John Watson moved to Rossarden with his family in 1953 as a boy.
It was a different place then.
Fuelled by bustling tin mines and the 200 or so employees of the mines, the place was a hive of activity epitomised by a close knit community.
"While the mine was going, everybody basically knew everybody and if you had to go to town for whatever reason, while you were away your next door neighbour would keep your fire going," Mr Watson recounted.
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"You never locked your house, never."
Mr Watson, who is now 75-years-old, once worked at the local saw mill and in the mine, and his almost 70 year association with Rossarden has instilled within him a personification of the town.
The way he talks and the way he carries himself is a reminder of how Rossarden was. He is matter-of-fact and no-nonsense.
He remembers a period of time when, before the mine closed, people would pinch others' fire wood for a laugh.
He said, not to be taken advantage of and with sound knowledge of mining practices, his father and other men would load wood piles with an explosive "charge".
He remembered that one day one of the wood thieves removed a sign warning others of the charge and replaced it with a new sign that said, "if it wasn't charged before, it is now".
Mr Watson is jocose about the potentially harmful joke, but that is just how it was back then.
The mine bred people tough, and Mr Watson caught on quickly that you had to know how to look after yourself to get by.
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The house he lives in now is much like most places in Rossarden - two bedrooms, fire place, kitchen, and a woodpile out the back.
When the mine closed in 1982, the houses - which were built by the group that ran the mine - were sold off. And any of the miners that wanted to stay in Rossarden could buy their place for $1. Mr Watson's father did that, and now he lives in his childhood home with no intention of leaving.
Patricia Cohen moved to Rossarden in 1989 for cheap housing - she bought the house she currently lives in for $9500, and it was the most expensive house in the town at the time.
She remembers how much Rossarden has changed in the time she has been there.
"It was so exciting back then. It was like a Wild West town," she said.
Ms Cohen detailed how the place was not lawless, but the law was different.
Her daughter ended up learning to drive when she was 12 and the police saw her, but instead of pulling her over "old Don Bonner" just kept on driving with a big smile on his face.
One resident was not a fan of a new street light by his house, so he shot it out. He then told the company not to replace it, and if they did he would shoot out every light in the town. When they replaced it again, Rossarden went without street lights for a while.
While a man walking the streets and shooting out lights seems foreign to most, there was a mutual respect throughout the town about how life was lived.
"It was just life, and it was a good life," Ms Cohen said.
"We were like a little family."
Her father was the fire chief and was a bit of a person about town, a role that Ms Cohen inherited when he got too old to do it.
It involved cleaning the seven kilometre water race that brought fresh water to Rossarden with a pitchfork, collecting the toilet tins (in the absence of sewerage) and making sure pride was still a part of the town.
Jorina van der Westhuizen is part of the new breed of Rossarden locals.
She moved to the town eight years ago from Sydney after coming to Australia from South Africa two decades ago.
To stumble upon Rossarden as her new hometown Ms van der Westhuizen googled "secluded Tasmanian country towns".
From then on she has not looked back.
Her miner's cottage looks the same as most others from the outside but the reality of her home is given away by the sign on the front fence that says "Tasmanian Biltong".
She runs her successful Biltong business from the front room of her house and services clients on the mainland, and throughout Tasmania.
The front room of her house is not just a room though, it has been fitted out to comply with every health regulation and it is a functional commercial kitchen.
While operating the only business in Rossarden, Ms van den Westhuizen's fondness for the town has only grown, along with her understanding of what it is like to live there.
"I've learnt a lot, and a lot about myself as well. In the city things happen automatically and you just travel along and there's no really difficult situations as far as accessing things." she said.
"But here you've got to plan ahead, you have to make sure you can look after yourself, you need to have the right gear, the right mindset and be able to understand how a little town works as well because that's part of it.
"You learn that you can't just go out and judge people, you learn to step back and understand where people have come from."
Whatever your opinion is of Rossarden, it is time to wipe the slate clean.
For years, the town has been uttered as being a haven for criminals and if one was to mention they were heading to Rossarden they would be met with something along the lines of "I hope you make it back".
But that opinion is narrow sighted and built upon a few uneducated headlines written decades ago.
The reality is Rossarden is a tiny town that has battled to maintain its history and connection through the good-nature and kind hearts of many of its residents.
Driving into town you could be mistaken for thinking it was deserted.
The skeleton of what was once a booming tin mining town remains, but for the most part it has been picked over as it has decayed over the past 39 years since the mines in the area closed.
Where the streets were once lined with miners cottages, only three or four sit on some streets, while the most bustling street has about 13 with some of them uninhabited.
The shops are completely gone to the point it is like they never existed, the once popular watering hole "The Club" has closed and the old school has closed, become a museum, and then burnt down in 2016.
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For many residents, the museum was the soul of the town. It was a reminder of when childhood laughter filled the streets and families grew up in the town.
There was a sandpit out the front that had its perimeter carefully ordained with mosaics by Ms Cohen. Many people loved the town, and the museum was a mark of pride and an ode to what once was.
Now the sandpit is full of weeds. The mosaic perimeter still exists but the emotional trauma of the fire means the area only cops a cursory glance rather than a ponderance of admiration.
It is no secret that the mine breathed almost every ounce of life into the tiny town tucked into the shadow of Ben Lomond, off the beaten track about half an hour from Avoca or Fingal.
It is now hard to imagine that as late as the 1980's there were over 500 people living in Rossarden.
A book produced in 1989 filled with stories of the people of Rossarden asked them what the future of the town was, even then there was an overwhelming sense that there was not much left.
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At the time there were around 100 people in Rossarden, and that number has fallen to about 40 now.
It is impossible not to feel sad when considering the town will likely one day be barely a memory with much of the history lost in the museum fire.
But the current residents are a reminder that there is still life in the old town yet.
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