“All Rhodes Lead to Jackson”
8 April 2023
We entered the county from the north along State Route 327 as it runs through Ray, an unincorporated town that straddles two counties. We’d barely gone a half mile before leaving the state route to bump south over a set of railroad tracks. A couple more quick turns got us onto Raysville Road. As we would do many more times during the day, we found ourselves hugging hills and riding ridges through this Appalachian county.
We eventually turned onto Park Road where playful blue jays and courting cardinals led our way to the first site of the day, the Leo Petroglyph. Protected under a shelter house, the petroglyph consists of about 40 images carved into a slab of sandstone. The Ohio History Connection guestimates the original artists belonged to the Fort Ancient Culture of Native Americans who roamed these parts between 1000 and 1650 A.D. The depictions include birds, fish, and human feet, as well as not-so-discernible figures. One such is a round face with short legs and curved head spikes. Some interpret it as a sort of shaman. I think it looks like the Kool-Aid Man with horns.
The carvings have previously been outlined in charcoal to make them stand out, but they appeared quite faded during our visit. The caretakers, a local group called Friends of Buckeye Furnace who operate under the auspices of the Jackson Historical Society, could stand to take more interest in the site, too, as much of it was covered with leaves.
We returned to Raysville Road and then followed Sour Run Road east into the village of Coalton. No matter from which direction you enter, you’re met with a sign informing you that the sad little community of under 500 residents was the birthplace of James A. Rhodes, the 61st and 63rd governor of Ohio. You take what you can get, I suppose, but I think Coalton would be better served playing up its lesser known native son: Isham Jones. Jones was a popular early 20th century bandleader and songwriter. His most popular compositions include "We're in The Army Now" and “It Had to Be You.” And as far as I know, Jones never called out the National Guard to quell anti-Vietnam War protests resulting in the deaths of four students.
The railroad tracks that run right up alongside the main drag of Broadway Street give Coalton an even more impoverished feel. Just a block away, at the corner of Stewart and 2nd, sits a modest little white clapboard cottage; the aforementioned birthplace. The identifying yard sign is big and conspicuous, but the house itself has peeling paint and a derelict appearance. I snapped a picture while internally singing, “This summer, I hear the drumming…”
We joined State Route 93 in Coalton and followed it directly south for five miles into the county seat of Jackson. Its downtown is built upon a gently rolling ridge with Main Street taking center stage. We parked our car across from The Spot On Main, a friendly gathering place that has filled a niche in Jackson since 2017. Exposed brick walls and a friendly staff combine for a warm atmosphere made more attractive by baked goods they prepare themselves and coffee beans sourced from a local roaster. Michele read my mind when she said this would be our regular haunt if we lived in Jackson.
We fortified ourselves with large drip coffees and Cambrian Croissants, a breakfast sandwich with two slices of bacon, an egg, and swiss cheese on a toasted croissant. The Spot gets bonus points for offering edibles from other such Ohio companies as Snowville Creamery, Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams, and Krema Nut Company.
Outside, and just a block away, I took a quick pic of the city’s water tower. A giant “stem” sticks out of the top of the tank painted red with green leaves, a reminder of the Jackson County Apple Festival, an annual fall event since 1937. According to a nearby historical marker: “The first commercial apple orchards were established in Jackson County in the late 19th century, although legend has it that Johnny Appleseed planted the first apple trees here around 1800.” (And I suppose he used a dibber made from the True Cross. It’s amazing what you can get away with claiming so long as it’s prefaced with, “Legend has it…”)
Back in the car, we rolled down Main Street toward the northwest part of town. At Griff Field, we turned right on High Street, crossed over Salt Lick Creek, and then turned left on Wood Street. With a bend in the road, it became Elm Street, and after another block, we turned left on West Vine Street. We were searching for Boone Rock, a 57-foot high sandstone cliff. When planning our trip, I had problems finding directions to this landmark. Google Maps actually misplaces it by a couple of blocks. Fortunately, I used my secret weapon for discovering information: the public library. An email inquiry to the Jackson City Library resulted in precise directions accompanied by an aerial photo with handwritten arrows. (To anyone not utilizing your local public library, you’re missing out on a fabulous resource already paid for by your tax dollars!)
Boone Rock was named for Daniel Boone who was brought to this area in 1788 when held captive by the Shawnee. The vicinity around the rock was important to the early history of Jackson and the state of Ohio because it contained naturally occurring saltwater, or brine, that could be boiled down to produce salt. There’s evidence that Native Americans obtained salt here for over 8,000 years. When American pioneers moved to the area, the resulting Scioto Salt Works became the largest and most important salt reserve in the state.
During its peak in 1808, twenty salt furnaces produced up to 70 bushels of salt per week. The industry eventually evaporated when more concentrated brine was discovered in the salt springs of neighboring states.
We parked in a dirt lot just outside the gate to the Jackson Waste Water Plant. As we strolled back to the sandstone cliff, our eyes were drawn to the color on the ground. Spring wildflowers were just beginning to sprout. Purple was the overwhelming color as evidenced by violets, spring beauties, and spotted dead-nettles. We also spotted some deer tracks. At the base of the cliff, a small alcove included an improvised bench most likely used for late-night recreational drinking.
Back on the road, we retraced our route to High Street and followed it to State Street. As State Street leaves the city to the west, it becomes Beaver Pike. Despite its name, it was a pair of deer crossing the road that caused us to pause momentarily. A short distance later, we turned onto Lake Katharine Road which led us back to the State Nature Preserve of the same name.
Lake Katharine is one of Ohio’s largest nature preserves. Its 2,000 diverse acres feature a clear water lake, deep ravines, hiking trails among large sandstone outcroppings, and a rich variety of wildflowers and trees. Dam construction (“Damn construction!”) prohibited us from a couple of the hiking routes including the popular Pine Ridge Trail. It would have led down to the lake and some picturesque waterfalls, but it wasn’t as though there wasn’t anything else to see.
We “settled” for the short 1-mile Calico Bush loop trail. Its namesake plant, also known as mountain laurel, wasn’t in bloom yet, but plenty of other spring wildflowers were including our personal favorite, Dutchman’s breeches (named for its white flowers that resemble pants), as well as white trout lily, bloodroot, Mayapple, and Ohio’s official state wildflower, white trillium. Those were just the ones we could identify. Eastern hemlock trees were also plentiful as we wound our way around sculpted cliff walls and, eventually, back to our car.
We drove back through Jackson and then south on State Route 93 before turning onto 4 Mile Road. Coincidentally, we then drove precisely four miles to our next destination, Four Mile Bakery & General Store (although the road continued on). Shawn and Megan Richendollar opened this business around 2008 and it has become a destination. The Richendollars estimate about half their shoppers come from outside Jackson County.
During our short stay, there was a constant flow of cars and motorcycles in and out of the parking lot. It was the day before Easter and three Amish children had set up shop on the store’s front porch, selling live bunnies and feed for the hungry goats lodging in a pen out back.
We took our time perusing the various edibles inside. Many of the jarred offerings were manufactured for, and sold under the name of Four Mile Bakery. We wound up purchasing two such items, a hot cherry salsa, and a F.R.O.G. jam (incorporating fig, raspberry, orange, and ginger).
The bakery is also known for their handmade donuts made fresh daily. They claim to be made from an old Amish recipe, “tender and soft; simply the best donut you’ll ever eat.” In an effort to fact-check this claim, we bought a large “Wagon Wheel” glazed donut and took turns taking bites from it while standing in the parking lot next to our car. Was it “the best”? That’s a debatable subjective term, but I can, with great confidence, declare it to be a damn good donut!
Near the bakery, we found Camba Road and followed it east for a few miles. We passed fields of grazing cattle, a common sight throughout the day. Back at State Route 93, we turned south and drove to the village of Oak Hill. Its 1,500 residents qualify it as the third largest community in the county.
We drove all the way through town and about a mile farther before turning in at Pleasant View Farm, a private residence and site of the Jackson County Bicentennial Barn. During the state’s celebrations circa 2003, owners Paul and Mamie Lloyd were excited to have their barn selected as the county’s candidate to receive the bicentennial logo. Mamie’s father, Turley Clark, a former Oak Hill Elementary School principal, had drawn up the architectural plans for the barn before having it built in 1942.
Unlike many other bicentennial barns, the design on this red gambrel-roofed example is still visible with vibrant colors. Mamie and Paul passed away in 2019 and 2020 respectively, but the farm remains in the family, owned by their youngest daughter, Alicia Lloyd Kamer.
After a quick picture, we backtracked to Oak Hill and turned west onto State Route 279. Just a mile out of town is Jackson Lake State Park, a relatively small 106-acre retreat, popular among boaters, picnickers, and fishing enthusiasts.
The park is also of historical significance as home to the crumbling stones of Jefferson Furnace, one of 65 charcoal iron furnaces that once operated in the Hanging Rock Region. Stretching south from Hocking County to Northern Kentucky, this area was rich in deposits of iron ore and limestone. Jefferson Furnace was one of the more productive and profitable furnaces in Ohio, and lasted the longest, smelting from 1854 to 1916.
Jefferson Furnace also finds its place in history as the supplier of iron plate for the Civil War Union ship, the Monitor. When it engaged its Southern counterpart, the Merrimack, in 1862, it marked the first naval engagement between two ironclad warships. (The Confederacy had rechristened the Merrimack as the Virginia by the time of the battle, but history prefers alliteration.)
The remains of Jefferson Furnace are located on the western shore of Jackson Lake, just south of State Route 279. It’s best seen from across the water at the small parking lot where the highway crosses the lake, but even then, you need to be looking sharp as it blends in with its surrounding foliage.
We completed our sign-of-the-cross route through Oak Hill by returning to the village, crossing State Route 93, and departing along East Main Street. We paused long enough though to take a picture of the Welsh-American Heritage Museum. It’s located in a Greek Revival-style red brick building originally built in 1868 to serve as the second home of the Welsh Congregational Church. Jackson County, along with its neighbor to the southeast, Gallia County, saw a large Welsh immigration in the early 19th century. The first families arrived in 1818, followed by another influx during the Great Welsh Tide of the 1830s-40s.
Just outside the town limits, we turned left onto Moriah Road, and then nearly a mile later, made another left onto C H & D Road. (Yes, it’s an odd name for a road, but not so much if you know that the Cincinnati, Hamilton and Dayton Railway used to run through this area in the 1800s.) Houses became fewer as fields gave way to woodlots. The road eventually passes through a portion of the 5,400-acre Cooper Hollow Wildlife Area. The land was originally forested, but was clear-cut in the mid-19th century to make charcoal for the iron industry. It is now being allowed to return to woodland.
We took the first left after crossing a small metal bridge over Symmes Creek. We didn’t have far to go before a field opened up on the right revealing the remains of Madison Furnace, another of the county’s iron furnaces. It operated for nearly a half century from 1855 to 1902. It’s amazing to think that its pyramidal shape remains intact more than a hundred years after abandonment, but with blocks of stone that big and heavy, who’s going to bother dismantling it if they don’t have to? It was fun – and vaguely biblical -- being able to walk right inside the furnace, calmly contemplate the rocks that would have seen such hellish blasts of heat, and then walk right back outside again, unsinged. We felt like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. (Feel free to take a dance break at this point with either “Loose Booty” by Sly and the Family Stone or “Shadrach” by Beastie Boys.)
We continued north on C H & D Road for another mile before turning left and gingerly crossing a rickety wood-planked bridge. According to various maps, this might be Silvey Road, Rempel Road, or County Route 135. Based on all the “Private Property” signs, it also just might be the lane back to a private residence. Fortunately, we didn’t have far to go as the remains of Limestone Furnace are located just past the bridge. This furnace is slightly smaller than Madison Furnace and still in fine condition for a ruin. It only operated for four years from 1856 to 1860.
After another quick tour of iron furnace remains, we wanted to return to State Route 93. We had a few crossroads to choose from, but for my wife, who has a suspicious interest in matches and combustibles, only one would do: Pyro Road. We were hoping to find a road sign for a photo opportunity, but alas, they were uninspiring. I assume an arsonist burned all the good ones down.
Back on State Route 93, we returned to the county seat and then went eastbound on State Route 32, also known as the "James A. Rhodes Appalachian Highway." In 1970, just before leaving office the first time, Governor Rhodes signed a bill passed by the Ohio General Assembly approving the highway’s new name. Apparently, humble beginnings do not a humble man make.
In Milton Township, in the northeastern portion of the county, we followed State Route 124 for four miles before turning right onto Buckeye Furnace Road which meanders next to Racoon Creek, as does Buckeye Park Road. Both led us to the remains of yet another old furnace, but not just any old furnace; Buckeye Furnace is an Ohio History Connection site. Reconstructed buildings and other accoutrement have been added to the original stone stack to resemble an authentic 19th century charcoal-fired blast furnace operation. The original furnace was in business from 1852 to 1894.
The current museum and gift shop hadn’t yet opened for the season, but I was free to roam the grounds and read all the detailed signs explaining how pig iron was made. (The term “pig iron” comes from the resemblance of iron ingot molds to that of suckling pigs. No actual pigs were harmed in the manufacture of iron!) Also located on the 270-acre site is the Buckeye Furnace Covered Bridge, a 59-foot Howe Truss span built in 1871.
We returned the way we came on State Route 32 and headed back toward Jackson. We turned at Pattonsville Road which changes in name to East Broadway Street as it enters the city limits. We stopped at James Cemetery, a small burial ground named for Major John James, an early pioneer of Jackson. Several Revolutionary War and Civil War veterans are interred there, but its principal distinguishing feature is the Native American mound that rises from its center. Its dimensions are officially recorded as 70 feet in diameter and nearly six feet tall, but its gradual rise gives the impression of a shorter mound. It’s the only remaining mound of a triangular group of three that existed up to the late 1800s. The trio are believed to have belonged to the Hopewell Culture that was prominent in southern Ohio from about 100 BC to 400 AD.
We proceeded into the center of the city and zig zagged our way back and forth across some of the side streets to get a better feel for the downtown area. We ended up in a Main Street parking space in front of the Jackson County Courthouse, the third courthouse built on this sight after the first two burned down. It’s one of the state’s newer courthouses, having been constructed in the early 1950s, but it appears older since it retained the outside walls of the second courthouse which dated to 1868. Various architectural styles are incorporated including Greek Revival. The four columns at its entrance feature two Doric and two Ionic.
Next door is a small James A. Rhodes memorial plaza that was dedicated in 2013. It contains a replica of the Rhodes statue in Columbus that faces the Ohio Statehouse, as well as a series of plaques highlighting the accomplishments of Ohio’s longest-serving governor. A few plaques contain quotes from Rhodes such as, “We must prepare each youth to graduate with a diploma in one hand and a job in the other,” and, “Profit is not a dirty word in Ohio.” They must have run out of room before they were able to include his quote describing AIDS pamphlets distributed by the Ohio Health Department as "pornographic,” or his apology to the families of those killed and wounded in the Kent State shootings. (Oh, that’s right, he never apologized.)
Yes, yes, Rhodes did a lot of good things for the state and left behind a big footprint. During his four terms as governor, he added to Ohio’s system of state parks and built 85 county airports; he established the Ohio Commission on Aging and promoted higher education with the expansion of state universities, branch campuses, and vocational schools.
And Mussolini made the trains run on time. (Actually, that’s a myth, but I’m trying to make a point here, although I’m sure it will prove to be convoluted.) Maybe it’s just me and my own prejudice against the exaltation of politicians who, so often, make decisions based more on self-interest and self-aggrandizement. Sometimes the result is a greater good and sometimes not. We don’t have to resort to character assassination for those we disagree with (unless they have blood on their hands), but we don’t have to deify them either (especially if they have blood on their hands). What’s wrong with just a healthy, honest assessment?
And yes, I am naïve.
Moving right along. Just west of the Rhodes statue, in the same block, is the John Wesley Powell Memorial Plaza containing a couple of odd little structures. One is the Powell Memorial building constructed in the 1930s by the Improved Order of Red Men fraternal organization. The building stones were donated by various far and wide chapters of the organization and so are of various types and hues. It’s sort of like the crazy quilt of one-room huts. It’s dedicated to explorer John Wesley Powell who spent eight of his formative pre-teen years living in Jackson before proceeding to such manly pursuits as losing an arm in the Battle of Shiloh during the Civil War and, later, leading the first exploration of the entire length of the Colorado River which provided the first scientific description of the Grand Canyon.
The other structure is a two-story, 15-foot-diameter building known as The Round House, although it’s actually octagonal. It began life in 1887 with just one story, doing double duty: serving as a weigh station inside and as a bandstand on the roof. The upper level was enclosed in 1923. Over the years, it has served as a police station, restaurant, and home to the Chamber of Commerce.
After getting my fill of Main Street sights, I checked my watch and saw it was Beer O’Clock, so we moved on down the road another block to Sixth Sense Brewing Company. Established in 2017, this nano brewery was quickly added to our list of places where we’d become regulars if we lived in Jackson. We immediately felt welcomed by the staff and were able to relax over a couple flights of beer. Between the two of us, we sampled eight brews from their extensive taps. Standouts for us included Roasty’s Smokehouse Porter, a smoky imperial porter; Scratchy Green Sweater, a yummy oat cream double New England IPA; and Life of the Party, a creamy imperial hazy IPA with an 8.4% ABV (alcohol by volume).
We could have ordered burritos from the food truck outside, but opted instead to dine next door at Arch & Eddie’s Gathering House. Located in an 1800s-era colonial-style home, the restaurant has been around for a decade. We had to wait about 15 minutes for a table, but that’s what you should expect when you show up at a popular restaurant on a Saturday night without a reservation. The atmosphere was convivial, the wait staff amiable, and the food delicious. I gave the “Original Archie Burger” a try and was rewarded with an appetizing beef patty topped with pepperjack and American cheese, bacon, onion strings, a fried egg, and BBQ sauce.
Our last two stops were so relaxing that we didn’t realize how much time had passed while we were busy drinking and dining. By the time we emerged from Arch & Eddie’s, the sun was heading down and we knew we’d have to hurry if there was to be any natural light left for our final sight.
We returned to Coalton via State Route 93, but then used Glen Nell Road as a short cut north to State Route 327. A short distance later, we turned off into the small unincorporated community of Byer and found the Byer Covered Bridge. It’s 74 feet long and was constructed in 1872 over Pigeon Creek. It saw a lot of activity early in its life, but less so after the 1930s when State Route 327 diverted traffic around the community rather than through it. The bridge was restored in 2003 so its plentiful graffiti is no older than a couple decades.
When I got out of the car to take a picture of the bridge, I noticed a nearby house that had fallen in on itself. Had there been a recent fire? Perhaps. (I’m no detective, but if it was arson, I’d start by questioning the residents of Pyro Road.) I mention it only because during our day driving around Jackson County, we noticed about a dozen such houses that had toppled, either from disaster or neglect, and were left to slowly decompose.
With just three and a half miles to go, we finished out the county trip along State Route 327, chasing what was left of the setting sun.
Time spent in the county: 10 hours, 28 minutes
Miles driven in the county: 113
