#lowmax grounds

It's hard to discern exactly where the stories come from. To separate straight facts from the fanciful, from the embellished, from conjecture. Historians in the area do tend to concede that the most prevalent stories each possess a measure of veracity, though they do so with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Bootlegger Maximillian 'Low Max' O'Leary, for example, did indeed exist and was known to have passed through the area in the Prohibition Era. Whether he was the seasonal inhabitant of Pemberton as claimed or threw lavish, star-studded parties in his hill-top hideaway, however, is still the subject of debate (some assert he inspired F. Scott Fitzgerald; others have it the other way around.) Captain Nathaniel Stanley Maxton, too, exists in the historical record, but the story of his defection toward the end of the American Revolutionary War in favour of running away with an American girl (romantic? or stupid?) (hotly debated) remains entirely unsubstantiated. There is no proof he settled the wild valley plain several miles north-east of Heartbreak Lake and dubbed it 'Low Maxton'; no proof he adopted a new identity and lived quietly with his love on this beautiful, isolated land, farming to eek out a living. On the other hand, Ludlow and Maxwell, enterprising orchardists of the early to mid 20th century, unquestionably worked the property. Apples, predominantly, with a small venture into pears and plums. So it is on paper, at least. Off-paper sources suggest Ludlow & Maxwell had their fingers in other more lucrative (and significantly less legal) pies- and that's not to say they began dabbling in cherries. Reportedly absconding suddenly and hastily at the tail end of the thirties, the facts and theories concerning the duo's moral characters, the truth behind their abrupt departure, and their subsequent total absence from the historical record are yet another set of murky waters for local history buffs to debate- with fiendish pleasure, generally, over coffee and cake at their monthly meeting (the first Thursday of every month, in the upstairs room of the Pemberton Public Library; new members welcome!)

A handful of Pemberton inhabitants bemoan the property went to the notoriously-private Foskett family rather than a preservation foundation, or a benefactor who'd see it restored and open to the public, but in truth, there's little of historical merit to see anymore: precious few of the original- original original- structures remain. The pillar at the end of the drive, however, is one of them. The bronze plaque near the bottom is scuffed and weathered; the rampant growth of wild grasses and meadow flowers at foot sees to making sure it goes unnoticed by most. Nevertheless, it quietly continues to declare the age of the property. Lowmax: pre-dating the airplane, the American Civil War, the telephone, the telegraph, electric light. Age after age, two centuries and then some, keeping staunch watch over the horses and humans dwelling in the valley alongside the mountains and forests that stood long before it, and will stand long after it-

Full size option, because I don't quite want to throw this one in the bin.