This week I journeyed a few short miles up the road and way back in time to the charming little town of Eagle Point. I’ve zipped right past town several times in the two years since I’ve moved to Southern Oregon, and we even looked at several houses in a newer development around the golf course there when we were househunting. However, I’d never ventured into the historic town center itself before, but I’d been promising myself to make this trip for quite a while. Just past a charming covered bridge and an 1895 former cheese factory-turned-antique-store sits the Butte Creek Mill, built in 1872 and the only water-powered grist mill in operation in Oregon today (and on the National Register of Historic Places). Rising three stories above the rushing Little Butte Creek, the massive bulk of the weathered-timbered building presents a welcoming façade, complete with flower-filled planters and a wide covered porch inviting one to sit and visit on its rough-hewn chairs and benches. Stepping inside is indeed like stepping back a century or so. Wide plank floors, smoothed by thousands of feet, creak beneath my feet, and rough, immense timbers support walls and ceiling and the machinery which runs the mill. The most modern touch is a video monitor which plays a recorded “tour” and history of the mill by owner Bob Russell. The walls are covered with antique signs and farm, logging and milling equipment. Through large windows one can observe the milling room. The millstones which grind a wide variety of grains today are original to the mill. Quarried in France, they traveled first to Illinois to be assembled, then by ship around Cape Horn to Crescent City in Northern California, and finally by wagon over steep, rough mountain roads. I thoroughly enjoyed drinking in the atmosphere and history of the old mill, but I also came for some of the mill’s products, for sale in the General Store located on the first floor. Here, too, one feels as though time stopped several decades ago. Beneath the pressed tin ceiling squats a barrel-shaped, immense wood stove (I’m sure it’s quite capable of really cranking out the BTUs on a damp, cold day), long shelves stretching high loaded with all manner of local goods (everything from wine and preserves to candies and cheese), and a time-smoothed counter topped with an enormous jar of pickles. I headed for the refrigerated cases, though, where the packets of flour and baking mixes are properly kept for freshness. Choosing what to take home proved difficult, but I managed to tear myself away with just a few select goodies by reminding myself that a return trip would be easy enough. I certainly look forward to making another trip back in time there soon! — Patty Vanikiotis, associate editor/copy editor