Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Man of the Mounds
There was a man who came to the New World from the Old. He worked hard and saved his money, and in time he bought himself a parcel of land and began to farm it.
Now it so happened that on this land there were some mounds.
"Dig 'em up, see what's inside," said some. "Plow 'em under," said others.
But the man knew mounds from the Old Country, and he knew that no good ever comes of meddling with them. And so he did neither.
Well, the man prospered and bought more land, and on this land also there were mounds. But no more did he meddle with these than he had with the others.
The man grew old and wealthy. In time the city grew out to meet his farm, and land was fetching good prices from developers. So when the time came to divide the land among his sons, he left the parcel with the mounds on it to the state instead.
And there the mounds stand to this day, with their own state park around them.
The man was named Fredrick Bronnenberg, and the park is Mounds State Park in Anderson, Indiana. This is a true tale that I tell here, as I heard it from the wife of Fredrick's great-grand-daughter herself.
And true it is also that no good ever comes of meddling with the mounds.
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Blessed be this wise ancestor, Fredrick Bronnenberg.