There's a tiny little village 
                         In the state I call my own, 
                     That's hard to find upon the map, 
                    But Its name to me means "Home". 

                        The population's not so great 
                        But I love them, one and all. 
                       Each name's a happy memory 
                        Of those days beyond recall. 

                          Now I've met with people 
                        From Norway and from Spain, 
                         From our sunny California 
                    and the rock-bound Coast of Maine. 

                       But when they start to spouting 
                    'Bout their homeland great or small, 
                       I tell my views in accents loud 
                          And dominate them all. 

                      "You may have your old Chicago 
                       With its gunmen and its booze. 
                    Where gangsters with machine guns:, 
                     Leave you shaking in your shoes'." 

                       "You may have your California 
                      Where the climate is just right", 
                      Where you swelter in the daytime 
                        And freeze to death at night. 

                   "You may have your Western prairies, 
                      Where real 'he-men  are made--- 
                     Where the diamond rattlers flourish 
                        Beneath the cactus' shade--. 

                         But I'll choose old Lacota- 
                      -With fragrant orchards bound-- 
                     Among its trees and birds and bees 
                          True happiness is found. 

                       Where everyone sees everyone- 
                       -And no matter who you meet, 
                  It's "Howdy Bill" or "How's the folks?" 
                          As you go down the street. 

                      Where everyone knows everyone 
                       And shares their grief and joys, 
                Where Mothers search down Spicebush Creek 
                       For their water loving(?) boys. 

                 Where around the stove in Simpson's store, 
                      Many battles fierce are fought--- 
                And weird and wondrous are the tales of fish 
                            they almost caught. 

                      Where you hear children playing 
                      "London Bridge is falling down--" 
                     Back where life is worth the living: 
                        I mean--My old home town. 

                            by Evelyn Louise Lull


     It gives me great pleasure to present these Lacota pages - The information given here was sent to me by Jerry Clark - Thank you so much,
     Jerry for sharing all of this wonderful information and the pictures.  You can contact Jerry at

Community Club Picnic Speech July 25, 1931
given by Frank J. Clark

Arlie Clark - Ship named in his honor

Golden Jubilee - Frank J. Clark 50 years of Service

                                                                                                        Speech by F. J. Clark

Given at the annual Soldiers and Sailors Picnic

In Memory of Letha Culver



Clark's Store
Clark's StoreInterior  F J ClarkHome

 Hearse   LacotaDepot

 Lacota ME Church
 Oxleys Garage    Pickle Factory

 Gould Home
Dilly Home  Pickle Factory 1911
Lacota Looking North 
Lacota Winter Scene
 Lacota Ball Team
Lacota Band
Cornet Band
Lacota Looking South

Lacota  School 1907
Lacota School LacotaSchool 2
 Lacota School 3
Lacota School   1913
School- Ayres Teacher 

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