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Around Atlantic, Atlantic, IA (2026)

05/10/2026

A Mother’s Day Glimpse into the Past

There’s something timeless about this photograph. Three young women standing waist-deep in the cool water at Cold Springs Park, better known to generations around here as Lewis Lake, smiling beside a floating barrel on what looks like a warm summer afternoon somewhere around 1915. The swim caps, dresses, jewelry, and even the towering wooden slide in the background all feel right at home in that early 1910s era, when a day at the lake was one of the great summertime outings in Cass County.

The young woman on the left is Kate Fellows, my great-grandmother. Long before any of us were here, before highways and smartphones and modern distractions, she was just a young woman spending a summer day with friends or family at the lake near Lewis. And somehow, more than a century later, that moment still survives. That’s the power of old photographs. They stop time long enough for us to look back across generations and realize these weren’t just “historic people.” They laughed, swam, posed for goofy photos, and lived full lives just like we do.

Cold Springs itself already had a long history by the time this photo was taken. The lake area near Lewis had become a recreation destination by the late 1800s, with the spring-fed waters and wooded surroundings drawing families from all over southwest Iowa for picnics, swimming, and summer gatherings. Looking at that giant wooden slide in the background, you can almost hear the noise of kids splashing in the water and families gathered along the shoreline on a hot Iowa afternoon.

On Mother’s Day, photos like this remind us that motherhood and family stretch across far more than just our own lifetime. Somewhere between that summer day at Lewis Lake and today, generations were built, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and memories passed forward one story at a time. And because somebody saved this photograph, Kate Fellows and her friends get to smile back at us 110 years later.

*AI edit
*original photo in comments.
(It also shows the bath house.)

❤️ Happy Mother’s Day! ❤️

05/09/2026

Truck Beds and Treasure Tables

There was a time in Atlantic when a swap meet weekend could turn the Cass County Fairgrounds at Sunnyside Park into a small city of pickup trucks, campers, trailers, folding tables, and treasure hunters. Founded and organized by Charlie Templeman, the Southwest Iowa swap meets became a familiar tradition throughout the early and mid-1980s, drawing people from all across the region. Before sunrise, vendors would already be rolling through the gates, unloading everything from antique tools and tractor parts to glassware, signs, fishing gear, toys, and boxes of old photographs and postcards.

What made those swap meets special wasn’t just what people bought or sold. It was the atmosphere. Families walked the gravel lanes carrying paper cups of coffee while old friends stopped every few feet to talk. Farmers, mechanics, collectors, and kids all mixed together in one place. One table might have rusty wrenches and carburetors, while the next had comic books, marbles, and Depression glass. Half the fun was never knowing what might be sitting on the next tailgate or tucked inside the next cardboard box.

Looking back now, the scene feels like a snapshot from a different era of small-town America. There were no cell phones, no online marketplaces, and no social media posts telling people where the “good stuff” was. If you wanted to find something rare, you walked the rows yourself. And if you were lucky, maybe you headed home with an old sign for the garage, a tractor part you’d been hunting for years, or some forgotten piece of local history rescued from a dusty table at the fairgrounds at Sunnyside.

For many people around Atlantic and across southwest Iowa, those swap meets became more than just weekend events. They were gatherings. They were social occasions. They were part flea market, part reunion, and part treasure hunt all rolled into one. And judging by photos like this, they brought together hundreds of people who probably had no idea at the time that one day these ordinary weekends would become memories worth preserving.

I remember going to this with my parents.

Did you attend a swap meet in Atlantic?

What is the best thing you ever found?

*AI edit
*original photo in comments

The Around Atlantic Preservation Circle has about 20 spots remaining in the Charter 160. Join us today to help preserve Atlantic’s history while stewarding its future!

⭐️ www.KO-fi.com/aroundatlantic

05/08/2026

The Girls of Homecoming

Frozen somewhere in the fall of 1956, this scene captures one of those afternoons when downtown Atlantic felt like the very center of the world. Earlier on Friday before the big game that night, convertibles rolled slowly down Chestnut Street during the Homecoming parade, their chrome gleaming in the autumn sun as crowds packed the sidewalks in front of JCPenney and the old Masonic Lodge building. For a few hours, classes, chores, and everyday worries gave way to football, marching bands, school pride, and the excitement that always seemed to settle over town during Homecoming week.

Riding through downtown that afternoon were the Homecoming attendants: Marlene Pedersen, Nancy McArthur, Sharon McCauley, Eleanor Shackson, Judy Anderson, Jane Petersen, and Mary Nelle Voss. The Atlantic High School yearbook described the excitement as more than words could fully capture. The football boys selected the girls from the senior class, the student body voted for queen, and afterward the attendants led the famous snake dance through town in convertibles just like the one pictured here.

And what a car to lead the parade in. The big Buick convertible, with its sweeping chrome, whitewall tires, and deep two-tone paint, looked every bit as glamorous as the era itself. Behind it stood the familiar red-brick storefronts of Chestnut Street, buildings that had already watched decades of Atlantic history pass by. On afternoons like this, downtown became more than a business district. It became Atlantic’s gathering place, where nearly everybody either knew somebody in the parade or had once dreamed of being part of it themselves.

Looking at this photo now, nearly seventy years later, it’s hard not to notice the little details: the smiles, the curled hairstyles, the polished chrome, the storefront reflections, and the excitement of a Friday before kickoff. Homecoming in 1956 wasn’t simply a football game. It was a community tradition that pulled the whole town together. And for one autumn afternoon in Atlantic, these young men and women became part of the town’s living memory, rolling slowly down Chestnut Street while the town stopped to watch.

Do you have a homecoming memory?

*AI edit
*original photo, from The 1957 Javelin, in comments

05/07/2026

A Seat by the Stove at the Park Hotel

There’s a warmth in this room you can almost feel, even now. The Park Hotel lobby, just across from Atlantic’s City Park, wasn’t just a place to wait, it was a place to belong. The stove at the center gave off that steady, dependable heat, drawing people in from Chestnut Street and holding them there a little longer than they planned. Coats stayed on, newspapers opened, and conversations came easy. And down near the stove, curled up without a care in the world, a dog had found the best seat in the house, soaking in the warmth like it had done a hundred times before.

Seated along the left side is Mayor Joseph “Joe” Burnea Jr., a familiar face in a familiar place. Born in 1869 and raised right here in Cass County, Burnea spent his life rooted in Atlantic, first through his family’s brick yard and general store, and later through decades of civic service. He wasn’t the kind of mayor who felt removed from the people. He was part of the daily rhythm of the town, the kind of man you’d expect to see right here, leaning back in a chair, listening more than talking, keeping a quiet eye on things.

It’s easy to imagine the kinds of conversations that filled this room. News of the day, business dealings, maybe even talk of city matters, like the time Mayor Burnea helped see that electric bills were covered using municipal profits, easing the burden on residents. Around him sit other men, travelers passing through, locals who stopped in out of habit, each one adding to the quiet life of the place. The Park Hotel wasn’t just for overnight guests. It was a crossroads, a gathering point, a steady presence in the middle of town.

And the building itself had already lived a full life by the time this photo was taken. Built in 1871 as temporary county offices, it later became one of Atlantic’s early hotels, standing for decades across from the park as the town grew up around it. By the early 1960s, it would be gone, cleared away to make room for something new. But rooms like this don’t really disappear. They stay with a town. In the warmth of a stove, in the quiet presence of a dog by the fire, and in the memory of a place where people simply gathered and belonged.

*AI edit
*original photo in comments

💫 This month’s posts are brought to you by Cass Atlantic Development/CADCO. 💫

05/03/2026

A Congregation at the Corner of 6th and Walnut

There was a time when the south side of East 6th Street, just off Walnut, held more than a building, it held a language, a culture, and a way of life carried across an ocean. By the early 1900s, the German Evangelical Lutheran Zion’s Church stood there, its white wooden walls and tall steeple rising above a neighborhood filled with families who had come to Cass County speaking German, working the land, and building something that felt like home again. Organized in 1886 and first rooted in a modest frame structure, the congregation had grown enough by 1908 to dedicate a new church, one that would stand as both a place of worship and a symbol of permanence.

And a few years later, they gathered.

The photograph we’re looking at was likely taken not in 1908 itself, but sometime in the mid-1910s, around 1914 to 1917, based on the clothing and style of the crowd. The men’s suits are more relaxed than the rigid cuts of the early 1900s, the women’s hats have softened from the towering fashions of the previous decade, and the children’s dress reflects a slightly newer era. What that tells us is important: this isn’t a groundbreaking photo. This is a congregation that has already settled into its new church, comfortable, established, and at full strength.

They stand together in quiet unity, men in dark suits and brimmed hats, women in long dresses and carefully chosen hats, children pulled close or seated in the front row, doing their best to hold still. These are not strangers. These are families tied together through baptisms, confirmations, marriages, and funerals, all recorded in church books that stretched back into the 1870s. The pastor is likely among them somewhere, perhaps even the man standing in the church window just behind the crowd, but like everything else in this photograph, that part of the story is left just uncertain enough to keep us looking a little longer.

Behind them, the sign reads what they already know by heart: German Evangelical Lutheran Zion’s Church, A.D. 1908. Not the beginning, but a milestone. A marker of when this building rose at 6th and Walnut, replacing the earlier, smaller church that had served the congregation since the 1880s. But look just a little closer at the structure itself, and another detail begins to stand out, the larger front-facing section of the building carries a slightly different pattern of shingles, a subtle shift that suggests it may have been added or expanded after the original 1908 construction. It raises the possibility that this photograph wasn’t just a gathering, but a quiet commemoration of that addition, a way of marking growth not just in numbers, but in the space that held them.

And there’s something else in this moment, something harder to see at first glance. These families are standing at the edge of change. Within a few short years, the German language that filled this church would begin to fade under the pressures of World War I. English would slowly take its place. Traditions would shift. Names in the church records would remain, but the sound of Sunday mornings would not be quite the same. What you’re looking at here is one of the last generations where that original identity stood fully intact, untranslated, unaltered.

And yet, even as the language softened and the years moved forward, the roots held. The congregation would endure, eventually connecting to what is now known as Zion Lutheran in Atlantic. The address would change. The buildings would change. But the people, their families, their stories, their presence in this town, never really left. They’re still here, in one form or another, woven into Atlantic itself. This photograph just happens to catch them all together, for a moment, in the mid-1910s, on a patch of ground at 6th and Walnut where it all once stood.

Do you have family roots tied to Zion Lutheran or the German church at 6th and Walnut? We’d love to hear your story!

*AI edit
*original photo in comments
*photo from the collection of Phil Chinitz

Have a wonderful Sunday!

05/02/2026

Where Atlantic Dressed Itself

There was a time when this corner of Chestnut wasn’t just another storefront, it was the place. Around 1908, when this photo was taken, the building at 501 Chestnut stood as one of Atlantic’s premier retail spaces, home to a large, unified department store known as Oransky’s. The wide glass windows stretched around the corner, filled with neatly arranged suits and clothing, drawing people in from both directions. On a day like this, you can almost feel the energy, folks gathered out front, pausing long enough for the photographer to capture a moment in time.

Back then, this wasn’t a collection of small shops, it was one continuous space, built intentionally to serve as a flagship store for the community. Sanborn fire maps from the era confirm what the photo shows: a two-story brick building, designed for a single large retailer, with an open sales floor and full display frontage. Before the days of subdivisions and multiple tenants, this was where Atlantic came to shop, to browse, and to see what was new. It was part storefront, part social hub, and part reflection of a growing town finding its identity.

Over the decades, the building would change with the times, becoming home to names like Bullock’s and Anthony’s, and eventually transitioning into the service-based businesses we know today, including Randy’s Computers. But in this moment, frozen somewhere in the late 1900s’ first decade, you’re looking at the building as it was originally meant to be. Before the changes, before the divisions—this was one of the places where Atlantic quite literally dressed itself.

What other business inhabited this building?

*Constructed in 1890
*AI edit
*original photo in comments
*photo of Oransky’s paper bag and garment tag in comments

05/01/2026

⭐️ Today’s post is brought to you by our corporate sponsor of the month, Cass/Atlantic Development!

www.atlanticiowa.com/cadco ⭐️

A Moment Between Horsepower and Horses

Sometime around 1911, at the corner of 4th and Chestnut, Atlantic found itself quietly straddling two eras. The dirt street stretched wide under the sun, still built for wagons and teams, yet here, rolling into view, were three men riding something new. Early motorcycles, little more than motorized bicycles with single-cylinder engines, hummed along the edge of progress, their presence subtle but unmistakable.

In front of the white façade of the Atlantic National Bank, the contrast couldn’t have been clearer. Just behind them sat a wagon or cart, likely horse-drawn, still the backbone of everyday life. And yet these riders, caps pulled low, sleeves rolled, were piloting machines capable of 35 or even 40 miles per hour, a remarkable speed for the time. These weren’t the roaring V-twins that would come later, but lighter, simpler machines, Harleys, Indians, or similar makes, built in the years when motorcycles were still finding their identity.

Look closer and you can almost feel the curiosity of the moment. These weren’t just riders, they were early adopters, men willing to trust a new kind of engine to carry them through town. On streets like Chestnut, where every storefront, hitching post, and lamp standard belonged to an older rhythm, the sight of three motorcycles riding side by side would have turned heads. Not with noise, but with intrigue.

It’s a scene that captures Atlantic in motion, not fast, not dramatically, but steadily. A town rooted in tradition, yet open enough to let something new roll right down its main street. And for a brief second, right there at 4th and Chestnut, you can see it clearly: the moment between what was, and what would be.

It’s motorcycle season! 👀 🏍️

*AI edit
*original photo in comments

04/30/2026

A Moment Between What Was and What Would Be

There’s a stretch of Atlantic most of us pass without a second thought today, 7th Street, heading east out of town. But this photo captures a moment when that road wasn’t quite finished becoming what we know it as now. Standing roughly where the present-day East Casey’s sits, the view looks east along Highway 6 at a time when progress was still being carved out of the dirt.

On the left, traffic moves along the existing pavement, mid-60s cars gliding by like any ordinary day. But just a few feet to the right, it’s a completely different world. Freshly turned earth, deep ruts, and utility poles marching into the distance tell the real story: this road was in the middle of transformation. What looks routine now was once a full-scale effort to expand and modernize one of Atlantic’s main arteries.

Anchoring the scene are two familiar names from a different era. The APCO station stands as a symbol of roadside America in its prime, while just beyond it sits The Pines restaurant, a place that undoubtedly saw its share of locals, road crews, and passersby stopping in as this very stretch of road took shape outside.

If you’ve driven 7th Street recently, take a second look next time you head east. Underneath the pavement and passing traffic, this moment is still there, quietly holding its place in Atlantic’s story.

*AI edit
*original photo in comments

The Preservation Circle Charter Group has only 26 spots remaining! Join us today! Message for details.

04/26/2026

☀️ A Sunday at Sunnyside ☀️

Somewhere around 1928, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, this moment unfolded at Sunnyside Park, right in that middle stretch of ground, with the photographer looking east through the trees. Two young girls sit in the grass, shoulder to shoulder, dressed in their light summer dresses and soft-brimmed hats, smiling in a way that feels both natural and timeless. It’s the kind of moment that wasn’t staged so much as it was simply noticed.

Behind them, the early age of the automobile lines the edge of the park. A row of cars, some already a few years old, others more modern for their time, rests beneath the trees. Families would have driven in, parked in the shade, and spent the afternoon the way people did back then: talking, relaxing, and enjoying the simple luxury of being together outdoors. You can almost hear it, the low hum of conversation, maybe the distant sound of laughter, the rustle of leaves overhead.

There’s something especially striking about this photo because no one is rushing anywhere. The girls aren’t distracted. They’re just there, fully present in the moment, sitting in the grass on what was likely a warm summer day in Atlantic. The park wasn’t just a place, it was where life slowed down, where Sundays meant something a little quieter and a little more connected.

*AI edit
*original photo in comments

04/25/2026

Breakin’ on Chestnut

There’s a moment here, frozen somewhere around 1983, that feels almost impossible today. The crowd is packed tight along Chestnut, shoulder to shoulder, kids sitting cross-legged right up front, parents leaning in from behind, everyone craning just a little bit closer. And in the middle of it all, right there on the pavement, something entirely new is happening. A breakdancer, probably the first many in this crowd had ever seen in person, is spinning and balancing in a way that doesn’t quite seem real.

You can almost feel the energy in it. The guy standing off to the side, hands poised, ready to clap or cue the next move. The performer down low, caught mid-freeze, holding himself up on one arm like gravity’s just a suggestion. And the faces, those are what really pull you in. Wide eyes. Half-smiles. Kids trying to figure out how someone’s body can even do that. Adults watching with that mix of curiosity and disbelief, like they know they’re witnessing something different, something that hasn’t quite made its way into small-town Iowa yet.

And then there’s what’s not here. No phones. Not a single person looking down. No one recording it for later or watching it through a screen. Every single person is right there, fully in it. If you missed it, you missed it. That was the deal. And because of that, moments like this carried a little more weight. You paid attention. You leaned in. You remembered it not because you had a video, but because it stuck with you.

You can imagine this being part of AtlanticFest or something like it, a summer day where the streets belonged to the community. Where something unexpected could just show up in the middle of town and stop everything. Traffic, conversation, plans, none of it mattered for a few minutes. What mattered was what was happening right there on the pavement, in front of everyone, together.

🎯 Now here’s the fun part, take a closer look. Zoom in on the photo and see how many people you can recognize. Kids, parents, friends, neighbors…they’re all in there somewhere. Whoever can name the most people in this photo will win a one-year membership to the Around Atlantic Preservation Circle. Let’s see how many familiar faces are still remembered.

⭐️ This moment was captured by longtime Atlantic News Telegraph writer, photographer and reporter, Phil Chinitz, whose work helped document so many of Atlantic’s everyday stories as they unfolded. Photos like this are more than just snapshots, they’re pieces of the town’s memory, preserved by someone who had a front-row seat to it all. ⭐️

04/24/2026

Atlantic’s Hidden Pieces of a Lost Mansion

At the top of Chestnut Street, where the land gently rises and the town begins to thin into quiet neighborhoods, there once stood a house that felt almost out of place in Atlantic, not because it didn’t belong, but because it seemed to belong to something larger. Built in 1890 by lumberman Edward Shaw and later purchased by J.W. Cuykendall, half-owner of the Atlantic Canning Company, the home, known as “Lyndhurst”, was a statement of both success and ambition. In a town shaped by industry and steady growth, it stood as one of the clearest symbols of what that success could build.

Step inside, and the home revealed its true character. The entrance hall alone, as seen in this photograph, was richly detailed, layered in warm woodwork, intricate paneling, and craftsmanship that spoke to an era when homes were built as much for beauty as for function. A grand open staircase rose from the hall, softened by decorative spindle work and anchored by tall newel posts fitted with glowing light fixtures. Even the small details carried intention: a “Turkish corner” tucked into the landing with plush pillows, ferns and palms arranged seasonally near the fireplace, and carefully chosen decorative pieces adorning the mantel. It wasn’t just a house, it was an experience, designed to impress and to comfort all at once.

But like many grand homes of its time, Lyndhurst’s story did not end in permanence. As the Great Depression tightened its grip on communities across the country, a house of that size and elegance became less a symbol of pride and more a burden too heavy to carry. Maintenance, heating, and upkeep of such a structure were no longer practical realities for most. Eventually, the decision was made to dismantle it, a quiet, almost unthinkable end for a home that had once stood as one of Atlantic’s finest.

And yet, Lyndhurst never truly disappeared. Its woodwork, its materials, its very bones were given a second life, purchased by a local builder and woven into other homes throughout the neighborhood. Pieces of that grand staircase, panels like those seen in this hall, perhaps even unseen beams and trim, still exist today, hidden in plain sight inside houses that continue to stand. In that way, the Cuykendall house didn’t vanish. It scattered itself into the fabric of Atlantic, becoming not just one home lost to time, but many homes quietly carrying its legacy forward.

There’s something meaningful about that idea, that pieces of the past don’t just disappear, they carry forward through the people who choose to care. That’s really what the Around Atlantic Preservation Circle is about. There are just 25 spots remaining in the original Charter group, and those first members will forever be part of this founding chapter, helping preserve stories like this and give back to the place we call home. If it means something to you, now’s a special time to be part of it.

💫 Join here: https://ko-fi.com/aroundatlantic
Or feel free to message the Around Atlantic page for more information. 💫

*AI edit
*original photo in comments
*photo of Lyndhurst in comments

🎈Have a great weekend!

Around Atlantic

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