A hardly used mill and a wooden cross

The weather has changed here. It started to rain last night. I've seen people under the umbrellas this morning. The rain was truly necessary here. The soil, the plants desperately longed for water. Tree leaves have turned into gold, in colour only...

Yesterday I biked through uncultivated fields and weed possessed meadows to find a cross and an old mill in the village of Lipowe Pole. The photo of the cross features in one of Ms Elżbieta Jach's photo albums. It caught my eye when I visited her private mini-museum 'Spichlerz Regionalny' last week. She told me a story about the cross and the mill. That inspired me to look for them and I succeeded!
I turned right into this village street advised by the three beer drinkers at the local shop.

The cross was not far, by a footbridge over the Olesnica River:

 The fallow lands used to be cornfields, for centuries:

 This roadside cross was recently renovated, a few meters from here stands the mill. The original one was built of wood in the 1930s by the grandfather of Mr Janusz Zając. I spoke to him over the phone and maybe one day he will show me the mill and how grain becomes flour!

The mill itself, little is left of the original wooden structure and now it uses electric power:

 The shop assistant was very surprised to be told about the strange spelling. Can you see?

On the way back I stopped by the railway station to go to the post office. I needed to fill a form and used the pencil I found on the desk for customers. To my surprise, when my turn came, I heard that I need to fill another form. Pencil is the wrong tool! How misleading!:-)

I mentioned the railway station building, because being nearby I went to see if the small historic exhibition put together by some enthusiasts a few years back was still there. It was. I wonder where is now Mr Jerzy Stopa , one of these enthusiasts, who showed me and my guests around this little museum on many occasions.

 So much farmland I see left fallow when biking through the countryside.The old people who live in a pretty cottage by the mill are saddened by that. The woman is the miller's widow, the man is his brother. Their relations live nearby, busy like anyone else nowadays. It was nice to have a chat with them. They remember well the times when the land around was cultivated. Now the village is surrounded by the untamed weed. There is only one cow in the village, I was told...
....
I don't think the rain will allow me to go and see the interior of the mill today. I did 10 minutes on my 'mouse machine' reading Mark Twain's 'words of wisdom'. Time well spent!:-)