WYANDOT COUNTY

“Native Landscapes”

7-8 May 2022

We entered Wyandot County near its southeastern corner along State Route 231.  Just a mile and a half later, we passed the topographical apex of the county: 979 feet above sea level.  Had the landscape been a denuded chessboard, we would have been looking down on all of it. All rivers and streams from here flow north to Lake Erie.

We passed through the unincorporated community of Wyandot, which isn’t much more than a couple bends in the road.  Route 231 then straightens out for a direct line up the county’s eastern portion.  We drove only a couple miles more before turning west and rolling between sweeps of farm fields.  An eventual turn south on Township Road 130 led us to our first site of the county, the Swartz Covered Bridge.  

This Howe truss span over the Sandusky River was originally built in 1878.  When author Miriam Wood conducted her statewide survey of covered bridges in the early 1990s, she claimed she’d never seen any bridge so covered in graffiti as the Swartz.  I wish I could have seen it then.  Considering how covered bridges are often looked upon as free public canvases for aspiring artists, philosophers, and romantics, this statement packs a punch.  Alas, all remnants from those purveyors of profanity and reporters of romance disappeared when the bridge was rebuilt in 1994.  Its current interior contains its fair share of scribblings, but I’ve seen a lot worse.

We rumbled along the bridge’s single lane with waters of the Sandusky rushing below.  The previous week’s heavy rains had swollen the river beyond its banks.

When we reached State Route 294, we turned west and followed it through the village of Harpster.  The imposing group of Smithfield Grain elevators appeared to be the community’s main attraction.  Even though this was my first time through Harpster, the village has always held a special place in my heart.  Many years ago, when I first encountered a directional sign for Harpster on nearby US Route 23, my glance was hurried and I merged the lines of the “r” with that of the “p” and mistook the name as “Hamster.”  To this day, whenever I see a reference to the town, I still think of it affectionately as Hamster.  And now that I’ve planted this idea in your head, so might you.

You’re welcome!

We continued west on State Route 294 through the townships of Pitt and Mifflin.  We changed direction at State Route 67, driving south for a couple miles before turning onto County Road 75.  This led us into the Killdeer Plains Wildlife Area and to a parking lot below its Upground Reservoir.  As with other wildlife areas scattered around the state, Killdeer Plains and its 9,000 acres of woods, water, and grasslands, provide ample territory for hunting and fishing enthusiasts as well as birders and general nature lovers.  We walked up the banks of the reservoir to get a closer look, although it’s not really a reservoir any longer.  For years after it was constructed in the early 1970s, anglers could launch their boats and hook a variety of stocked fish, but over time, the soil in the dikes became unstable. For safety purposes, the reservoir was allowed to drain, and our view from the top of the levee revealed a 220-acre wetland and prairie complex.  It’s now a popular birding spot.  During our short stay, we spotted red-winged blackbirds and heard the songs of blue jays and catbirds as well as others we couldn’t identify.  It also appears to be an aerie for bored, local youth as evidenced by the collection of empty Busch and Natty Light cans.  

Outside the western tip of the Wildlife Area is the village of Marseilles.  The Wyandot County website claims it was settled in 1821 on an old Indian trail where French fur traders plied their business.  Ooh la la!  We picked up State Route 37 at its center and drove northwest for a couple miles before turning due north on County Road 95.  

That led us to the village of Kirby, a small burg known for its lumber yard and an unassuming restaurant, the Blue Room, noted for delectable pizza.  We walked past the “Bikers Welcome!” sign and pulled on the screen door handle that appeared half chewed off.  The ambiance of the dark interior felt more “bar” than “restaurant,” yet welcoming.  Photos of race cars and advertisements for automobile speed contests adorned the walls.  Bobbie, the friendly bartender, came to our table and took our order.  Since the place was known for its pizza, it just seemed natural that we should order…a pizza sub, a breaded veal sandwich, and breaded mushrooms.  If word on the street can be believed, we already knew they served a good pizza, but what about the rest of their food?  The tastiness of our choices proved one can confidently order from the whole menu.

Back in the light of day, we continued our progress north, following a large dogleg to County Road 96, which led us to State Route 103.  That in turn took us over the interstate and into the village of Carey.  The majority of businesses line Findlay Street, so we parked and did a little shopping.  Our first stop was Market 113 Boutique, where we perused the wares, but didn’t buy anything.  

Across the street, on the corner of Findlay and Vance Streets, we stepped into Houk Hardware.  What is it about small town hardware stores and their compact inventory that makes one want to purchase more than at a large box store with its endless aisles?  Or is that just us?  Michele selected an extension cord, stocked up on various cleaning products, bought a new cat litter scoop, and then added five candy bars from a box on the front counter.  Proceeds from the latter were helping to send kids to camp.  We chatted for a while with the woman ringing up our order. She asked what brought us to town.  We told her about our county trip thus far.  Upon hearing we’d driven through Kirby, she informed us that the Blue Room had good pizza!

A few doors down from Houk’s, we stepped into the Gray Mare Artisan Marketplace.  It featured 30 booths of local merchandise representing area vendors.  We found a candle and a couple bars of handmade soap that we couldn’t live without.

Our Findlay Street stroll continued east to the Dorcas Carey Public Library.  It was already closed for the day, but we paused to appreciate its architecture.  It was built in 1906 with funds from Andrew Carnegie as well as $5,000 from local businessman Edwin Brown.  His contribution earned him naming rights.  Dorcas Carey was his mother-in-law as well as the wife of the village’s founder, the Honorable John Carey whose resume included a stint as a Congressman in the U.S. House of Representatives.  We took pictures of each other next to the stone lions guarding the entrance. They were a later addition to the library.

There are many enjoyable distractions in Carey that can entertain a visitor for a day, but the major attraction that literally brings them in by the busload is the Basilica & National Shrine of Our Lady of Consolation.  Located on the west side of town, this Catholic institution has been drawing the faithful for over a century.  Its claims of cures and miracles date to 1875 when the original church was founded.  To add some allure to the new church, Father Joseph Peter Gloden had a copy made of a 17th century statue of Our Lady of Consolation (aka the Virgin Mary) in Luxembourg.  When the replica arrived in Ohio, Father Gloden had it brought to Carey via a seven-mile procession from Frenchtown, Ohio.  According to the Basilica’s website, “It was during this procession that the first sign of the special intercession of the Blessed Virgin for all who were to pray in this little church was revealed. As the procession marched, a severe storm raged in the entire area. Though the faithful could see the rain pouring down on all sides of them for the entire seven-mile walk, not a drop touched the statue of Our Lady of Consolation nor anyone in the procession.”

Full disclosure here.  When it comes to “miracles,” I am a total skeptic with a capital, “AW, COME ON, MAN!”  So, I have questions.  Was this “miracle” of the crazy natural weather phenomenon variety where it can be storming out your back door and sunny out your front door?  If so, that’s not a miracle, that’s a weather front.  But if they’re claiming it involved some sort of moving ecclesiastical force field where rain fell heavily for that entire seven-mile walk, but somehow got slewed away from the procession at the last moment, then that would be something special.  So special, I’d expect it to make the news, and yet I couldn’t find any contemporary newspaper accounts of the event.

In any case, this divine umbrella was considered the first sign of special intercession by Mary.  As a result, the Basilica has become a place of pilgrimage for the faithful, especially those who want the Blessed Mother to work her magic and cure them of their infirmities.

The original 1875 church still exists, but it soon became obvious that a larger building was needed to accommodate the inundation of pilgrims, so construction of the current super-structure began in 1904.  It contains two basilicas, a smaller one on a lower level and a much bigger sanctuary on an upper level.  We stepped into the latter to get a closer look at its décor.  It’s pretty impressive.  One’s attention is immediately drawn to the altar and the large colorful apse above it depicting a crowned Jesus seated on a throne and looking down upon the world at his feet while surrounded by a host of angels.

I would have preferred some private time to wander around the sanctuary, but our arrival coincided with a special devotional service.  If a large enough group appears, a service is conducted.  We took a seat in an out-of-the-way pew in a far back corner and waited it out.  I’ve attended Catholic services before, but not a “devotional service” where they pray the rosary.  I found it to be quite repetitive and monotonous.  I mean, how many times can you hear an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a Glory Be before it becomes mind-numbing?

At the end of the service, a brown-robed friar came around to collect an offering.  “Good to see you again,” he said to me.  It took me a moment to realize it, but yes, we knew each other.  Neither of us could recall how until it dawned on me and I said, “The Columbus Metropolitan Library.”  Friar John (whose name I eventually learned) used to come into the Local History and Genealogy Department, where I worked, to research his family history.  I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to be recognized in, of all places, a Catholic basilica in Carey, Ohio.

At the end of the devotional service, the priest prompted parishioners to have any religious items they purchased from the gift shop across the street be blessed.  “You do not have to remove the item from its packaging,” the priest instructed, because as we all know, any collectible loses much of its blessed value once it’s removed from its original container.

After the service, Michele and I wandered over to the right side of the sanctuary to get a closer look at the famed Mary and Jesus statue.  We kept our distance so as not to get in the way of the pious pilgrims who were soliciting favors from the mother-son duo.  I don’t mean to be overly critical, but it’s difficult to look at the statue with non-religious-biased eyes and not find it all to be a bit much.  Both figures are wearing crowns and Mary has a scepter in her right hand.  She’s presenting the infant Jesus in her left hand much like a ventriloquist may present its dummy.  Their outfits – which change with the season, much like a porch goose – are spangled and gaudy like something you might see on an episode of “Toddlers and Tiaras.”   (The outfits are made and donated by pilgrims -- a custom dating back to 1875 --- “in thanksgiving for favors granted or in petition.”)

We walked downstairs to the lower Basilica where the extra outfits are stored in glass cases.  The number and variety of capes and gowns are enough to make Cher or Celine Dion envious.

Other display closets are filled with medical aids left behind by the formerly afflicted after their miraculous recoveries.  Canes and crutches are the most popular, supplemented by leg braces and casts. Another set of display cases show off a variety of vices that were overcome such as pills, tobacco products, and gambling chips.  Yet another display case houses over 100 “Holy Relics.”  They look like bottle caps and contain teeny bits of saints, usually a fingernail, bone, piece of hair, or skin.  These are considered “first-class relics” because they are actual pieces of saints.  A second-class relic is a piece of something that belonged to a saint.  A third-class relic is an object that has touched a first-class relic.  

With our tour complete, we crossed the street and perused the gift shop before strolling down Clay Street to Shrine Park, a 30-acre green space.  The park contains an outdoor Stations of the Cross, a memorial altar dedicated to war dead, and several white marble statues.  It is a peaceful place meant for quiet reflection and prayer, although I found the barbed wire-tipped fence that surrounds the park conveyed a mixed message.

Two blue herons flew overhead as we returned to our car.  We drove northwest out of Carey on State Route 568.  Four miles out of town is what used to be Indian Trail Caverns, one of the few publicly accessible natural underground tunnel systems in the state.  It was open as recently as four years ago, but, unfortunately, that was no longer the case.  Did it close due to COVID?  The timing is right, but I can’t say for sure.  

We stopped at its former entrance, anyway, in order to read the historic marker regarding Sheridan Cave.  While the Indian Trail Caverns opened in 1927, it wasn’t until 1989 that Sheridan Cave was discovered.  The cave is considered a karst sinkhole associated with the caverns.  Its importance lies in what was found there: bones of over 60 Ice Age animals including many extinct species such as the short-faced bear, the giant beaver, and the flat-headed peccary, as well as 11,000-year-old stone and bone tools.  It is the earliest known evidence of human activity in the region.  I had to use my imagination as all that is currently on display at the site is a collection of “Keep Out” signs.

We reversed course back through Carey and then south on State Route 199.  At the crossroads of unincorporated Crawford, we turned east on County Road 29 and then north up a narrow lane to the Ritchy-Crawford Cemetery.  Herons and blue jays flew about as we found the Colonel Crawford Burn Site Monument.  If you’re unfamiliar with Colonel Crawford, then be aware, the name of the monument isn’t nearly as gruesome-sounding as the reality it represents.

Colonel William Crawford was born in Virginia and was a life-long friend of George Washington.  He served in the French and Indian War as well as the Revolutionary War.  He was responsible for building forts along the Western Frontier.  In 1782, he led a force of 400 men into the Ohio country in what became known as the Sandusky Campaign.  The objective was to destroy the Sandusky towns of the Wyandot and Delaware Indians in retaliation for attacks against pioneers along the Ohio and Pennsylvania border.  A battle ensued in June and Crawford was taken prisoner by the Delaware who were still enraged over the Gnadenhutten Massacre that had taken place three months previously.  In that horrendous event, Pennsylvania militia murdered 96 innocent Delaware men, women, and children who belonged to a Moravian Mission.  Even though Crawford was not involved in the Gnadenhutten affair, he became the token on which the Delaware enacted their revenge.

I first became aware of Colonel Crawford during my 7th grade Ohio history class where we read The Frontiersmen by Allan W. Eckert.  The scene of Crawford’s torture and death at the stake is horrifying and deeply visceral and not to be forgotten by anyone who reads about it, especially a 7th grader.

The monument, located at the edge of the cemetery, was put in place in 1994.  It is a phallic replica of the erect cannon-like monolith placed nearby on private property in 1877.  The exact spot of Crawford’s demise is up for debate, but even contradictory evidence all points to places within a mile or so radius near Big Tymochtee Creek (pronounced “ti-MOK-tee”).  School groups used to be taken to the original monument site where the most popular question was, “Is this really where the Indians burned Colonel Crawford?”  In a 1985 investigative report regarding the location of the burn site, researcher Parker B. Brown noted: “Experience…taught the owners to refrain from burning brush piles within sight of the monument before school visits.  Any mound of ashes causes confusion, juvenile historians at once pointing excitedly at ‘the spot.’”

We left Crawford behind and continued south on State Route 199, past the Tee Pee Family Campground and the Wyandot County Airport, and on into the county seat of Upper Sandusky. (Or just “Upper” if you want to sound like a local.)  Its main east-west thoroughfare is Wyandot Avenue and we followed it east through the downtown and on to an outter district of the city.  That’s where we found the Royalton Inn & Suites, a privately-run hotel where we’d reserved a non-smoking room with two queen-size beds for $90 (taxes pushed the one-night total to $102).  It was clean, perhaps a bit shabby around the edges, but safe.

We had an hour to rest before we were back in our car driving west on Wyandot Avenue.  Michele’s parents traveled from neighboring Seneca County to meet us for an early Mother’s Day/Father’s Day dinner at Boone’s Steer Barn.  The restaurant opened in 1965 in a converted barn that dates to 1897.  We all ordered steaks; an 8 ounce Wagyu sirloin for myself and filet mignons for the other three.  We were all exceptionally happy with our meal and dining experience.

We left the restaurant just before it closed at 9 pm.  After a round of goodbyes with our dining companions, Michele and I made the 20-minute drive back to Carey for the evening’s entertainment.  The Basilica and Shrine may pull out-of-town visitors to Carey, but even the communion wine can’t touch the drinks on tap at the Carey Brewing Station microbrewery.  And if you’re stopping by on a Saturday night to sample their beers, there’s usually live entertainment.  We were fortunate to rock out with Amelia Airharts, a female-led rock band with Toledo roots.  

From the moment we stepped inside the bar, we found all our boxes getting checked.  There was good lighting and comfortable seating, the staff were attentive and friendly, and the overall ambiance was inviting.  Michele sampled a pint of their Devil’s Session IPA while I took turns with the two stouts on tap: the Coffee Shop Stout and the Hazelnut Stout (a little too sweet for my taste).  We sipped our drinks while the band ran through an entertaining and eclectic blend of cover tunes, from classic Allman Brothers and Santana to the more recent “No Roots” by Alice Merton.  The sign above the stage read, “One more then I’m leaving.”  We left sometime after 10:30 pm and returned to our hotel for a good night’s sleep.

Sunday morning, we left our room about an hour before check-out so we could get on our way.  We drove back toward the center of Upper Sandusky, but made a few stops along the way, finding remnants representing the city’s history.  The first was evidence of the Lincoln Highway.

The Lincoln Highway was the first transcontinental automobile route across the United States.  It was dedicated in 1913.  In Ohio, it roughly followed what would become US Route 30, although the road has been moved and realigned over time.  Many portions of the Lincoln Highway were paved with brick, and just east of the Sandusky River, we pulled off on a short stretch of road actually called Old Lincoln Highway, still showing its original bricks.  A few blocks west of there, at East Wyandot Avenue and South 4th Street, a brick column houses the broken red, white, and blue tiles of an original Lincoln Highway marker once set in a concrete bridge over the Sandusky River.

We drove a few more blocks west to South Sandusky Street and parked near the Wyandot County Courthouse.  It was constructed in 1899-1900 and its architecture is considered a wonderful example of Beaux-Arts Classicism which combines classical Greek and Roman elements with Renaissance ideas.  Columbus architects Joseph W. Yost and Frank L. Packard were its designers.  We weren’t able to go inside since it was closed for the weekend, but weekday visitors who are fans of the motion picture, “The Shawshank Redemption” can peek inside the third floor courtroom where the opening scene of the movie was filmed.

A marker on the northwest corner of the courthouse property notes that 1,000 feet to the east was the location of Fort Feree, the main headquarters for General William Henry Harrison’s army during the War of 1812.  The fort consisted of four blockhouses constructed at the corners of a stockade made of split and round timbers.  It was used more as a gathering point for troops with most of the war’s military action taking place farther north at Fort Meigs.  Fort Feree was abandoned after the war.

Upon completion of our pre-breakfast sightseeing, we proceeded to the Corner Inn Restaurant, appropriately located on the southeast corner of North Sandusky Avenue and East Walker Street.  We managed to nab a table near the front door.  The busy wait staff were hopping as they kept all the diners happy.  We both ordered the “Two eggs, toast, and meat” breakfast, opting for our eggs to be scrambled, but Michele went with a sausage patty and white toast while I requested bacon and wheat toast.

After breakfast, we walked off a few calories across the street at Woods’ Antiques N More shop.  It is normally closed on Sundays, but when we saw the door was open, we hurried over. The owner explained that she’d stopped by to price some items and figured she’d might as well open the store if she was going to be there anyway.  We were two of at least a half dozen shoppers who took immediate advantage of the surprise opening.

About a half mile north of downtown is the Old Mission Cemetery, so named for the Old Wyandot Mission Church that still stands.  After the defeat of Native American forces in the War of 1812, the 1817 Treaty of Fort Meigs ceded most of the remaining Native-controlled land in northwest Ohio to the United States.  The Wyandot Nation was granted permanent use of a 12-square mile Grand Reserve reservation that encompassed most of today’s Wyandot County.  In 1824, a mission church was constructed by members of the Wyandot Nation and Methodist missionaries.

The word, “permanent” must have meant something different to the United States government in the 19th century.  Only thirteen years after granting the Wyandot “permanent” use of their land, the Indian Removal Act of 1830 called for the relocation of all eastern Native Americans to the west of the Mississippi River.  The Wyandot refused to leave, but pressure from the Federal government increased over the next decade.  Finally, in 1842, the Wyandot agreed to move to areas in Kansas and Oklahoma.  They were the last organized Native American people to leave Ohio.

Three years later, in February of 1845, Wyandot County became the last of Ohio’s 88 counties to be organized.  Its 46 square miles were drawn from the former Grand Reserve as well as portions of surrounding counties.  

We parked our car near the Old Mission Church and I took a little bit of time to walk around it and visit some of the adjoining graves.  The stone building was renovated in 1889 and then designated a National Shrine of the Methodist Church in 1960.  It currently houses historical pictures and displays.  Services are held during summer months.  A small fenced area behind the building contains the grave of John Stewart, who founded the Wyandot Mission in 1819, as well as the graves of Indians converted to Christianity by the Mission.

Less than a half mile east of the cemetery is Stepping Stone Park, a gem of a green space.  Tucked inside an oxbow of the Sandusky River, the park was dedicated in 1998 and was named for river stones that the Wyandot are said to have utilized to get across the water.  Due to the recent heavy rains, the stones weren’t visible.  That in no way hindered our enjoyment of the park.  We strolled the 1-mile loop trail and paused for awhile on a swing overlooking a segment of river.  Bluebells decorated the bank.  We swung back and forth while watching the water flow and listening to the chatter of wrens and orioles as well as the beak-on-wood clatter of a red bellied woodpecker.  As our walk continued, we spotted robins, cardinals, and goldfinches as well as boaters in the river.  A turkey vulture watched us from above in case we faltered.  It was a gorgeous Sunday morning and had there not been more on our county itinerary, we easily could have enjoyed the remaining afternoon at Stepping Stone Park.

But time waits for no county tripper, so we got back in our car and proceeded north out of the city.  We followed State Route 53 over US Route 23 before turning right onto Ohio Route 67.  After a slight bend in the road, we took the first right turn, and then another right turn down a “no outlet” road.  I hesitate to give road numbers because I believe they’ve been renumbered recently. The designations on Google Maps, my Wyandot County highway map, and the posted road signs all disagreed with each other. (Take your pick from: County Road 47, Township Road 121, and Township Road 367.) Just a short distance down “No Outlet” road, though, on the west side of the road, a red brick pillar can be found containing a white stone marker that commemorates “Battle Island,” the site of Colonel Crawford’s defeat and where he was taken prisoner.  The “island” in question consisted of a grove of trees surrounded by plains rather than an island in water.  It’s difficult to imagine today as everything within eyesight is cleared farmland.

We left “No Outlet” behind and continued east on…County Road 47?...for less than a mile before pulling in next to Indian Mill.  This Ohio History Connection site was acquired in 1968 and is managed by the Wyandot County Archaeological & Historical Society.  The mill was originally constructed in 1861, replacing an 1819 saw mill and 1820 grist mill built by the United States Government for the Wyandot people who remained in the area after the War of 1812.  Its three turbines powered by the waters of the Sandusky River provided milling for area farmers until 1941.  When it was converted for educational purposes, it became the first milling museum in the United States in its original structure.  Our docent, Jim Snodgrass, used his meticulous research to answer all our questions and provided an interesting and colorful history of the mill and the process of milling in general.  It was well worth the stop and our OHC membership provided us free admission.  

We returned to State Route 67 and drove northeast before veering off to the north onto Township Road 47.  Just over a half mile later, we found the Tarhe monument, looking lonely on the west side of the road in the midst of a farm field.  Tarhe was a Wyandot leader who fought in many key battles as he attempted to stem the encroachment of foreigners into Native land.  After his defeat at the Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794, he signed the Treaty of Greenville and promoted peace between his people and pioneering Americans.  He was greatly respected by both sides.  His nickname was “the Crane” and the last village in which he lived was known as Cranetown.  It was located in the vicinity of his monument which is said to mark the site of his death in 1818.  The stone marker was erected in 1915, nearly a century after his death, and memorializes Tarhe as a “distinguished Wyandot chief and loyal American.”

Just a half mile north of the Tarhe monument, on Township Road 40 and spanning the Sandusky River, is the Parker Covered Bridge.  The single lane Howe truss bridge measures 172 feet long.  The small sign above its entrance reports that it was built in 1873, although a third of its south end was destroyed by a fire set by vandals in 1991.  Thanks to a dedicated group of local fundraisers calling themselves the Cross Over The Bridge Committee, the trusses were rebuilt and the bridge reopened a year later.

After a quick picture, we drove over the bridge and continued north and west on Township Road 40 and County Road 29, returning ourselves to State Route 53.  We motored north into McCutchenville.  (Or just “Scutch” if you want to sound like a local.)  The village straddles the county line, so we made sure to remain south of the border.  

Located on the Wyandot side of the boundary line is the Overland Inn.  Its oldest section was built in 1829 by Colonel Joseph McCutchen and served as a stagecoach stop along the Harrison Trail, a former Indian path that went from the Scioto River near Columbus to Lake Erie.  The trail was named in honor of General William Henry Harrison who improved the road to accommodate his troops during the War of 1812.  McCutchen sold the Inn in 1845.  The new owner expanded the structure and operated it as a hotel.  Subsequent owners converted it first into a boarding house and then eventually into an apartment building.  It had fallen into disrepair by the time the Wyandot County Historical Society purchased it in 1964.  It took three years before community volunteers could restore it to something resembling its stagecoach days.  The McCutchen Overland Inn was finally dedicated as a stagecoach museum on June 11, 1967.  It is one of only two stagecoach inns in the state that remain in their original locations.  

The stagecoach museum had just reopened for the season the day before our visit.  An informative member of the County Historical Society provided us with an interesting tour of the rooms and painted us a picture of what life as a 19th century traveler might have been like.  No matter how bad your next hotel stay may seem to you, just be glad you aren’t made to share a bed with a stranger who probably hasn’t bathed in days or weeks. (Not that you, as a fellow 19th century traveler, would have smelled any better.)

We exited McCutchenville along County Road 35, over the Sandusky River (again!), and southeast to State Route 103.  We turned east and drove two and half miles to Sycamore, named for the creek that winds its way around two sides of the village.  Two miles east of town, we turned south on State Route 231.

On the east side of the road, just south of our turn, sits an undistinguished empty field. There are no signs or markers to remind passers-by that this 14-acre lot was once remarkable for housing the largest pile of scrap tires in the state.  And when arsonists set it on fire in 1999, it gained additional prominence as the site of the largest tire fire in Ohio’s history.  Clouds of toxic smoke rose so high it could be seen 70 miles away in Columbus.  It took about 250 firefighters from 17 departments five days to battle the fire and get it under control.  That was the easy part.  It wasn’t until nine years, and $32 million later, that the Ohio Environmental Protection Agency could declare the site had been fully cleaned up.  Lawmakers had to double the 50-cent fee from new tire purchases to pay for the cleanup.  Seven million tires burned, but an additional 23 million tires had to be shredded and disposed of.  Contaminated soil totaling 120,000 tons had to be hauled away to landfills.  Toxic oils from the burned tires are said to have killed more than 10,000 fish in Sycamore Creek.

A miniature Statue of Liberty stands on the edge of the field.  I don’t know if it has any significant connection to the fire, but I’m sure it is silently thinking, “Thanks a lot for the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses, but don’t worry too much about the environmental disaster next time!”

Continuing south on State Route 231, the road became slightly hilly, but straight as it shot down the east portion of the county.  We spotted a groundhog scurrying across the road and passed a wake of turkey vultures dining on an entrée of fresh roadkill.

We drove through Nevada, which is notable for the giant silos belonging to Mennco Grain.  The village was laid out in 1852 and named for the United States territory that would gain statehood a decade later.  Since this is Ohio, though, the local pronunciation doesn’t match that of its namesake.  Buckeyes use a long “a” in making “neh-VAY-dah” its own.

We turned right on County Road 62, the same route we took the previous morning on our way to the Swartz Covered Bridge, but we followed it farther west this time before turning south onto County Road 124.  A wild turkey running across a field provided a moment of entertainment.

Just before reaching the divided highway, we pulled into the parking lot for Coons Candy.  This family-run business in now on its fifth generation of candymakers since founders Joseph and Nellie Coons opened an ice cream shop in Nevada in 1917.  We stocked up on some sweet treats including an assortment box of delicious homemade toffee and a variety of nut clusters in white and milk chocolate.

They weren’t of sugar plums, but we left with pleasing chocolatey visions dancing in our heads.  The afternoon was waning and we were only about 4 ½ miles from Wyandot’s southern border, so we hopped on US Route 23 and rode it out of the county.

Time spent in the county: 30 hours, 33 minutes

Miles driven in the county: 154

Nick Taggart is writing about every county in Ohio. Click here for the previous story. Or here for past stories.