It was on a sunny Friday afternoon that I decided to take a trip to the Pontiac Historical Museum.
Growing up I was always a bit of a history nerd, though I tended to focus on the parts that seemed interesting to a young boy, namely WWI and II.
Having moved here just under a year ago, I was vaguely aware that there was a museum in Shawville, similar to how I was aware of the fire hydrant outside my apartment building. Footnotes in the annals of my brain.
“Ah, yes, the old red thing in the front lawn, it’s for fighting fires or something right?”
“Ah yes, the old red building in the corner of the fairgrounds, it’s a museum or something right?”
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