Forestburg is the "one-horse-town" where Wes' grandfather, Vern Nathan Nichols was raised.
He was a blacksmith.
We drove around and took pictures of some of the 20 or so houses that define the town.
It is a teeny patch of run-down, almost non-existent civilization.
As you can see, they did have the essentials:
Bathrooms
The Farm
The Church
The Town Hotel
And the Town Swimmin' Hole
The streets are all dirt. Everything was muddy and swampy. The area had recently flooded and we laughed as we took pictures of old abandoned cars in the flood water. Redneck Villas!
We had no idea where the old blacksmith shop used to be--where Vern would have had is livelihood; we wished we could have found out, but the one man we asked had no idea. We ate a picnic lunch on a knoll of dry dirt and the kids caught toads.
This is the James River right outside of Forestburg, SD.
This is where LaVern's older brother, Duane Wesley drowned when he was 12 years old.
Here are the two other Wesleys that carry on his name--Wesley Vern and Wesley Mckay Andrews.
It was a pretty place.
The kids wanted to get in the river.
Until they saw this . . . .
Elias: "Maybe we should swim somewhere else."
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