By DARREL RADFORD

Historically Speaking

In the spirit of counting blessings, this week’s Historically Speaking is written with the theme of “if this county could talk, what would it say?”

My name is Henry County. I was born almost 200 years ago and have become so much more than just a place on a map.

I don’t have mountains, but mountain climbers, people who have conquered goals of impressive altitude thanks to their attitudes.

I don’t have any beachfront property, but I am as relentless as the ocean tide. No matter how far the setback, I never fail to come rushing forward again, making my mark in the sands of time.

I don’t have any skyscrapers, but I often stand tall in the face of danger, challenge and turmoil.

I was there in that terrible Civil War, fighting with the spirit of Gen. William Grose and hundreds of Henry County soldiers.

I was there in World War I, fighting with the determination and courage of Gen. Omar Bundy and again, hundreds of Henry County soldiers.

I was there during World War II, from the beaches of Normandy to Germany’s horrors and the relentless battles with the Japanese, helping win the war that did so much to shape the high quality of life we now enjoy.

I was there by the hundreds during the Vietnam War, fighting honorably for a cause no one could adequately define.

I was there by the hundreds during the Gulf War, one in which the power of Henry County mothers put a dictator in his place with a group called MASH (Mothers Against Saddam Hussein) that gained nationwide attention.

And I was there when our country was attacked on Sept. 11, 2001. I went to Afghanistan and then to Iraq to fight terrorism. Some of my people are still fighting it today.

My name is Henry County. I am thousands of screaming fans at the world’s largest and finest high school gymnasium. And yet, I am also the solitary fisherman, sitting in the midst of beautiful trees at Memorial Park.

I am as ancient as an Indian mound at Baker Park and as new as the Ivy Tech Community College. I am as convenient as the Hoosier Kitchen Cabinet once made by the thousands here, within easy access of the interstate. My people display the harmony of a Jesse French piano and work together on projects that often come out smelling like the American Beauty rose once grown here.

My name is Henry County and I have horsepower – in more ways than one. I am the wheels of a Maxwell, the wings of a Wright brother and the graceful clippity-clop of horseshoes at one of the best horse-shown arenas in this part of the country.

I am old and yet, I feel young. I am a little boy or girl feeding a duck at Memorial Park. I am a teen-age athlete displaying the grace of a swan at a high school sporting event. I am a senior citizen admiring the flight of a blue heron or perhaps, even a bald eagle, over Summit Lake State Park, a place skeptics said would never hold water.

I am a place where eyesores become an oasis, like the Henry County Arts Park in downtown New Castle, a former dilapidated lumber yard. A place where long shots – like luring the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame to come here – are taken, and dramatically swish through the goal.

I am famous, yet selfless. I have many honored citizens in my “Hall of Fame” and historical society museum, yet I am continually uplifted by the nameless who behind the scenes make charitable donations and volunteer countless hours to make me a better place.

I am a place of hard work, yet a place of F.U.N. A place of more than 100 church congregations that remember we are one nation, under God. A place where that star-spangled banner still waves.

My name is Henry County. But my people proudly call me “home.”