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Fowlerville News Online, Fowlerville, MI (2025)

12/22/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES #7
As told by Steve Horton

Been watching this snow lady and these snow kids rehearse for the special program they’re part of, and will be putting on Christmas Eve at the church. Their event will be at 7pm, with the Candlelight Service at 1lpm.

The lady is the Youth Choir Director, and has been for 22 years. Her day job is working at the music store in the mall in the nearby city, selling instruments. The store does a lot of business with school band programs, so she’s busy.

Three of the older kids are in another room, practicing the narration they’ll recite—the story of the first Christmas. These younger kids will sing songs at key intervals—‘Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem’, ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’, ‘Hark! The Hearld Angels Sing’, ‘We Three Kings, and ‘Joy to the World’.

The program will end with ‘Silent Night’, with the audience invited to sing along.

The lady says this year’s performance is not much different than all of the earlier programs she has directed, but the participants are ever changing. "The kids come in the first time all excited and nervous, become experienced hands, and then, when older, they play the parts of shepherds, the Wise Men, Joseph and Mary, or the narrators," she tells me.

Finally, they leave. Always a sad occasion, she admits; however, a new group of kids is arriving, while others are progressing through the ranks. “The show must go on” if you will.

She tells her friends and family that the kids are what make it worthwhile, adding that while the message of the program may be familiar, it still seems fresh and always moving.

I tell a couple of the snow kids that when I was a little boy, I took part in a similar program at the church my family attended. “I was one of the shepherds,” I told them.

“Did you sing in the choir?” one of them asks me.

“No,” I replied. “I sounded too much like the donkey that Mary rode on.”

They pause, then one of them starts hee-hawing and there’s laughter. It’s the kind of tomfoolery I and the other guys I hung with were known to be guilty of at that age.

But a little later, when they rehearse ‘Silent Night’, I sing softly along. And I’ll do so on Christmas Eve, in the dark church, holding the candle with a flickering flame, surrounded by dozens of others doing the same.

The lyrics and the scene may be familiar, yet they still seem fresh and always moving. A song of heavenly peace and hope.

I’m looking forward to the snow kids performance, and holding that candle once again.

12/21/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES # 6
As told by Steve Horton

These five posed for a photo as they watched the lighting of the town’s Christmas tree at the request of the newspaper reporter covering the event. They are siblings. Starting from the left is the oldest sister, the oldest brother, the next oldest sister and brother, and the youngest sister. They’re 12 years apart, from the eldest to the baby in the family.

Growing up, the girls shared one room and the boys the other. It was not a large home and was located near the railroad tracks on the south side of the village. They learned to sleep despite the blowing of the train’s whistle as it passed by at night.

Their father bounced from job to job and spent a lot of his spare time at the tavern, or beer garden as their mother referred to the place. One saving grace, she would say, was that he got even friendlier after a few drinks rather than mean like some men.

Their mother was and still is a no-nonsense lady, not given to sentiment or displays of emotion. She worked various jobs when they were young to supplement the income. As a result, the oldest daughter became a sort of surrogate mother to the three youngest and did much of the cooking and housework. The oldest boy was seldom home, working at the different jobs he held after school and during the summer as he grew up.

The result of all this was that they became close knit; protective of and dependent on each other.

While one by one they eventually married and then had their own children and while they have their respective circle of friends, the five have remained fiercely loyal. They like spending time together, Christmas most of all. Their kids, as cousins, are emulating this example.

Their father passed away several years ago. Shortly afterwards they pooled their resources and paid off the mortgage to the small house where they’d grown up. They presented their mother with this news at the family’s annual Christmas party held at the oldest sister’s home.

She looked at the mortgage with the words “paid off” written on it and finally said “thank you.” Nothing more. But the youngest sister said she saw a tear in their mother’s eye. For them, that was gratitude enough.

12/20/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES #5
As told by Steve Horton

It’s the start of Christmas Week—a special time to be here on the front porch with the Snowman collection. It’s evening and I’ve been joined by this family. We are listening to holiday songs, humming most of them, but we all sang along in load fashion when ‘Frosty the Snowman’ came on.

The father works as a butcher at the supermarket in town. He started there as a stock boy while in high school, left to serve in the Army, and was offered his present position upon his return.

The mother is a cook at the elementary, taking the job after their son and daughter started school. She figured it was a way of adding to the income and still being at home when the kids got off the bus. And she could be with them during the summer as well.

The daughter loves reading, Nancy Drew mysteries being her favorite. She plays in the junior soccer rec league and takes both piano and dance lessons.

The son loves science and is a member of the school robotics team and competes in Science Olympiad. He plays drums in the school band.

Mom and Dad are saving as much as possible for their children’s college fund. They attend the local Lutheran Church, with the kids being in Sunday School and the Luther League.

At the start of each meal, the mother asks for the Lord’s blessing and their continued health and well-being. And she expresses gratitude for all they’ve been granted.

They are modest in their outlook and approach, but by their deeds and participation they are part of what makes our community a vibrant tapestry. Steadfast and reliable.

12/15/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES #4
As told by Steve Horton

This snow lady is part of the Snowman collection who reside on our front porch during the holiday season.

A few of the wags in town say she’s eccentric, but her many friends just smile and reply, “She’s a character.”

She’s put on her fur coat and pearl accessories and is heading to the Christmas party of the Family Study Club, a group she’s belonged to for many years.

It started when she and other young mothers with elementary-aged kids decided to start a Child Study Club. It was a more serious involvement back then, although she had a way of making outlandish comments that got everyone laughing. But also thinking. And she loved showing up in slightly wild outfits.

Eventually the kids grew up; however, the ladies enjoyed each other’s company and so the name of the club was changed, and the discussions became less serious.

Her son and daughter, with their families, live out-of-state, which gives her and her husband an excuse to travel to see them. They’ve visited a lot of places since his retirement from the auto factory a few years ago. They like to take their fifth wheel and head out. Up north in the summer and down south in the winter. These trips afford plenty of opportunities to shop for those colorful outfits and jewelry.

This Christmas everyone’s coming home for the holiday, so it promises to be a busy time. Her grandkids adore her and she them. There's even a pair of toddler great-grandchildren to fuss over. She’ll be baking their favorite cookies, playing holiday music on the piano, and taking the crew to the Candlelight Service at her church on Christmas Eve.

You won’t miss her there. She bought a red dress with a greenish-brown scarf to wear. Oh, and she’ll be accompanying the church choir on the piano and is known to add a little flourish to the arrangement to spice things up.

Quite the character.

12/14/2025

FROM THE SCRAPBOOK--
CHRISTMAS ACTIVITIES FROM 1976
Given that it's Christmastime, I thought I'd share a couple of photos that were on the front cover of 'The Fowlerville Review' in two December issues of 1976--my first year of working for the then local hometown weekly newspaper.
Hopefully, the people shown here, who would now be in their mid-to-late 50s, won't be embarrassed at these photos of them at a young age. But I figure they were cute enough to spotlight back then, and they remain so.
Amy Jo Call is the girl putting a knitted hat on the Mitten Tree, while the Carolers include Kathy Kent, Brenda Palmer, Christine Hubert, Susie Hansen, Paula Palmer, and Mike Hubert.
The other photo is of the Fowlerville Rotary preparing gift boxes to help needy families in the area. From left were Earl Peckens, Jim Hall, Duane Mosher, and Keith Liverance. The local Rotarians, 49 years later, are still assisting in this effort by providing gifts from a list given to them by the Family Impact Center.
--Steve Horton

12/11/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES #3
As told by Steve Horton
(First published in 2021

This family is well respected in community of Snowmen who I’ve been sharing my evenings with this holiday season.
On this night they’re part of a group of Carolers (actually members of their church choir) strolling through a neighborhood in town, singing the well-loved songs—“We Wish You a Merry Christmas” being a favorite. They’ve already had their fill of cookies given by grateful listeners.

The gentleman is having fun. He wears his hat a bit to the side, presenting a carefree look. In his younger years, when he worked at the bank, he would have worn it in a proper fashion. But he has his own insurance agency now and has a more self-assured view of life.

The lady is more conscious of their status and seeks to conduct herself in an acceptable fashion. She teaches a Sunday School class, volunteers at school, was Den Mother when her son was in Cub Scouts, and is a Friend of the local library.

Before marriage, she was an administrative assistant to the bank president. Which is where she met her husband-to-be. When their son is older, she plans to resume her career.

Speaking of the son, he is their pride and joy. Now in junior high, he does well in school—math being his favorite subject. He plays soccer and basketball, is a trumpet player in the school band, enjoys reading mysteries and likes playing video games. There’s a young lady, a fellow junior higher, that he’s fond of. And she seems to have a similar regard for him.

This trio reminds me of all those families of classmates I grew up with and all of the families we’ve had the pleasure to know and be friends with over these many years. They’ve helped make life special.

I realize that the past—especially at Christmastime—can have a warm glow that was not actually ‘the way it was.’ Still, while there are those darker shadows from bygone days that lurk in the corners of our memories and while not every family has had or is having a wonderful life, you’ll forgive me for harboring the fonder memories and casting them in that more tender light.

So, I wish this Snowman family a “A Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” ... and the same to all those friends from years past and all those in this present day.

I’d join the choir to express this holiday sentiment, but my singing voice is a bit flat.

12/07/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES #2
As told by Steve Horton
(First published in 2021)

This couple are also part of my wife Dawn’s Snowman collection that keeps me company on these December evenings and are part of our Christmas celebration.

They are not ‘snowman’ in their appearance but rather, as you can see, they are snow mice. Not always welcomed, but part of God’s creation. “Red and yellow, black and white, we are precious in His sight.”

I’m guessing there might have been a few of their ancestors in the stable on that first Christmas.

Recently married, they are watching the holiday parade as it moves along the Main Street of town. It’s a cold evening, so they hug each other tight to keep warm.

The evening is extra special because this is their first Christmas as newlyweds. They went out and cut down a tree, decorated it, put up a few lights outside, and have indulged in the cookies she baked. They attended a performance of the school choir, picturing that one day they’ll have children who will be singing the same Carols.

They have the rest of their lives ahead of them. There’ll be bumps and bruises along the way, a few tears, but I pray all those hopes and dreams they now harbor together will be realized--aspirations bound in love that are, at this moment, as fresh as the soft snow that drifts gently downward from heaven above.

Still, all of that--the possible and the unknowable--is in the future. On this winter night they enjoy the passing parade and the wonder of the love they share.

And I like his hat.

12/04/2025

It’s beginning to look a lot like Fowlerville’s Christmas in the Ville— this Saturday, Dec 6th… “Small Town, Big Dreams”
Photos from 2023 Parade by Steve Horton

12/01/2025

SNOWMAN STORIES
As told by Steve Horton
(First published in 2021)

This Snow Lady, with her granddaughter who's holding a doll, are part of the Snowman collection that my wife Dawn has once again assembled in our enclosed front porch. I've decorated the room with colored lights, there's a heater, so it offers a warm and festive atmosphere.

The Snow men and ladies have been keeping me company each holiday season for a number of years, and we've gotten to know each other. Being a curious reporter, I've asked a few questions and watched them as they go about their assorted activities. They're an interesting bunch; in fact, I feel as if I've known them (or people like them) all my life.

That said, I decided to share a few of their stories which will be appear twice a week up to the final one on Christmas Eve. Hope you'll enjoy reading them.

On this early December evening the Snow Lady and her granddaughter are watching the lighting of the Community Christmas Tree in the village square. The special event, shared with their fellow townspeople, brings a joyful response. Her hat and scarf are evidence of her free spirit. Her smile conveys a warm and caring soul. And she's fun to be around.

I've learned that she bakes molasses and sugar cookies, tells stories of the old days when she was a girl, loves her assorted keepsakes and has a way of making you feel special. She's comfortable to be around and you're a better person whenever you're in her company. She's a blessing to her family, especially the younger set, as well as her many friends. Most of all, she's a faithful practitioner of that old-time religion.

I tell the Snow Lady that she reminds me of my great-grandmother, Blanche, who had many of those same qualities, and was also a great cookie-maker. She's been gone now for over 50 years but still remembered with much warmth and affection.

I smile when I see the granddaughter with her doll, knowing this shared time together with her grandmother will one day be a memory for her, shining as bright as that star atop the Community Christmas Tree.

11/24/2025

Took my granddaughter to the park in Williamston so she could romp around the play stations. Dawn remained at home with her newly-arrived sister. We were babysitting. After that, at her request, we went to look at the river. She noticed some leaves floating on it, prompting her to grab a few nearby leaves and toss them onto the water’s surface. The same instinct that had her throwing stones into the Grand Traverse Bay this past summer when we visited that northern outpost.
I told her it was called the Red Cedar. I hope she will have as much affection as I do for this flowing stream, a river flowing gently to the sea. And now carrying a little girl’s leaves and perhaps one day (serving as a metaphor) for carrying all her hopes and dreams to an awaiting tomorrow.

11/22/2025

FROM THE SCRAPBOOK--
FOWLERVILE LUMBER COMPANY CELEBRATED 50 YEARS IN 1976
I started working as a reporter for 'The Fowlerville Review', which was part of the 'Livingston County Press', in late May of 1976. I'd noticed the 'Our 50th Year' on the shirts of the owners and workers at Fowlerville Lumber Company in my travels around town but, being busy with other stories I'd missed the obvious. Finally, a lightbulb went off in my still-forming journalist brain and I approached Tom Zimmerman--who had been a year behind me in school--about doing a feature on this milestone occasion. He agreed.
The result appeared in the January 12, 1977 issue of 'The Review' with the three of them--Tom, Ed, and Lynn Zimmerman--on the front page, along with the headline and photo caption. Inside was a two-page spread with the article and these historical photos.
The timeline was that in 1926,Neail Zimmerman and his brother-in-law Walter Lewis purchased the business and buildings from a Flint businessman who called it Genesse Lumber.Neail had been a bookkeeper for a lumber yard in Rockford, Ohio. Two years later Lewis passed away, leaving Zimmerman as the sole owner.
Oldest son Ed joined the business in 1935 after a couple of years at the University of Michigan. Youngest son Lynn earned a degree from MSU in Housing and Lumber Administration and then came on board in 1947. Ed's wife Janice became the company bookkeeper in 1958. Finally, in 1974 Lynn's son Tom began working fulltime.
At the time of the article, Neail was 91, had retired from active duty ten years earlier, but still stopped by "to keep an eye on things." Longtime employee Harvey Westerby, meanwhile, had already been with the firm for 25 years. It was also noted that in 1929, Neail had started Webberville Lumber, which was managed by Basil Cavenaugh, and it flourished for over 40 years before closing.
In 1976, the main office was still located in the original building (shown here). The family later built a new facility across the street, the site of the former grain elevator, and used that for their headquarters and extra storage. A decorating center was located there as well, operated by Ron Daly, a classmate and friend of Tom's who had experience in this field. They later purchased the furniture store with the main entrance on North Grand Avenue and named it the Fowlerville Decorating Center.
Nothing lasts forever, and on Dec. 29, 2006 the Lumber Company closed, ending an 80-year run. The property was purchased by the Village of Fowlerville DDA, and all of the buildings were torn down. It was part of a larger development project that included purchasing an adjacent parcel that was owned by Bob Smith Ford.
The site of the original building is still awaiting a business to locate on the vacant parcel, while the rest of the property that had belonged to the Lumber Company is part of a municipal parking lot. The parcel that had been part of the Ford dealership now has a new building with two businesses operating on the first floor and several apartments on the second floor.
As I recall my local history, Ralph Fowler--the founder of Fowlerville-- had his home on part of where the new building is and an orchard where the lumberyard used to be.
—Steve Horton

11/15/2025

FROM THE SCRAPBOOK--
I believe I wrote this in 1977. I do know it was on my birthday--July 10th--and I was working that day at the 'Livingston County Press'. I would have been 26. However, rather than focusing on a news story, my primary purpose for being there and what I was paid to do, I decided to treat myself to a birthday present of sorts by writing an outdoors' column. I ended up doing four vignettes that were descriptive as well as philosophical. Those philosophy courses I'd taken in college needed some real-life application. I also wanted to test myself to write something I felt was meaningful in a compressed amount of time.
The next issue of the weekly newspaper included the result of this effort. I subsequently cut it out and pasted it in a scrapbook along with other articles and columns I'd done and felt worth saving. I came across it the other day while rummaging through my files and decided to share.

PIECES OF THE OUTDOORS
By Steve Horton
The carcass of the buck shot earlier that day hung stiffly from the barn rafter. Freshly dressed out, his eyes lifeless, the hide looked tawny in the yellow light. Outside, in the darkness, were the muted evening noises and beyond that perimeter of night were the shaded lamps and other lights of nearby houses. The three of them talked with camaraderie in fragmented phrases of plans for tomorrow’s hunt in the swamp, mapping out the details in the dirt with the sharp points of their knives. I thought, watching them, the autumn wind rustling the dry leaves, the day nearly over, that if this could be your way of living, it would either be the beginning of everything or the end of it.
* * *
The Irish setter loped in graceful arcs back and forth across the overgrown meadow, his hair glistening from the dew and the first faint light of the false dawn. We moved slowly behind him, only partially alert despite the coffee and hastily-smoked ci******es. Field larks scattered wildly ahead, while from somewhere, hidden in the morning’s grayness, came the occasional cackle of a pheasant or the whistle of a quail. A sensory calm soon enveloped you. An exorcism from life’s fevers that you could never describe in the detachedness of a living-room or adequately defend to someone who viewed it with distaste. You could only feel the harnessed passion of the forest, a siren’s call that promises the weary voyagers unending delights but allows no reprieves or return to the journey.
* * *
The hills bordering Lake Michigan stretched ahead, a jagged horizon of greenery that simmered faintly in the brilliant mid-afternoon sun. Gnarled cedar and stunted pine dotted the countryside as the highway rose and fell. To the west the river curved and twisted through the ravines, it brown-hued waters moving with the unruffled lingering of the summer season. Walking along the road, carrying the fishing equipment, I remembered the line from Hemingway— “If you have loved a woman and some country then you are very fortunate and afterwards if you die, it makes no difference.” It was a fortunate countryside to be in, a majestic feast of sky and land, but also deceptively harsh. Abandoned farmsteads, interspersed among the hills, were a testament to its fierceness. Their weather-scarred buildings an echo of broken hopes.
* * *
There was the overwhelming stillness, an abyss of time, broken only by the hypnotic rhythm of waves lapping the shore. The scene resembled a deranged dream. The fiery sunset disappearing into the hills. The harbor lights flashing green and red beams into the invading dusk. The boats slipping effortlessly homeward over the glass-smooth waters that reflected a surrealistic pattern of silvers and oranges. One could believe in such things. Like some men believe in God being a certain way and others have faith in an idea. It spoke of sweeping pattern. The cycle of a fleeting moment. The bend of time. That fragment of living that holds no past for us and promises no future.

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