POTOSI, Wisconsin − It seemed as if a bomb had detonated in the brewery.

Following its closure, the structure was pillaged, with individuals taking whatever they could transport, possibly as keepsakes or goods to sell. This was indicative of the harsh loss of 1972 when Potosi descended into an extensive economic ice age. Gradually, the brick walls of the building came tumbling down and debris was scattered all over.

This loss wasn’t merely about a single enterprise in a quaint town nestled within the towering bluffs of Wisconsin’s Driftless region near the Mississippi River. It appeared to be the final nail in the coffin. Local farms had been vanishing for years, and now, major industrial employers were following suit. Residences were abandoned, specifically by the youth who were the community volunteers and taxpayers. Schools saw a decrease in child enrollment and a critical shortage of new ideas to help reverse the decline. This vision of the future was fading with every passing moment. “What would be the outcome?” former Village President Frank Fiorenza remembered pondering. “We staunchly refused to let this community die.”

Once a thriving mining and farming town with a population of 5,000 in the 1800s, the numbers dwindled over the years to a mere few hundred. Mic Walsh remembered losing the brewery, and a series of machinery vendors at the same time as the local agriculturist community was floundering. The proprietor of a local Ace Hardware store witnessed his client base dwindling, and the distress permeated the community. The local pharmacy was shut down. The town’s two barber shops followed suit, and many more establishments faced a similar fate.

“It all just multiplies,” Walsh said. “It’s hard to see.”

Across America, there are scores of places just like Potosi that have collapsed as the economy shifted from rural to urban. After the most recent U.S. Census in 2020, America’s population was only 14 percent rural, the lowest on record and a steep drop from 57 percent in 1940, according to research by University of New Hampshire rural demographer Kenneth Johnson.

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While that shift might seem unstoppable, there are times when the flow reversed. One was during a global economic crisis when jobless people retreated from cities to the shelter of family farms during the Great Depression. Another was a global pandemic, where they fled from crowded offices amid COVID-19 to remote work in sparsely populated places far from the city. In just the past two years, two-thirds of Wisconsin counties gained population, far away from fast growing places like Dane County.

In the wake of COVID-19, as many organizations usher staff back to offices and city centers aim to rejuvenate eerily vacant downtown areas, rural America stands at a pivotal junction. This situation is deeply personal to me, as I, a farm boy who moved away, continue to grapple with finding a way to contribute to the solution. I discovered some potential strategies in Potosi, a region demonstrating how a strong sense of identity, a culture of volunteering, and enterprising spirit could potentially offer a blueprint for reviving rural parts of the country.

The scope and magnitude of the issue—decreasing rural populations and the accompanying loss of economic activity, prospects, and accompanying sense of despair—is overwhelming.

Johnson, the demographer, highlighted that for years the main driver of rural decline was that rural regions were not growing as rapidly as urban ones. However, this trend shifted between 2010 and 2020, during which rural populations actually decreased. The problem worsens when a community not only experiences more departures than arrivals but also higher death rates than birth rates.

This is an important issue regardless of where you reside. Rural communities, that provide our food, natural resources, affordable labor, among other things, are crucial to our national economy. Their diminishing state contributes to further concerns, such as our rural-urban divide and the ongoing national drug crisis.

Rural states like Wisconsin are often home to isolated communities that struggle to survive. But is it possible for these communities to completely disappear?

According to historians, the answer is yes. One example is Gratiot’s Grove, a former mining town that has since vanished but is remembered in the book “Ghost Towns of Wisconsin” by William Stark.

“Some towns just vanished into thin air, while others kept fighting for survival,” says Jerry Apps, a well-known author and historian from Wisconsin. He has a new book, “On Farms and Rural Communities,” scheduled to be published this spring.

The vast impact of the economic disruptions plaguing Wisconsin is apparent from a few statistics, which show how sectors from farming to paper mills to manufacturing are having a tough time:

135,000: This is the number of farms Wisconsin has lost since its peak in 1935, which represents a decrease of more than 67 percent, as stated by the U.S. Department of Agriculture data.

8,200: This figure represents jobs lost in the wood and paper industries, which notably includes Wisconsin’s renowned paper mills, in just one decade from 2006 to 2016. According to state data, small towns like Wisconsin Rapids are facing difficulties following the closure of their mills, such as Verso’s closure in 2020.

3,200: This is the number of jobs at the Janesville GM plant and its associated suppliers that were lost following the plant’s closure in December 2008. According to Janesville Gazette’s reports at that time.

Despite such hardships in the industries, there are signs of hope. Wisconsin continues to lead consistently in cheese and cranberry production. Many jobs and communities are tied to the agricultural sector. Partial recovery and reorientation have stirred up demand for paper industry workers in the recent years. Regardless of the impact of the GM plant closure on the city and rural areas, Janesville is striving to diversify its economy.

Many rural communities are also turning toward tourism and working to find a unique identity to continue luring people back to places once dismissed as dying ghost towns. The ongoing resilience of rural areas and small communities, through decades of change, mean rural Wisconsin isn’t even close to done, Apps said.

“The revolution in rural America is not complete,” he said.

I don’t remember the first time I thought about leaving home, but I remember the first time I said it out loud.

It was 2008 on Broadway Avenue, Nashville’s famous thoroughfare known for country music streaming from bars up one end and down the other. We were on a rare family vacation visiting Tennessee’s Music City. I was standing under the neon lights, a few too many drinks singing in my head as the honky tonk music poured onto the sidewalk, when my dad walked out and saw me.

“I’m gonna live here someday,” I said.

There was an immediate distance in that moment, even though we were standing right next each other.

Growing up on our family farm, I always felt like I was falling short — deeply loving our way of life but lacking the innate talent for managing cattle and maneuvering tractors like my father. My dad had spent his entire life on the farm and knew nothing else. He supported my decisions, yet I could always sense a part of him wishing I had chosen his path. Stumbling upon writing, I realized it brought out my strengths. This discovery led me to college and to various newsrooms around Wisconsin, where I finally felt valued and competent.

To me, Nashville didn’t just mean a better economy or job opportunities. It represented a place where a simple farm boy could feel proud. It was a big city, sure, but it was also the home of country music, a place where my roots and profession could merge. But for my dad, Nashville was merely a distant, noisy place, over 600 miles away from everything he knew and loved. The sadness in his eyes was palpable — as if a crack had formed in a whisky glass.

Experiencing a personal, challenging moment illustrated the struggles faced by rural communities across Wisconsin. A variety of economic opportunities could have made it possible for me and many other rural children to resist the allure of opportunities elsewhere, particularly when there seems to be a decline at home.

Potosi, on the other hand, didn’t succumb to ghost town status. It was the collective effort of many individuals that reversed the trend. Fiorenza, for example, rejected the role of being a “caretaker” as village president in the 90s; local businessman Gary David bought the decaying brewery building because he and others recognized its historical value; and countless volunteers like Walsh, Larry Kalina and his wife, among others.

In the end, the community raised millions, including $2.4 million from individual contributors, and re-established the Potosi Brewing Co. which is today run by the nonprofit Potosi Foundation. An empty building in a dwindling town was transformed into a unique location for both locals and tourists. The old brewery was converted into a tap house and restaurant in 2008, designed as an old beer hall – a beautifully crafted wooden bar spanning the main wall, with a long row of wooden Potosi-brand beer taps set up behind it. Beer is still brewed there and there’s a museum upstairs, with much more being produced in the newly constructed larger facility nearby.

Along with the job creation and the attraction of approximately 70,000 tourists annually, came an increase in economic activity bolstering other businesses. Today, a woodworking shop stands across the street from the brewery, with a special event space and a cabin builder situated close by.

Through all the adventures and explorations, what drew me back was something different, something unique.

Five years were spent in Nashville, then Washington, D.C., where my journey as a journalist pivoted to public policy. Then, I decided to return. The event that nudged me to make this decision was the birth of my second nephew, but of course, there were other compelling reasons that had always been there; including the beckoning of family ties, the allure of outdoor adventures, and the comfort of familiar local destinations that had endured the passage of time. Above all, it was about reconnecting with my roots.

Having moved back, I found myself involved in the establishment of a consulting firm in Madison, spending my weekends on the farm. Time was invested in bonding with my sister and her lovely kids, reminiscing with my parents, and reconnecting with friends from my childhood. I found myself assisting my father and sister on farm tasks whenever I could manage, and rediscovered my skills in operating a tractor. Together, my dad and I made a spot of land ready for a cabin, right beside our family farm. I began to find a sense of restless peace, accepting my role as someone who had left but didn’t need to remain away.

The pandemic greatly amplified this dynamic. Regardless of its harsh effects and the ensuing economic downfall, there is one aspect it certainly highlighted – the potential of working from different locations. More people working in cities are now capable of living in the countryside or small towns. Simultaneously, it’s evident that more people in rural settings can become part of the remote workforce, adding to the traditional farming, factory, and construction jobs.

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That positions places like Potosi better than ever. With the brewery humming, the town becoming a destination spot, and new small businesses coming in, Potosi is as ready as any community to benefit from the new mobility of the American population.

Despite retiring, many of those who contributed to Potosi’s rebirth continue to give their time and energy, serving as role models for younger generations. Walsh, a previous hardware store proprietor, volunteers his services as a brewery gardener and handyman, while Fiorenza, a former village president, along with the Kalina family, lends a hand to upcoming community initiatives like the revival of downtown.

Larry Kalina, a member of the committee managing Potosi’s continued renewal efforts, along with his wife, has four children who are all teachers. He is proud of his children and is thankful that they are all approximately two hours away. However, he has also encountered his children seeking job opportunities far away, highlighting the need for Potosi to offer inhabitants new livelihood options and visitors with tangible reasons to visit.

He was quoted saying, “The trick is to stir people’s enthusiasm.”

My personal situation underwent a shift as my wife and I relocated to California due to a job opportunity that put us in close proximity to her family. Nevertheless, we retained the benefits I had reclaimed. As my employment permits me to work from any location, but necessitates regular returns, I divide my time between our small town in Northern California and rural Wisconsin, where I reside on the family farm, a place I hadn’t lived in since I was 18. I contribute to the farming business, preferring to spend my money and time in small towns, or with local businesses rather than large chains whenever feasible.

As I traverse the divide between the relentless pull of the urban economy and the rural economy I’ve reestablished connection with, I can’t help but muse over the potential of areas like Potosi as a guide. Times of upheaval are often when people hark back to rural regions; this is a testament to their intrinsic need. Despite having two distinctive economies in this nation, it isn’t a necessity for regions such as Potosi to settle for the leftovers. Perhaps more individuals can retain their roots or better manage the balance between our dual economies to unite them.

Fiorenza posed the question, perched in the beer hall of times old and new, “How do you persist?” The response was simple. “You adapt.”

Brian Reisinger is a writer originating from a family farm in Sauk County, with an extensive portfolio across various media outlets, uncovering the concealed tales of rural America. From the drug crisis to the histories and prospects of Wisconsin farmers, to outdoor escapades, Reisinger provides insights and understanding. Reisinger is currently engaged in public affairs consultation with Platform Communications based in Wisconsin. An alumnus of University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire where he studied journalism and political science, he has been the recipient of accolades from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, Seven Hills Review literary magazine, Wisconsin Newspaper Association, among others.

Originally featured on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, you can read the complete article here.