8 to 10 feet high and lashed to the wagon bed was a 30 foot tree 30 inches in diameter.
This great load was drawn by a huge pair of black and white oxen sometimes aided by a smaller team of oxen and two teams of horses. Meeting this toiling safari caused the boy many an anxious moment. The sight of the oxen sent Clem's team into a dither and they skittered up off the dirt lane into the ditch, rearing and ranting in fear and suspicion of the plodding and probably proletariat beasts of burden.
Every morning, Clem left at five o'clock and got back at 11. After the team had rested a couple of hours he would start out at 1 and get back by 7 o'clock. He was very proud of his husky black steeds but to this reporter's mind they were pretty finicky fellows. They not only disliked oxen, they were equally contemptuous of trains. And if one of the high chimneyed engines would chug into sight Clem would have to stop loading coal and take his team to the far side of the yard and fasten them securely. On one of these occasions one big black fellow broke loose and
legged it down the road for home and as the hoof clattering faded the boy Clem put his head down in despair, one horse, two ton of coal, and 13 miles from home. Then the tethered horse raised his head in a whinnying wail to his departing brother, who answered and pretty soon rat-a-tat-tat growing louder assured the boy his horse was returning. The animals greeted each other with much head shakings and horsey explanations making as if to kiss one another. Clem could have kissed them both so relieved was he.
When the team passed through Lodi they would trot up to the eight foot round watering trough at the corner of the Ainsworth building and partake of refreshment whether they needed it or not, before they would proceed to tug the heavy load of coal. As they stopped and rested on the hill which led out of town, on the road we know as Route 76, Clem would look over the eight foot picket fence into the Jason yard (now the hospital grounds) where the owner kept a herd of deer.
Across the road from the house in which he now lives stands a one hundred year old house of sturdy build. Its wainscoting half way up the walls is made of solid walnut. When Clem was young the winters would find the basement full of potatoes (40 bushels) and handpicked apples from their four acre orchard. In harvest season it was impossible to walk the lanes between the trees without crunching apples under foot. Many of them had different names than they do now and had I seen this list in isolation I doubt if I could have recognized them as apples.
They included
Molasses, Snow, Rambo, August, Hearts, Sheep Nose, Harvest, Pippin and Seek-no-Further. Besides apples and potatoes there stood a great keg holding 31 gallons of sauerkraut. In the attic strung on wires hung bologna (handmade of course and filled with the very best of ground meat.) Clem was one of the eatingest of the family and when he'd sneak to the attic to grab a tidbit, his mother hearing the steps was never in doubt as to which child's name she should shout. It was always, "Clem!" Out in the smokehouse all salted and preserved was a ton of pork
and 2 beefs; and cheese and butter that they had made during summer in preparation for winter meals.
As C. S. Rice talked on his blue eyes danced and he slapped his knee in delight as we looked over Mr. Rowland's directory and found a jeweler whose name W. W. Wells had earned him the handle of "Williber Walleber Wells."
Emma White Rice sat quietly throughout our conservation a trifle reluctant to volunteer information. In the past week she and her husband had been confronted by reporters from Cleveland, Wooster, Wadsworth and Medina and no doubt, it was getting monotonous. Her grandfather had come from Massachusetts not far from where the Rices (other Chatham family) had lived and settled not 6 miles from them in Chatham township. The grandfather was very English and a school master and though there were no schools when he came here he did what he could to teach the
youngsters. When her mother was a young girl she would set out for Lodi with a two gallon bucket of butter for which she would receive six cents a pound. With her bother money she would go to Higbee's and buy material for dresses and trek six miles home.
I enjoyed myself so thoroughly that I almost forgot to leave. When I did, with my speedometer set at six miles an hour, my little black car nervous as Clem's team on the icy roller coaster that was the country road, I was not so patient with my retarded travel as I had been coming out. I was remembering how Clem's grandfather with his wife and two year old ensconced in a covered wagon drawn by oxen, had been four days coming from Lodi to the mill site. There were no roads in those days and the water because of the thick forest had not channeled its way through
the country, but lay in marsh like ponds on the forest floor. Bridges and causeways had to be hewn and built before there was surface strong enough to support the wagons.
Though for years the Rices had been millers, grandfather Rice's first mill was a saw mill, where he cut and shaped wood for his home and his mill. In 1835 his business was going strong and his account book showed his receipts. For 12 hours work his men received 50 cents a day, butter was 5 cents a pound and the amount of lumber he cut for two dollars couldn't be bought for much less than $20 at his great grandchildren's lumber company in Lodi in 1950.
The changes since that time have been so tremendous that Clem and Emma Rice who have seen much of it can scarcely believe it. Since the horse and wagon days they have experienced much. The mill has burned three times, leaving them destitute; each time they picked up and rebuilt; they have raised a family, having two daughters; Mrs. Alva Fuller and Mrs. Chauncey Betz, four grandchildren and five great grandchildren.
I have not yet begun to exhaust the wealth of information and anecdotes that I found here but for fear of exhausting you with my stereopticon scenes I'll postpone the rest until later.
I didn't get a chance to see the mill with its machinery and four watch cats, but when the icy roads revert to their original condition I shall make another trip to visit Mr. and Mrs. C. S. Rice, enjoy their hospitality and their historic mill.
By J. CLARK GEORGE
Newspaper article appeared on Page l of either Medina County Gazette or Elyria Chronicle in 1951
For more than a half century Mr. and Mrs. C. S. Rice have operated the old mill at Rice's Dam just west of Chatham. The writer stopped here for an hour the other day and enjoyed a visit at the Rice home
Mr. and Mrs. Rice were married 62 years ago this month. Mr. Rice is 84 and Mrs. Rice is 85. They' re both in good health. When talking with the writer Mrs. Rice beamed with pride as she spoke of their nine great-grandchildren. The Rices have two daughters and four grandchildren.
The colorful old grist mill has been going a long time and still grinds out corn meal, cracked wheat and buckwheat flour. Mr. Rice has a far reaching reputation as an excellent miller.
There has been a saw mill and grist mill in operation on the same Black River site back of the Rice home since 1836. Mr. Rice's grandfather came from his home in Apple Creek on land now occupied by the Wooster experiment station.
We stopped in Chatham and vicinity for a few minutes and saw several of the frame farm houses in the area which were built from timber produced at Rice's mill a good many years ago.
The writer was informed that the old mill had been visited by fire three times in a century. Once the mill burned on Thanksgiving and another time on New Year's.
Mr. and Mrs. Rice live in a large home and in the Winter time they use the first floor which is really a complete apartment. Mrs. Rice told us that she does not do as much housework as she did in her younger years and she is "taking things a little easier" now. She is a delightful person to meet and we were sorry that Mr. Rice was not at home for we had hoped to have the opportunity of talking with him.
The Rice's were married on Feb. 13, 1890 at the Methodist parsonage in Lodi. Mrs. Rice told us that they are now members of the Methodist church at Chatham. Mrs. Rice, the former Emma White and Clem Rice were raised on farms only a mile apart. On our visit we saw the birthplace of Mr. Rice just across the road from the present Rice residence. For many years Mr. Rice farmed some 150 acres but in recent years he has sold a large part of his farm. He still grows some grain for the mill. For years there was a beautiful public park adjacent to the mill but was
closed several years ago.
It was evident to us that Mr. and Mrs. Rice have had a very happy life together and have a host of friends. We saw a register that had been presented to them by their friends on the occasion of their 60th wedding anniversary. In this book are the names of many guests who called on that Sunday afternoon two years ago to extend their greetings.
Mrs. Rice has kept through the years many newspaper articles which have appeared about the mill and its operators and it was interesting to us to note that in an interview Mr. and Mrs. Rice gave their formula for more than 60 years of happy married life as handiwork, attending church regularly, and never having a serious quarrel.
They have not varied their routine very much. Today finds them well and active, interested in every happening in their community just as they have been for so many years.
In the grist mill Mr. Rice uses four burrstones to grind the grain. These stones were imported from France by his father. The mill was once powered by a large waterwheel but later on Mr. Rice's father installed a turbine at the bottom of the mill race and it is still in use. At one time the mill employed five people but now Mr. Rice works alone. He can grind out a half ton of flour a day when the market demands it.
Just beyond the Rice home we noticed some beautiful trees. Upon making inquiry about the timber we were informed that the grove which was once such a popular place had three acres of walnut trees. The trees were sold to the government to be made into gunstocks.
The Rices have had their troubles too. One of their greatest worries came in August, 1948 when Mr. Rice was hit by an automobile. He spent 10 weeks in bed and surprised the doctors by recovering from severe injuries.
After talking with Mrs. Rice we walked along the Black River and over to the mill. We thought what a wonderful and peaceful place to relax. The large chickens, so well fed, because there is grain spilled outside the mill, were fat and lazy and showed no disposition to get out of our way.
We looked in the mill and saw hundreds of sacks of flour. There were bags in several sizes containing cracked wheat, corn and buckwheat flour as well as a special pancake flour made from a combination of grains.
The old mill has withstood the changes of the years. As one visits it today he recalls the stories told so many times by his grandfather of how they hauled the grain to the mill and brought back the Winter's supply of flour. We brought home a sack of pancake flour and have already enjoyed a stack of hot cakes and syrup. We are glad that we paid a belated visit to the old mill at Rice's Dam.
