Old Rufus Dale had seen a thing or two, and Irene had her suspicions.
An early 20th century real photo postcard (RPPC) showing a poignant intergenerational portrait.
Front of the card: The photograph captures an elderly man with a distinctive long white beard, dressed in a dark suit, seated on a dilapidated wooden loveseat or couch in front of a clapboard house. Beside him sits a young child in a white dress, perched on the arm of the furniture. Behind them a decorative lace curtain hangs outside the open window. The setting appears to be rural America.
Back details: The reverse shows the handwritten inscription in pencil, Uncle Rufus Dale, age 84 and Irene age 4. We can assume a family relationship, likely between grand-uncle and grand-niece.
Condition and Appeal: The real photo postcard is in excellent condition front and back, unposted with helpful writing, and an AZO indicia dating the item between 1904 and 1918. The subject matter and production method suggest this is a unique image and object, with no known duplicate.
RPPCs are quite collectible, especially those with interesting and clear photographic subjects. The rural American family setting, the age gap between subjects, and the excellent condition make this item more desirable, appealing to collectors of early photography, genealogy researchers, postcard collectors, and those interested in American family and social history from the early 1900s.
[Note: Summer focus is on detailed captions. Essays return in September!]
Weathered wooden structures still stand in the middle of Iowa, a testament to both engineering ingenuity and the power of storytelling. The covered bridges of Madison County have become more than mere crossings over babbling creeks; they are portals to the past, muses for artists, and anchors for a community’s identity. As the crisp autumn air settles over the rolling hills in October, thousands of visitors gather to celebrate these iconic structures at the annual Covered Bridge Festival, a tradition that has endured for over half a century.
Our journey begins with a stack of old locally-printed postcards, each capturing a nearby rural scene frozen in faded grayscale tones. Photographed by Clee Crawford in the early 1950s, these images were made into postcards sometime after 1983 by Larry’s Photography and Joe Graham Printing in Winterset, Iowa. Vintage collectibles themselves, they offer a glimpse of a bygone era when the now-famous bridges were simply part of the rural fabric of Madison County.
The Roseman Bridge, built in 1883 by H.P. Jones, spans the Middle River nine miles southwest of Winterset. In the postcard, it rises from a sea of cornstalks, its wooden siding weathered by countless Iowa summers and winters. Known locally as “The Haunted Bridge,” it whispers of ghost stories told around farmhouse tables and hushed conversations between young lovers seeking shelter from prying eyes. Little did the bridge know that it would one day become a star, playing a pivotal role in a story that would captivate millions.
Moving northeast, we encounter the Cutler-Donahoe Bridge. Constructed in 1871, this structure originally crossed the North River. But like many of its counterparts, it found a new home as the winds of change swept through the county. In 1970, the same year the first Covered Bridge Festival was held, Cutler-Donahoe was carefully uprooted and transplanted to Winterset City Park. The postcard captures it in its original location, a sentinel standing guard over the river below, unaware of its future as a centerpiece of civic pride.
Our third postcard brings us to the Cedar Bridge, another creation of the prolific bridge-builder H.P. Jones. Erected in 1883 over Cedar Creek north of Winterset, it too would embark on a journey, moving to a new location in 1920. The image shows the bridge nestled in a picturesque rural setting, a dirt road winding its way to the entrance. What the postcard doesn’t reveal is the tumultuous future awaiting this particular bridge – a tale of destruction, rebirth, and the tenacity of a community unwilling to let go of its heritage.
The final postcard in our collection tells a bittersweet tale. The McBride Bridge, built in 1871, appears proud and sturdy in the photograph. Yet the caption reveals its fate: destroyed by fire on September 3, 1983. This loss, occurring on the first day of the 1983 Madison County Covered Bridge Festival, served as a stark reminder of the fragility of these historical treasures and the importance of preservation efforts.
The destruction of the McBride Bridge is, unfortunately, not an isolated incident. Across the United States, covered bridges have long been targets of arson and accidental fires. According to data compiled by Covered Spans of Yesteryear, over 670 covered bridges have been lost to fire nationwide since the early 19th century. In Iowa alone, at least seven covered bridges have succumbed to flames, with arson being a common cause.
The Cedar Bridge, captured so peacefully in our postcard, has had a particularly tumultuous recent history. In 2002, it fell victim to arson, a loss that shook the community to its core. Demonstrating remarkable resilience, the bridge was rebuilt, only to suffer the same fate in 2017. The determination of Madison County residents prevailed once again, and a newly reconstructed Cedar Bridge opened in 2019 – a testament to the enduring significance of these structures in the local psyche.
As we shuffle these postcards, admiring the craftsmanship of both the bridges and the photographers who captured them, we’re drawn into a narrative that extends far beyond the borders of Madison County. These structures, once utilitarian crossings designed to protect travelers and livestock from the elements, have become characters in a much larger story – one that intertwines literature, film, tourism, and the very identity of a region.
The transformation began in 1992 with the publication of Robert James Waller’s novel, The Bridges of Madison County. Waller, an Iowa native, wove a tale of passion and missed chances against the backdrop of Madison County’s rural landscape. The Roseman Bridge, our “Haunted Bridge,” took center stage as the site where the story’s star-crossed lovers, Francesca Johnson and Robert Kincaid, first meet.
Suddenly, these bridges were no longer just local landmarks; they became symbols of romance, of roads not taken, of the bittersweet choices that shape our lives. The novel struck a chord with readers across the globe, selling millions of copies and landing on bestseller lists for over three years. But the story’s impact was only beginning.
In 1995, Hollywood came calling. Clint Eastwood directed and starred alongside Meryl Streep in the film adaptation of Waller’s novel. Once again, the bridges of Madison County found themselves in the spotlight, this time on the silver screen. The Roseman Bridge, in particular, became a character in its own right, its weathered boards and rustic charm providing the perfect setting for the unfolding drama.
The film’s success catapulted Madison County into the national consciousness. Tourists began flocking to Winterset and the surrounding areas, eager to walk in the footsteps of Francesca and Robert, to stand on the bridges where their fictional love blossomed, and to capture a piece of that romance for themselves.
This intersection of literature, cinema, and place created a perfect opportunity for cultural tourism. The bridges, which had stood for over a century as quiet witnesses to the ebb and flow of rural life, now found themselves at the center of a phenomenon that would reshape the economy and identity of Madison County.
The Covered Bridge Festival, which had begun in 1970 as a celebration of local history and craftsmanship, took on new significance. It became not just a community gathering, but a pilgrimage site for fans of the book and film, as well as history buffs, architecture enthusiasts, and romantics from all walks of life. Since then, the town itself has changed and adapted to the ongoing recognition.
As we fast forward, the allure of the bridges shows no signs of waning. The 2024 Covered Bridge Festival, held October 12-13 this year, continues to draw thousands of visitors to Madison County. For $3 admission (or two tickets for $5, with children under 11 entering free), attendees can immerse themselves in a weekend that bridges past and present.
The festival grounds, centered around the Winterset town square, buzz with activity. Vendors line the streets, offering handcrafted goods and local culinary delights. Sounds of live music fill the air, kids laughing in the Kids’ Zone, and the excited chatter of visitors from near and far.
For many, the highlight of the festival is the guided tour of the covered bridges, conducted by the Winterset Rotary Club. As buses wind their way through the countryside, visitors are treated to not just the sight of these historic structures, but also to tales of their construction, their role in local lore, and their journey from practical crossings to cultural icons.
The festival isn’t just about looking back, however. It’s a living, breathing celebration that continues to evolve. The 2024 event features a parade, a car show that turns the area around the courthouse into a chrome-and-steel wonderland, and a variety of demonstrations showcasing the craftsmanship and ingenuity that built these bridges in the first place.
At the Madison County Historical Complex, visitors can delve deeper into the area’s rich past. Here, the bridges are placed in context, their stories interwoven with those of the farmers, merchants, and families who have called this corner of Iowa home for generations.
As the festival has grown, so too has the need to balance tourism with preservation. The story of the Cedar Bridge serves as a poignant reminder of the challenges faced in preserving these landmarks. As we admire their beauty and revel in their romantic associations, we must also reckon with their vulnerability. Each bridge that remains standing is a victory – over time, over the elements, and sometimes over human destructiveness.
As the sun sets on this year’s festival, casting long shadows through the covered bridges, visitors and locals alike are reminded of the unique alchemy that has occurred here. What began as a practical solution to a transportation need has become a cultural touchstone, an economic driver, and a source of identity for an entire region.
The bridges of Madison County are physical manifestations of the power of storytelling, the appeal of nostalgia, and the human desire to connect – not just from one riverbank to another, but across time, across mediums, and across cultures. They are examples of 19th-century engineering that teach us more every future decade they exist.
These bridges offer something increasingly rare: a moment of pause, a chance to step out of the rush of modern life and into a space where time moves a little slower. Whether you’re a fan of Waller’s novel, a history enthusiast, or simply someone in search of a quiet moment of reflection, the covered bridges of Madison County have something to offer.
As we look to the future, the challenge for Madison County will be to continue balancing preservation with progress, nostalgia with innovation. The Covered Bridge Festival, with its blend of historical celebration and contemporary community spirit, serves as a model for how this might be achieved.
For now, as October winds whisper through the wooden beams of the Roseman, Cutler-Donahoe, Cedar, and the other three surviving bridges, they carry with them the echoes of all who have passed through before – from 19th-century farmers to 20th-century film stars to the tourists and locals of today. Each footstep, each photograph, each stolen moment adds another layer to the rich tapestry of stories that these bridges hold.
Our postcards, now decades old themselves, serve as a reminder of the power of image and imagination to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. From simple river crossings to symbols of undying love, from local landmarks to international attractions, the covered bridges of Madison County have undergone a journey as winding and wonderful as the roads that lead to them. In the hearts and minds of all who have encountered them – whether through postcards, novels, films, or in person – these bridges have built connections far stronger and more enduring than wood and nails could ever achieve.
As we tuck our postcards away and the festival-goers return home, we’re left with an appreciation for these humble structures that have become so much more. The covered bridges of Madison County remind us that with a little imagination, a touch of serendipity, and year-after-year of care, even the most unassuming places can become the stuff of legend.
In the end, perhaps that’s the true magic of Madison County’s covered bridges – their ability to transport us not just from one side of a river to another, but from our everyday lives into a world where love, history, and community intertwine.
On a crisp February morning in 1926, Fred Van Hooven of Americus, Missouri, reached into his mailbox to find a postcard. His calloused hands grasp the card, his eyes lit up at the news: “Prime steers $10.50 to $11.00. Choice $9.75 to $10.25.”
The postcard is colorful, smartly-designed and professionally printed, but it’s not a scenic view or a greeting from a distant relative. It’s a fold-over commercial mailer. Inside is a detailed cattle market report from Woodson-Fennewald Company at the National Stock Yards in Illinois.
For rural farmers and ranchers like Van Hooven, this small mailed card represented opportunity and prosperity. Today, it’s a window into a complex economic ecosystem that stretches from a small ranch in eastern central Missouri to the bustling stockyards of Chicago and beyond. This postcard and another one received a decade later bookend a period of dramatic change in rural America.
Van Hooven’s address in Americus draws us to a small community in in the eastern central part of Missouri. Founded in the 1860s Americus grew from a pre-Civil War settlement into a bustling village. By 1884, it boasted a dry goods store, a drug store, two blacksmith shops, a wagon shop, and a steam-powered saw and grist mill.
The town’s very existence was cemented when it gained its own post office, initially called Dry Fork Mills before town residents objected. The nobly-named Americus post office was a vital link to the outside world, enabling the flow of information that savvy rural ranchers relied on.
Van Hooven’s property likely sat in a landscape perfectly suited for a variety of livestock and farming operations. Nestled in the rolling hills near the Loutre River, his land would have been a patchwork of forests, streams, and fertile valleys. In this varied terrain, he may have run a sizable cattle herd while also providing habitat for a variety of wildlife – a fact that will prove crucial in the years to come.
A topographic map from 1974 shows this diverse landscape. Americus sits in a relatively flat area surrounded by hills, with numerous streams creating a dendritic pattern, like branching trees across the region. It’s easy to imagine cattle grazing in the lush river bottoms, while the forested hills provide shelter and resources.
Roaring Twenties on the Ranch
As Van Hooven studied the 1926 cattle prices, perhaps he was feeling his good fortune. The Roaring Twenties were in full swing, and the prosperity had reached even small towns like Americus. If he had invested in quality breeding stock, those “choice light weight steers and yearlings” were commanding premium prices. If he also had hogs and sheep, the the Woodson-Fennewald report would have mattered even more.
The postcard hints at the changing nature of transportation: “Good roads and bigger trucks” are increasing business. Maybe he should buy a truck? Despite the postcard’s offer, he could bypass middlemen and transport his cattle directly to the stockyards, increasing his profits.
This era of prosperity had allowed rural entrepreneurs to expand operations, explore new sources of revenue, and adopt new trades. Van Hooven and those like him were in a rapidly changing economic climate, keenly attuned to market forces. Subscribing to agricultural journals and almanacs, attending county fairs, and experimenting with new breeds of cattle would improve herd quality and potentially one’s livelihood.
As the 1920s progress, many rural farms and ranches began to feel the pinch of falling agricultural prices. The postwar boom that had inflated crop and livestock prices was ending, and rural people struggled with debt taken on during the good years.
Then came the stock market crash of 1929, sending shockwaves through the American economy. Rural communities like Americus were hit hard. Cattle prices plummet, and many farmers found themselves unable to make mortgage payments on land and equipment.
A conservative approach and diverse operations may have insulated ranching operations somewhat. But if not himself, Fred Van Hooven certainly would have seen his neighbors begin to struggle.
Rural Adaptation and Survival
Fast forward to a frosty January morning in 1936. Van Hooven, now a decade older and wiser, shuffled through his mail. Another postcard caught his eye, this one from David Blustein & Bro. in New York City. It’s a detailed price list for animal furs. Wolf pelts were fetching $8 for large, prime specimens, while muskrats, abundant in the streams around Americus, are listed at $1.40 for the best quality.
As the Great Depression deepens, Van Hooven’s adaptability must come to the fore. Years of reports and price lists have taught him to read the markets. While his cattle operation suffered, he must have looked for other opportunities.
The forests and streams around Americus, once seen mainly as grazing land, now represent a different kind of potential. Farmers and ranchers could supplement their income through trapping, a grueling work that involves checking traplines in the freezing pre-dawn hours. Van Hooven may have learned from older members of the community, who remembered the days when fur trading was a major part of Missouri’s economy.
For everyone in Americus, successful adaptation to the harsh realities of the Depression was required in one way or another. Expert trappers built upon older trapping techniques and learned how to properly prepare and grade furs to fetch the best prices. Chilled railcars brought the trade back for a while and made way for greater livestock shipping, too. The Blustein postcard listed nine different animal furs, each with three grade levels. Mink, marten, and beaver commanded the highest prices, but even the humble muskrat and possum contributed to the bottom line.
Changing Economic Ecosystems
Both postcards – the 1926 cattle report and the 1936 fur price list – highlight the surprisingly global nature of rural commerce in early 20th century America. From his small farm in central Missouri, Van Hooven was connected to markets in Chicago, New York, and beyond. The prices he received for his cattle or furs were influenced by national and international demand, linking the economy of Americus to the broader world.
This interconnectedness was facilitated by a complex communications network. Regular market reports and price lists delivered by mail kept rural entrepreneurs informed of distant market conditions. The level of detail in these reports – from specific cattle grades to fur sizes – shows the sophistication expected of ranchers, farmers and trappers.
The story behind these postcards is more than just a tale of one farmer’s adaptability woven out of the clues we have here. It’s a testament to the resilience and entrepreneurial spirit that has long characterized rural America. We would have to do more genealogical research to truly understand Fred Van Hooven’s story. For us, his name and address is just a place to start.
But we can assume that Van Hooven faced some of the same challenges confronting rural communities today. He would have had to navigate the boom of the 1920s and the bust of the 1930s. Van Hooven’s move from solely cattle ranching to include fur trapping highlights the ongoing need for rural businesses to diversify and adapt to changing markets. The shift from rail to road transport in Van Hooven’s time echoes the digital revolution of today, presenting both challenges and opportunities for rural businesses.
The postcards show how even in the 1920s and 1930s, rural businesses were connected to global markets. Today’s rural entrepreneurs face a rapidly changing economic landscape, from globalized markets to the impacts of climate change.
Enduring Spirit in Rural America
Today, Americus still appears on maps, a testament to the enduring spirit of rural communities. While fur trading and lone cattle drives have largely faded into history, the legacy of adaptability and connection to broader markets lives on. Modern farmers and rural entrepreneurs face their own set of challenges, but they approach these obstacles with the same resilience and ingenuity that characterized prior generations.
The humble business postcards that once delivered vital market information have been replaced by smartphones and real-time digital updates. Yet the essential skills they represent – market awareness, adaptability, and entrepreneurial spirit – remain as crucial as ever for rural success.
As we face the economic uncertainties ahead, let’s remember the lessons embodied in these postal relics. Rural America has always been a place of innovation and resilience where hard work and adaptability can turn challenges into opportunities. Next time you pass through a small Midwestern town, remember the papers and pricing that was once news traveling from the nation’s bustling cities to quiet rural routes – and consider how those connections continue to evolve and shape rural life today.
The Posted Past 