By Frances Thrasher Murray
In the early “Fifties,” my father, the late William Thrasher, came to Albion, a village of a few inhabitants, but plenty of mud. He came in a canvas-covered wagon, better known now as a “prairie schooner”, pulled by two mules. He stuck in the mud at the intersection of Erie and Superior Streets, so stayed in Albion, and was known as the “village blacksmith” for many years.
Many times have I sat on his forge and watched him shoe oxen. A wide canvas belt was strapped around the oxs body, and by means of a windlass, ropes and pulleys, my father gradually hoisted him of his feet, for he cannot lift his feet as a horse does, and this also prevented his kicking. The steel shoes were made in two parts to fit the cloven hoofs of the ox and were nailed on in a similar fashion to horses shoes.
Our little home was where the Lutheran Church and parsonage now stand. My father set out all of those beautiful old trees, which now beautify that street. They are over seventy years old. I know, for I, as a child of ten years helped father plant them.
Source: Krenerick, Miriam. Albion’s Milestones and Memories. Albion, MI: Art Craft Press. 1932. 69