Ohio County Trippin' Part One: Meigs County - by Nick Taggart

Since it’s Memorial Day weekend and folks are starting to travel again, we thought it would be a fine time to revisit Nick Taggart and his excellent Ohio County Trippin’ Series to help folks find some interesting places to visit close to home. This piece originally ran in 2016. - Colin G. May 2021

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First off, some background:  In 2000, I struck upon the idea of visiting each of Ohio’s 88 counties.  The point wasn’t to just collect geographic spots, but to experience what my state had to offer.  I figured I could easily bag eight or nine a year, thus completing my goal within a decade.

Here it is, sixteen years later, and I’ve barely passed the halfway point.  Oh well, it’s the journey, not the destination, as Mr. Emerson once said.

There is not a set time I have to spend in a county for it to count, but it has to be a dedicated trip with the intention of seeing what there is to see.  So far, most trips have included an overnight stay, but some have been day trips.

Because I am who I am, I made up some rules before starting out:

Once I enter the county, I must stay within its boundaries until the trip is over;

I must avoid all interstates while in the county and, if possible, all divided highways.  Interstates, as the name implies, are meant to get one quickly across a territory.  County trips are meant to slow me down and give me an opportunity to look around.  This is an intentional nod to William Least Heat-Moon’s classic travel book, Blue Highways;

I must avoid all chain restaurants and patronize only independently owned establishments, whether they be eateries or lodgings.  This can be a tricky rule, especially when all the indie hotels in a small county look to be doubling as crack houses and brothels.  I have no intention of putting myself in danger for the sake of a rule, so on a rare occasion, special dispensation to ignore a rule has been given by the County Trip Governing Board (consisting of the ruling triumvirate of Me, Myself and I);

This project began a few months before I met my to-be wife, Michele, so with the exception of the first two excursions, we have shared each county trip.  What follows is my account of our latest.  Enjoy!

MEIGS COUNTY
“A Tow in the Boot of Ohio”
16-17 April 2016

The sun had only been up an hour when we entered Meigs County southbound along a county road.  Our course hugged a railroad track for nearly a mile before diverting off on its own.  At Ohio Route 143, we turned left and undulated between large farm fields, still dewy from the early morning.  As we arrived upon a hilltop, we approached our goal, the Snowville Creamery--although we had to use the numbers on nearby mailboxes to gauge that we’d truly arrived at our destination.  There weren’t any outward signs to confirm it was the creamery.  It wasn’t until we parked on the gravel lot and spotted a delivery truck with the company name emblazoned across its side that we knew we were where we wanted to be.

The creamery is a hodgepodge collection of connected mobile trailer compartments and one former insulated cargo container unit.  As we neared what looked to be a main entrance, we were greeted by John Stock, a tall, lanky man wearing a Snowville jersey and ball cap.  He’d been my e-mail contact a couple weeks before when I set up our tour.  He couldn’t have been better suited as a guide.  He was friendly, knowledgeable, and exuded a pride and enthusiasm for what Snowville was all about.

    According to Stock, as well as the company’s website: 
    We believe milk is perfect when it comes from the cow so we process it as little as necessary. We do not homogenize so the cream naturally rises to the top. In addition, we pasteurize at the lowest legal temperature, resulting in milk and other dairy products that taste sweet, clean and delicious…Our concept is to provide particularly wholesome and fresh milk from grass-grazing cows for retail sale in local markets, minimizing the distribution chain.

Along with milk, the creamery also produces yogurt, whipping cream, half & half, and crème fraîche.  The milk comes from nine independent farms scattered throughout Meigs and neighboring Athens County, as well as a couple of Amish farms across the Ohio River in Mason, West Virginia.  One of the farms sits next to the Snowville property and we could see its herd of 120 cows grazing on a sloping hill.  It’s one of the largest of the nine herds.  All the animals are grass-fed, which translates, according to the company, to milk that is “particularly nutritious due to the essential fatty acids found in the milk from pasture-grazed animals such as Omega-3 and Conjugated Linoleic Acids.”

Our creamery tour lasted two hours, which one might think is milking it, as it were, but it was one interesting fact after another.  When we began our tour outdoors, Stock explained how cows feeding on juicy grass produce lower fat milk.  As we moved inside the plant, he explained how the milk needs to stay below 45 degrees to allow a longer shelf life.  The temperature exception comes during the pasteurization process when it gets zapped at 170 degrees for a short period to rid the milk of any harmful micro-organisms.

We had to don hairnets before we were allowed to peer inside the milk storage vats.  Stock took us through the entire process from where the raw milk is brought in and deposited, to where the final product is packaged and prepared for delivery.  The company is in charge of distributing its milk to markets in Columbus, but works with other companies to get the milk to retail outlets as far away as Washington, D.C.  Snowville employs 30 people including drivers.

Near the conclusion of the tour, we were given cups of fresh Snowville chocolate milk.  It was the perfect ending of an outstanding trip around the creamery.  It cemented our status as Snowville consumers.

We then followed Ohio Route 143’s winding way as it slowly descended toward the Ohio River.  Before reaching water, we connected to Ohio Route 7, a stretch of road that runs along the west side of sandstone cliffs separating the river from the county seat of Pomeroy.  At Bradbury Road, we turned northwest and shortly thereafter found Millie’s Restaurant and Bakery.  It’s an unassuming, yet popular breakfast spot.  As we entered, we were greeted by a high pitched child’s screech.  Our waitress just rolled her eyes, signaling she and we were on the same page.  Both Michele and I ordered “Millie’s Breakfast Platter,” consisting of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and a choice of hash browns (Michele) or home fries (me).  We relaxed as we filled up on the first meal of the day.  The front counter sported a huge cash register that would have looked at home in a restaurant a century ago.

We backtracked on Bradbury Road, crossed Ohio Route 7, and sliced through a section of cliffs that hide the community of Middleport from the rest of the county.  We turned onto 2nd Avenue, the main business route through town, and headed north.  Somewhere near the Pomeroy-Mason Bridge, the cable-stayed span that crosses over the Ohio River, 2nd Avenue becomes Main Street and Middleport gives way to the county seat of Pomeroy.  We passed through town quickly, knowing we’d be back later for further investigation.

At its east end, we followed Chester Road northeast to its intersection with US Route 33.  It was somewhere in that vicinity that I’d been informed I could find the Meigs County Bicentennial Barn.  It was by pure chance that, after crossing under the highway, I happened to look up and over and spot the logo.

The late 19th Century gable-roofed barn almost didn’t survive to see the state’s bicentennial.  It was slated for destruction when Route 33 was expanded, but a last minute rerouting spared the barn.  It now sits back atop a hill where it can be easily missed.  After a quick photograph, we returned the way we came.

We headed north on Flatwoods Road and then up Rocksprings Road to the turn off for St. Clair Road, which we missed the first time by.  St. Clair is a “no outlet” gravel road leading up to the Fur Peace Ranch, a guitar camp built by Jorma and Vanessa Kaukonen in 1989.  Jorma gained fame in the 1960's as the lead guitarist for Jefferson Airplane, and later as half of the blues band Hot Tuna.  He conceived of the spot as "a ranch that grows guitar players," where budding and seasoned musicians can “immerse themselves for several days, and emerge with renewed inspiration and tangible progress in their music.” (Click Here For Info on Fur Peace Ranch)

Neither Michele nor I are budding musicians, neither would we want to the pay the $1500 tuition for a weekend stay, but fortunately, the ranch has an attraction for non-musicians: the Psylodelic Gallery.  The name is taken from the authentic grain silo in which the two-story museum is housed.  Inside, one finds artifacts from the 1960's such as clothing from Woodstock and such esoteric items as “the actual typewriter that served as background ‘percussion’ in The Typewriter Tape, an eight-song collaboration between Jorma and the late Janis Joplin.”  There are also photographs and video from the hippie era as well as a round second floor containing tie-dye beanbag chairs and an array of classic ‘60's concert posters.

The gallery isn’t typically open on Saturdays, but an earlier exchange of e-mails with Vanessa Kaukonen and her assistant, Brett Thompson, assured us that they’d be on hand to open the gallery if we should decide to drop in.  Vanessa was sitting outdoors with her laptop at a picnic table when we drove up.  Even before she knew we were the ones who’d e-mailed, she greeted us warmly and gave us a mini-introduction to the ranch before leading us to the metal silo.  

Along with the small permanent collection, the gallery had recently opened “The Art of Jerry Garcia,” an exhibit of over 30 pieces of the late musician’s art, made possible by The Jerry Garcia Foundation.  Prints for eleven of the works were available for purchase, ranging from a low of $550 for “Barnyard View,” to a high of $2,800 for a Foundation Edition giclee (a fine art digital print made with an inkjet printer*) of “Wisteria.”  I’d left my checkbook in the car, so I had to pass on the prints, but I had enough cash on hand to purchase a couple of stickers and a tin of "New Song in the Morning" tea bags in the FPR Company Store.

(* The word giclée was adopted by Jack Duganne and is based on the French word gicleur, which means “nozzle.” (the verb form gicler means "to squirt, spurt, or spray”) An unintended consequence of Duganne's choice of name was its modern French slang for male ejaculation.)

As we returned to our car, we could hear the weekend music campers’ repeated guitar strumming emanating from the ranch buildings.

We drove back to Route 7, but turned north in order to find the town of Chester.  Overlooking the village sits a two-story brick building that holds the distinction of being Ohio’s oldest standing courthouse (and one of only three Federal-style courthouses still existing in the state). It was constructed in 1823 to serve as Meigs County’s first courthouse.  It held that position for nearly two decades until 1841, when the county seat was moved to Pomeroy.  Adjacent to it is the Meigs County High School and Teachers Institute, another early brick building dating to 1839.  We stayed just long enough for a photograph before turning around and returning to Pomeroy.

The county seat of Meigs is rather unique when compared to its 87 siblings.  With only a couple thousand residents, the village isn’t more than a narrow strip of land between high cliffs and the Ohio River.  Its population grew after coal mines and salt works were established inland and their products brought to the town’s port for transport.  Pomeroy’s narrow geography is responsible for one of its two inclusions in Ripley’s Believe It or Not!  It is said to be the only village in the country with no four way intersections.  

Pomeroy’s other appearance in the franchise of strange and unusual claims has to do with its courthouse.  Despite being three stories high, each of its floors can be accessed from ground level.  Built in the late 1840's, it’s Ohio’s fourth oldest continuously used courthouse.  One can get a nice view of it looking up Court Street from the river.

We parked our car in the large public lot that separates the Ohio River from the facing business district.  We perused a few of the shops including the Hartwell House, a combination antique store and craft shop.  Michele purchased a few pairs of socks with off-beat sayings stitched into them.  One showed a wholesome little girl and pony with the words, “I hate everyone too.”

It was a warm, sunny day, just the kind for lazy shopping and a cold beverage, so after our consumerism, we stopped in at the Court Street Grill for a couple of beers.  We were the only patrons at the time, but we sensed it might get busier later, so we made a reservation for dinner.

We drove south along the river and back to Middleport, the location of our overnight lodging.  We pulled into the drive at 232 North 2nd Avenue around 4 PM and found a middle-aged man out working in the yard.  He turned out to be Ron Carpenter, one of the owners of The Downing House Bed & Breakfast.  He and his wife, Linda, and family friend, Mary Lou Naftzger, purchased the property in 1998.  At that time, it was a rather down in the mouth private residence that had a lot of history behind it, but not much life ahead of it if it didn’t get some tender loving care.  The trio gave it that and then some in order to open it as the beautiful hostelry it has become.

The house’s past began with its construction in 1859 by the Downing family.  Major John B. Downing, who lived in the house at the turn of the 20th Century, was a riverboat captain who was said to be a friend of Mark Twain.  Downing opened an insurance agency that was later run by his grandson, Rodney Downing, the last of the family to live in the house.  He passed away in 1993.

We checked into the Becky Thatcher Room on the second floor, a comfortable space that contained an unsettling array of stuffed animals, all dressed as brides and grooms.  We spent some time in the first floor sun room reading and looking through photo albums containing “before” and “after” pictures of the B&B’s renovation.  It was a dramatic change and a testament to the hard work that Naftzger and the Carpenters put in before The Downing House’s grand opening in 2003.

After a short nap in our room, Michele and I found ourselves driving back to Pomeroy for dinner and the evening’s entertainment.  We made reservations at the Court Street Grill because of its popular monthly “Saturday Night Showcase” where host Brent Patterson introduces some of the finest musical talent in the Mid-Ohio Valley.  We were also told the evening would feature the best of the tavern’s Tuesday open mic nights.

The Court Street Grill was established in the 1930's and is one of the longest operating taverns in Pomeroy.  It’s not too big though, so it only takes about 30 or so customers to pack the place.  When we arrived, we discovered that the afternoon bartender mistakenly had made our reservation for the following night, but our kilt-clad waiter did a little finagling and managed to seat us at a round high top table.  We just had time to settle in and place our food order before the first act took the stage.  

Everything about the evening was congenial and enjoyable.  First off, the food was good.  Michele had a grilled chicken club while I opted for the Bungtown Burger, “a Grill original!” according to the menu.  The latter was a cheeseburger with cole slaw and grilled onions on Texas toast.  Its moniker came from the nickname for Burlingham, a nearby village that had a reputation for housing Prohibition-era distilleries.

The Pomeroy Mason Bridge

We only stayed for three of the acts, but weren’t disappointed with any of them.  Host Patterson kicked off the music with a set of his own.  A woman from a nearby table joined him on vocals for a couple of songs.  He was followed by solo artist Chase Brady, who in turn, was followed by a young husband & wife duo, Morgan and Todd Stubbe.  The couple use the stage name Cradle & Grave and play a pleasantly harmonious mix of rock/folk originals.

One of the bar’s regular customers was celebrating a birthday that night, so the staff circulated complimentary birthday cupcakes to all the tables.

We felt like we left on a high note after Cradle & Grave.  Our drive back to The Downing House took us once more past the Pomeroy-Mason Bridge.  At that time of night, the arches are illuminated by purple lights.  Back in our room, we tried reading for a while, but it wasn’t long before sleep overtook us.

The following morning, Ron served us high octane coffee and our delicious complimentary breakfast in the first floor dining room.  We talked for a bit and he showed us some more pictures and historical paper artifacts found in the house during its renovation.

By 11 AM, we’d checked out and were driving once again along the river on Route 7.  We paused at the bridge so I could take a photograph.  It was constructed in 2008 by C.J. Mahan Construction Company and is one of only two bridges across the Ohio River from Meigs County.

The day was warm and partly sunny; a nice day for following a large body of water.  East of Pomeroy, the Ohio River Scenic Byway continues along Ohio Route 124.  The river swoops and bends and swerves, giving Meigs County the outline of a boot.  As we drove down the front of the ankle, we traversed small villages and even tinier towns; places like Minersville, Syracuse, Racine, and Antiquity.  We often had the Ohio River on our right side.  That was usually a good thing, but when the belching smoke stacks of the Mountaineer Power Plant came into view from the West Virginia side, militant environmentalist thoughts filled my head.

More signs for thinly populated places, such as Plants, Letart Falls, and Apple Grove, passed our view as we wound around the toe of the county.  Just past Great Bend, we turned off onto Great Bend Road, following the contour of the county’s heel.  Using my County Engineer’s map from 12 years earlier, I calculated our route would once again meet up with Route 124 near the back of Meigs’ ankle.  Imagine my surprise when we crossed US Route 33, near the Ravenswood Bridge to West Virginia, and we came upon a “No Outlet” sign.  According to my map, Ohio Route 338 should have led us on, but instead, a beat up track, with weeds growing from it, was in its place.  Later research revealed that the state was constantly making repairs to this road due to soil instability caused by its proximity to the river.  Sometime between 2008 and 2012, the state decided to abandon Route 338.  Maintenance was turned over to the township, which, also opted for abandoning the road.

With few options to choose from, we hopped on Route 33 and followed it a short distance back to Route 124 where we were able to continue our riparian route.  We didn’t have far to go before our next point of interest: the Buffington Island Battlefield Memorial Park.

Although Ohio supplied many troops to the Union cause in the American Civil War, most of the fighting took place in the southern states.  Ohio was host to only one serious skirmish during the war.  Confederate General John Hunt Morgan led a raiding party of 2,000 men into southern Ohio in July of 1863.  After a week, they attempted to return south by fording the Ohio River near Buffington Island.  Before they could complete their plans, Union troops sent by Major General Ambrose Burnside (he of stylish facial hair fame), and Navy gunboats in the river, were able to cut off the Confederates’ path.  The ensuing battle resulted in Morgan losing nearly half his men and all his supplies.  Nevertheless, Morgan was able to escape with a contingent of soldiers.  He headed north and was captured a week later in Columbiana County.

Along with a slew of memorial markers detailing the events of the Buffington Island battle, the Memorial Park is also home to a 20-foot high conical burial mound that’s believed to date to the Adena Culture, circa 800 BC-100 AD.  We spent some time roaming the grounds and trying to find a letterbox with dubious directions.  The object had been hidden nine years previous to our arrival and a lot had changed about the park including the addition of markers and the removal of trees.  After a time, our search was deemed futile and was abandoned. 

We would have continued on our river route unimpeded, but Michele noticed a nearby place name on the map that sounded intriguing: Bald Knobs.  It was only a couple miles inland along County Road 31, so we detoured to see what such a funny sounding place had to offer.  It turned out, not much.  There were a few houses, a church, and a graveyard.  Had the church named itself after the village, it might have warranted a picture, but it lacked civic pride. We returned to Route 124 and paused to take a picture of Michele next to a sign for Shelly Materials, a division of The Shelly Company.

The sun still was out and the day still appeared happy and bright, but as we rounded a bend at the town of Long Bottom, a loud metallic screeching sound began screaming from somewhere under our car.  We pulled over right away and looked around the wheels the best we could, but couldn’t detect anything obvious.  The horrendous grinding noise seemed to become more prevalent when I steered the car to the left, but otherwise, we were without a clue.

We were about a mile from Forked Run State Park, so I suggested we gingerly make our way there and call AAA for roadside assistance.  We turned into the first parking lot we came to, pulled out our emergency cell phone and…couldn’t get a signal.  There was a family at a nearby picnic shelter, so I asked if any of them had a phone I could use.  They politely informed me that we were in a dead zone for phone service.  It was suggested that a hilltop located deeper within the park might be a place to pick up a signal.

We began our walk up the park road under a rather hot sun.  Fortunately, one of the picnickers, a young guy in a pickup truck, took pity on us and offered us a ride.  We readily accepted and hopped in the truck bed next to a couple of fishing rods.  The hilltop was a mile or so inside the park, so the ride was greatly appreciated.  Sure enough, our phone was able to find a signal, so I called AAA and requested a tow truck.  We then got a ride back down to our car.  I gave our volunteer chauffeur a five dollar bill in appreciation for the ride.  He declined it at first, but finally accepted it at our insistence.
  
We had about a 45-minute wait in the shade before Calvin from Riverside Auto & Towing arrived with a tow truck.  The company is based out of Long Bottom, but Calvin had to come from his home on the other side of Pomeroy.  He hooked up our car with some cables and pulled it onto the flatbed of his truck.  Michele and I hopped in the cab with him and we were once again on our way, just not in the manner we had planned.

I didn’t want to explain the county trip rules to Calvin and request a route out of the county that would avoid any highways.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to.  He drove us back on Route 124 to Sand Hill Cemetery Road and followed it to Route 248, then Success Road (County Road 46), then Route 7 out of the county.

County trip postscript: We had our car towed back to Columbus to our preferred mechanic’s garage, Valentino’s Car Care in Grandview Heights.  Dennis Valentino called the following day to tell us he took the front passenger side wheel and brakes apart.  Once he had everything disassembled, out dropped a thumbnail size rock.  While it was frustrating to have something so minor cause such a major problem, in the end, we were more than happy to pay the bill for a working automobile.  And we got to keep the rock!

Time spent in the county: 31 hours, 6 minutes
Miles driven in the county: 119
Miles towed in the county: 10

Ohio County Trippin' Part Nine: Madison County - by Nick Taggart

MADISON COUNTY

 “Little Towns on the Prairie”

29 June 2018

Previous County Trippin' from Nick Taggart: Meigs County - Medina County - Champaign County - Seneca County - Cuyahoga County - Fayette County - Mahoning County -

Every county trip begins with a strategic plan of attack and the one I formulated for Madison County involved treating it as if it were a mountain to climb.  We would begin in the south and make our way “up,” or north in a zigzag, or switchback fashion (or “Serpentine! Serpentine!” if you’re a fan of “The In-Laws.”).  We pierced the county at its southeastern corner on Ohio State Route 3 (or THE Ohio State Route 3 if you’re a fan of the Buckeyes.). Soon after crossing Deer Creek, we entered Mt. Sterling, one of the larger towns in the county, with just under 2,000 residents.

County trippers travel on their stomachs, so our first order of business was breakfast; and in Mt. Sterling, that’s almost synonymous with Ben & Joy’s.  Locally, it sits on the corner of North London and West Columbus Streets, also known by their more familiar route names of Ohio-56 and US-62, so there’s a fair amount of traffic.

Ben and Joy Stroup purchased the restaurant in 1984 and Joy continued running it after Ben passed away in 1993.  It looked as though she was ready for retirement a couple years ago when she put the place up for auction, but when the lone bid of $93,500 wasn’t enough to satisfy her, the 78-year-old decided to continue operating the restaurant.

I ordered the Belgian waffle for $6.50, with a side of bacon for $3.50.  Michele went with the “#1 Breakfast,” consisting of scrambled eggs with bacon, home fries, and toast for $7.25.  Two pesky flies came free. The food was a little slow in coming, which was odd as there were only two other occupied tables; two guys who had finished eating and were just jawing, and a lone woman who put in her order after us.  Michele blamed her home fries for the delay. Once our plates arrived, it didn’t take long for the food to disappear. The home fries were definitely worth the wait.

After breakfast, we walked a couple blocks to the Mt. Sterling Public Library.  It was built in 1911 of red brick and limestone and was another beneficiary of Andrew Carnegie’s largess.  Mt. Sterling has the distinction of being the smallest community in America to receive a grant for a Carnegie library. (The town’s population in 1911 was 1,071.)

The basement of the library houses the Mt. Sterling Community Museum.  It has limited hours, but we were lucky to find it open. Museum director Steve Chambers was in residence and couldn’t have been more accommodating, allowing us to freely wander the two rooms of town artifacts at our own pace, but being available for questions when asked.

Well represented in the museum are photos and ephemera of Mt. Sterling’s two most famous sons: former Ohio senator and governor John W. Bricker, and building contractor, sportsman, and philanthropist John W. Galbreath, both of whom graduated from Mt. Sterling High School.

Leaving Mt. Sterling, we traveled across the bottom of the county on State Route 323 past farms and turkey vultures.  We entered the town of Midway, whose claim to fame is a 1953 high school basketball game in which one of its players scored 120 points.  That Ohio record still stands and is also the third highest in the country. This achievement brings two thoughts to mind. First, what was the other team doing the entire time he was scoring?  Were they all four feet tall and working crossword puzzles? And secondly, did sportsmanship not exist in the 1950s that a coach would allow his team to embarrass their opponents like that? I later looked up the story in the Dispatch and found the final score against Canaan was 137-46.  While there might not have been sportsmanship in the ‘50s, there was justice.  In Midway’s next game against Tecumseh, record holder Dick Bogenrife was held to 20 points and his team got whacked 107-55.

We headed north away from Midway on State Route 38, driving about eight miles along more farm fields.  The corn was looking pretty good. (editor’s note: this story was filed last year and lost in the Pencilstorm warehouse until recently found) Just beyond Newport, we turned left on Old Xenia Road SW. Just around a bend in the road, we were surprised to come upon a large white globe sitting upon a 5-story metal base.  It was an odd sight in the midst of all that agriculture. A razor wire-topped fence made its message clear that we should “keep out,” but there weren’t any other signs hinting at what the installation was being used for.  Again, it took some post-trippin’ research to discover it was a government radar station. Built in the 1950s, it was under the jurisdiction of the Federal Aviation Administration for almost half a century, but after 9/11, it became tied to the Joint Surveillance System, a coordinated venture between the United States Air Force and the FAA “for the atmospheric air defense of North America.”  It’s one of two such stations in Ohio, the other located in the Cleveland area.

We turned north on Roberts Mill Road and stayed on it as it dog-legged past US Route 42 and skirted property belonging to the London Correctional Institute. (“Don’t pick up hitchhikers!”)  Just north of Old Springfield Road, we turned into the parking lot of the London Fish Hatchery.  

The London facility is the oldest of the six hatcheries maintained by the Ohio Division of Wildlife.  It’s so old that the Division was known as the Ohio Fish and Game Commission when it was built in 1896.  There are six staff members, five permanent and one seasonal, who run the operation. One of them was kind enough to brave the blazing sun and give us a tour of the property.  So much interesting information was shared that I should have been taking notes. If I was able to retain only a tenth of what the accommodating staffer was telling us, I’d be the better person for it.

The hatchery is located on 80 acres, 13 of which are water, containing over a dozen ponds and an 800-foot raceway for the rearing of fish that are then used to stock Ohio’s public rivers and lakes.  In the past, London produced coho and chinook salmon, northern pike, saugeye, and largemouth bass, but currently, it’s concentrating on rainbow and brown trout, and muskellunge.  

Not all fish are sent away.  Our guide introduced us to two long-time residents who have become like members of the family.  They’ve not only been named, but they travel to the Ohio State Fair each year to be ogled by children and adults at the Ohio Department of Natural Resources building.  Lisa Left-eye is a carp who swims around in an outdoor pool and can be identified by a cloudy cataract. Gary gar lives in an aquarium inside the office and has been at the hatchery longer than any of the current staffers.

After the hatchery, we drove east into London, the county seat.  We came in on Old Springfield Road, which ended at North Main Street in front of the Madison County Hospital.  We turned south toward the town square and parked along one side of the Madison County Courthouse. It was completed in the final decade of the 19th Century and incorporates a few different architectural styles including a Second Empire design with Beaux-Arts Classicist elements.  A clock tower looks down upon a mansard roof and classical columns over the front entrance.

Once inside, I found the cozy warmth of the dark wood staircases outshone by a barrel-vaulted light court with a colorful stained-glass skylight.  After a quick look around and a stop inside the County Auditor’s office for an updated county map, we left and took a stroll down London’s original business district on South Main Street.  There were a few empty windows awaiting new shops and restaurants, but the strip appeared to be holding its own.  

After crossing over two sets of railroad tracks, we stepped inside the brick Dwyer Bros. Hardware store, one of London’s oldest businesses.  It opened in 1888 as a small hardware, tin shop, and implement dealer. It’s still owned by members of the Dwyer family and stocks everything you’d want in a hardware store.  The aged wooden floors remind shoppers of the double-digit decades this store has been around. We purchased a box fan and backtracked up the street, the irony not lost on me that I was perspiring while toting a cooling device under a HOT sun.  As we cranked the AC in our car, I noted the outside temperature was 88 degrees.

We drove to the London Public Library on East First Street, another Carnegie-funded library, built in 1904.  A rear addition was constructed in 1989. We stayed just long enough to use a public internet computer to research the location of one of our upcoming stops.

We were departing London along East High Street when we pulled off at the Madison County Historical Society.  The museum wasn’t open, but the grounds are accessible. Various historic buildings have been moved there including the Jonathan Alder cabin.  The simple log structure dates to about 1806 and was the home of Madison County’s first white settler. More on him in a moment. After a quick photograph, we were back in the car and driving the short distance to Andrew Court East.

When planning our Madison County trip, I learned that the county was home to a Champion tree; not just a State Champion, but a National Champion.  These trees are considered the largest of their species in the country. In this case, it’s a Downy Hawthorn. I wasn’t previously familiar with this particular type of tree, but after learning the largest one in the country was right here in Ohio, I can be forgiven for a slightly puffier chest and springier step. (Suck it, Michigan!)

The Ohio Division of Forestry has a Champion Tree Coordinator who keeps track of such things and has recorded that our champion Downy Hawthorn has a total point count of 173.  That calculation is made by adding the tree’s circumference in inches (131) to its height in feet (30) and a quarter of its crown spread in feet (47). The Forestry website lists the tree and the county in which it resides, but doesn’t give its precise location, so I emailed the coordinator.  He responded, “Unfortunately, the tree you are asking about is on private property and we are unable to disclose private information.” Undaunted by this rebuff, I was determined to find this tree, so I trawled the dark web and made inquiries of my sources in the deep state until I found the information I was looking for.

No, not really.  What I did instead was use clues from the photograph the Division of Forestry provides on its website and compare them to Google Map street views until I found its location.  It sits in the backyard of the house on the southeast corner of East High Street and Andrew Court East. Sure, it’s technically private property, but I was able to stand on the very public sidewalk to look at the tree and take its picture.

Now, please, if you’re a Downy Hawthorn fanatic, don’t go stripping off your clothes and holding a Woodstock-like festival in the yard where this tree is located because the authorities will certainly trace the dissemination of the tree’s location back to this article and the Men In Black will show up at my door and flash one of those little memory loss pens in my face and that would be regrettable.  Remember, this is top secret information! Be responsible and use it only for good.

We continued driving northeast to the village of West Jefferson.  I was told by a friend that West Jeff has more pizza places per capita than anywhere else in the state.  We did indeed pass a few on East Main Street, but I didn’t do an official census, so I’ll leave it to someone else to confirm this fact.  As good as pizza sounded at that moment, our destination was Ann & Tony’s Restaurant on the east edge of town. The restaurant has been serving delicious Italian cuisine for over 65 years, ever since the namesake couple, both children of Sicilian immigrants, decided to open their doors.  Their son Tom and his wife Judy continue offering authentic Italian cooking. I ordered the small “combination dinner” that included healthy samples of homemade lasagna, penne pasta, and spaghetti with meatball. Michele stuck to the single entrée spaghetti with meatball. The delectable garlic butter that comes with complimentary rolls is enough to entice anyone to Ann & Tony’s, but their delicious red sauce is testament to the Italian eatery’s longevity.  Despite our “small” portions, we were both stuffed by the end of the meal.

We attempted to walk off some of the calories at Prairie Oaks Metro Park, just a few miles north of West Jefferson on State Route 142.  The park straddles the Big Darby State and National Scenic River and offers a variety of recreational activities in its 2,000-plus acres, but we limited ourselves to a stroll along the Coneflower Trail.  We were rewarded with the sight of a rabbit and a beautiful monarch butterfly, but we also encountered a muddy section of trail and a swarm of hungry mosquitoes who would have been better served dining at Ann & Tony’s rather than on our bland skin.  We opted to cut our hike short and return to the car.

Just a stone’s throw (if you have a very strong arm!) north of the park is the Foster Chapel Cemetery, the burial site of the aforementioned county settler.  Growing up, I knew Jonathan Alder only as a name on a school building, but later I learned a little more about the man. He was only seven years old when he was captured by a Native American war party in Virginia in 1782.  He was brought to the Ohio country and adopted by an Indian family. He remained with the Indians until the Treaty of Greenville of 1795. Alder served as an interpreter for awhile before returning to Virginia in 1805 to be reunited with his mother.  Apparently, he wasn’t in a hurry since it took him a decade to make this journey. He eventually married and brought his wife back to Ohio, where he built a cabin and settled on Big Darby Creek.

We returned to West Jefferson and drove west on Main Street.  Soon after passing under a busy train trestle, we turned right off Main Street so we could see the recently constructed Taylor-Blair Road Covered Bridge that spans the Little Darby Creek.  It opened near the end of 2012, costing $2.7 million. Was it worth the price tag? Well, it was partially responsible for getting me to visit and inject a few dollars into the local economy.  A man and two young boys toting fishing poles were emerging from the creek as I got out of the car to take a picture. I was quick with my photographic duties as it was 90 degrees outside!

We continued west out of town on Main Street, aka U.S. Route 40, aka the old National Road.  Being an historically-minded man with simple tastes (Or am I a simpleminded man with historical tastes?), I get a thrill out of seeing remnants of the past.  In Madison County, a big such find is evident about seven miles west of West Jefferson at the village of Lafayette. The Georgian style Red Brick Tavern was constructed in 1837, the same year the National Road reached Madison County, and three years before William Henry Harrison and Martin Van Buren both stayed there during the 1840 presidential campaign.  It’s said that Van Buren drank tea with the aristocracy of the area while Harrison ordered a round of hard cider for everyone. On election day, voters proved they leaned more wet than dry by voting for Harrison.  

In the yard on the west side of the Red Brick Tavern still stands an old National Road milepost.  It’s a bit eroded, but so would you be after standing outdoors for over 180 years.

We progressed another couple of miles west on Route 40 before turning north onto State Route 38.  At the village of Plumwood, we veered northeast onto Arthur Bradley Road. Less than two miles further along, we crossed Little Darby Creek and pulled into a small parking lot for the Little Darby Preserve. It’s one of the state’s newest nature preserves, having just been opened in 2011.  It gets its name from the creek that it straddles, although after following about three miles of a mowed walking trail, I concluded that it could have just as easily been named the Bunny Trail Preserve. We didn’t get far in before a rabbit hopped out from the thick growth of tall meadow grass, paused to look at us and ponder where we’d come from, before skedaddling back into the grass.  This scene was repeated numerous times during our hot and sweaty hike.

Back in the cooling comfort of our car’s air-conditioning, we continued northeast on the road fronting the preserve, which had changed its name to Lafayette Plain City Road NE.  About six miles later, we turned left onto Converse Huff Road and then right onto Converse Chapel Road NE. A left on Boyd Road took us to a long lane leading back to Smith Cemetery.  This small, remote graveyard serves as a microcosmic history of the township. The plants that cover the tombstones represent the landscape the settlers encountered when they arrived and the people listed on the tombstones can be matched to the names on nearby roads.

When the first interment was made here in 1816, the settlers called the area the Darby Plains.  It was covered with thick prairie grass. Unfortunately, each year’s growth of grass would accumulate into a decaying mass that became a natural breeding ground for mosquitos.  That led to an outbreak of malaria resulting in more burials in the cemetery.

The land was eventually tamed through a combination of ditching and tiling that turned a once wet prairie into rich agricultural land.  Remnants of the tallgrass prairie can now be found only in small pockets such as the Smith Cemetery, thanks to management by the Ohio Department of Natural Resources Division of Natural Areas and Preserves.  

Thirty years ago, I rode my bike out to the cemetery and snapped a picture that showed thigh-high grass left to grow wild among the grave markers.  During this most recent visit, I found chest-high flora. Thirty native species of prairie plants have been inventoried at the cemetery. A few narrow paths have been kept mowed to allow access to the remaining tombstones, only a few of which can be spotted above the grass.

The summer day was waning as we returned to Converse Huff Road and followed it to U.S. Route 42 and north into Plain City.  On its south side sits Der Dutchman Restaurant, a place we’ve been known to make special trips to from Columbus for the excellent made-from-scratch comfort food buffets.

My wife raised the touchy subject of county trip rules and whether our patronage of Der Dutchman was allowable.  After all, “thou shalt not spend money at chain stores, restaurants, and hotels” has been one of the sacrosanct commands since the establishment of county trips.  Der Dutchman, technically, falls into this category.  Its original restaurant opened in Walnut Creek, Ohio, in 1969.  Since then, four others have been established in small towns around Ohio, and another in Sarasota, Florida (??????).  I don’t think they’ll be vying any time soon with Starbucks or Subway for the most storefronts in a square block, but it does meet the chain definition as “a series of shops owned by one firm and selling the same goods.”

Damn!

I could take a moment here and devote a lot of words to rationalizing why eating at Der Dutchman upholds the spirit, if not the law, of the county trip rules, but that would just be inside-the-beltway self-indulgence, and anyway, all I wanted was a good piece of pie.  After crossing the threshold without the county trip gods smiting us, we slid into a booth and placed our order. We were still rather full from our mid-afternoon lunch at Ann & Tony’s, so we stuck to the dessert menu. Michele enjoyed a slice of coconut cream pie, while I opted for lemon meringue and a cup of coffee.  It was the perfect ending to an enjoyable outing.

All that was left was the driving.  We made our way to Main Street via some residential side streets and then drove east out of the city.  After bumping over railroad tracks and passing the Heritage Cooperative grain silos at Kileville, we exited the county at its northeastern corner.

Time spent in the county: 10 hours, 11 minutes

Miles driven in the county: 92 miles

Ohio County Trippin': Delaware County - by Nick Taggart

Previous County Trippin' from Nick Taggart: Meigs County - Medina County - Champaign County - Seneca County - Cuyahoga County - Fayette County - Sandusky County -

DELAWARE COUNTY

“The Art of the Meal”

2-3 March 2019

Whenever we find a reason to drive north toward Delaware, more often than not, after passing I-270, we follow old State Route 315, also known as Olentangy River Road.  It may not be as fast as the parallel U.S. Route 23, but its two shaded lanes are much more scenic as they follow the course of the river. That was the path we followed as we entered the county on a cold March morning.  In the past, we’ve been rewarded with sights of deer, turtles sunning themselves on logs, and great blue herons wading in the shallows. We even saw a single car accident in real time when it flipped over onto its top. Anything is possible on old 315.  There were no airborne vehicles on this particular Saturday, but Michele did spot a kingfisher as I navigated the winding road.

Just before we would have met with Route 23, a few miles south of the county seat, we turned off onto Bunty Station Road.  That led us to Liberty Road and the Stratford Ecological Center, a private non-profit organization that dedicates itself to the admirable task of educating “children and adults in understanding the relationship between living things and their environment, thereby fostering an appreciation of the land and all life that depends on it.”  Its 236-acre organic farm contains a combination of animals, agricultural fields, and woods.

We arrived for the 8 a.m. seating of the Maple Sugar Pancake Breakfast, an annual fundraiser where visitors are able to start their day with homemade whole wheat pancakes, Stratford sausage, and local maple syrup.  I estimated there were about 80 other diners with us that hour, with additional like-sized groups planned for each of the following four hours.

After our breakfast, we walked along the trail leading to the Sugar Shack, passing lines of maple trees being tapped for their sap.  Inside the shack, we saw how the sap was then boiled down to syrup. On our return stroll, we stopped at one of the barns and got a closer look at their herd of llamas and goats.

Back in the car, we backtracked a bit on Olentangy River Road and crossed the river at Hyatts Road so we could reach Taggart Road.  The latter is only about a mile and a half long, but it follows the course of the river on its east side. Early settler Ebenezer Gray Taggart owned a 96-acre farm in this area in the mid-19th Century and the road was probably named for him.  He’s not a close relative that I’m aware of, but I still enjoy having my picture taken with signs containing my surname.

North of there, on Chapman Road, we had to slow down to allow a family of deer to cross in front of us.  Two adults and two yearlings ambled across the road and then stopped once they entered the safety of the woods so they could stare back at us.  (“Oh look, deer, it’s a couple of humans in a Ford Escape. Sometimes, you can catch them with their windows rolled down sunning themselves.”)

I’d planned a short hike through Seymour Woods State Nature Preserve, but we couldn’t find a safe place to pull our car off Winter Road near its gated entrance, so we drove east to Route 23 and south a couple miles to Lewis Center Road.  Continuing east, we drove toward Alum Creek State Park, where the road then dips and bends around the southern end of the reservoir. We turned into the parking lot at the Lower Dam Recreation Area and came face-to-face with the imposing Alum Creek Dam.

In the parking lot is an historic marker paying homage to the forgotten community of Africa.  In 1824, when Samuel Patterson settled here, the area was known as East Orange. Patterson, an abolitionist, helped hide runaway slaves in his home.  He also invited anti-slavery speakers to spread their message at the local Methodist church. When a pro-slavery neighbor tried mocking Patterson and his like-minded friends by calling their community Africa, they simply accepted it and had East Orange renamed.  

Michele and I climbed the steep steps up the side of the dam, passing a very absorbed jogger who ignored our greeting.  Once he reached the bottom, he turned and jogged back to the top of the dam, and then dropped to the ground and did pushups, his black winter coat and water-repellant pants slapping against the hard concrete with each repetition.  If I was so intent on physical exertion on a cold winter morning, I, too, would probably ignore those around me.

A mile south of the dam on Bale Kenyon Road sits the Delaware County Bicentennial Barn, a century-old barn that can be easily seen by southbound drivers on Interstate 71.  The state’s 2003 bicentennial celebration doesn’t feel all that long ago, but many of the barns that were painted then with the bicentennial logo are now gone or have been repainted.  What was once a common sight, now feels like a special gift from the past. We pulled off the road at the wagon wheel gate that blocks further progress. I snapped a quick picture of the russet wood barn before looking both ways, twice, and backing out onto the road.  

We returned to Lewis Center Road and drove east as it changed names to Big Walnut Road.  At State Route 3, we turned north and skirted a couple of golf courses while staying to the west of Hoover Reservoir.  At Cherry Street, we turned east into the small town of Sunbury and pulled over at the cute little town square. Not only is a Civil War statue a point of interest, but also the large boulder on which it sits.

The man memorialized atop a bronze horse is Civil War Major General William Starke Rosecrans, whose resume was long and impressive.  Besides being born in Delaware County, he graduated from West Point in 1842, and was an engineer, architect, and inventor when he wasn’t commanding the Union Armies of the Ohio, the Cumberland, and the Missouri.  “Old Rosy” later served as Minister to Mexico and as a United States Congressman from California. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery. Of possible interest to Columbus Catholics, his brother, Sylvester, was the first bishop of the Columbus Diocese.

The base of the statue is a 40,000-pound rock known as a glacial erratic, a large igneous rock formed from ancient volcanic magma more than 2.5 billion years ago.  More recently – between 10,000 and 110,000 years ago – these erratics were pushed into central Ohio from northern Ontario by the Wisconsin glaciers. The erratic which eternally props up General Rosecrans is said to be one of the five largest erratics in the state.

That, of course, begs the question, “Where is the largest erratic in Ohio?”  Fortunately, it’s located nearby, only a mile or so east of Sunbury, about a tenth of a mile north of Hartford Road.  It’s an oval-shaped granite boulder 22 feet long, 18 feet wide and 8 feet high with a circumference of 72 feet. The weight of the exposed portion of the erratic is about 200 tons.  Unfortunately, it sits on private property, so we couldn’t get a close-up view, but when a rock is that big, it looks massive even from afar.

We continued our tour of Old Rosy sites north of Sunbury on Rosecrans Road.  West of Blue Church Road, on the south side, sits an easy-to-miss plaque attached to a rock and enclosed on three sides by a black metal fence.  A half dozen small American flags help decorate the General Rosecrans Memorial. The words on the gold-framed marker, erected in 1940 by an American Legion post, record the General’s birth and death dates and explain that the memorial marks his birthplace.  I assume the Rosecrans homestead once stood nearby and that Old Rosy wasn’t hatched just outside by the side of the road.

Continuing north on State Route 61, we turned east onto Chambers Road to find the only covered bridge in the county.  Aptly named the Chambers Road Covered Bridge, it spans Big Walnut Creek and can still be driven over, which is pretty amazing considering it was built in 1883, but more believable once I learned it was renovated in the early 1980s.  The foundations were rebuilt and a concrete center pier added. A steel substructure also ensured the bridge could carry the weight of motor vehicles. The inside wooden planks are colorfully festooned with the usual graffiti informing travelers of who loves whom.  A budding artist also tried his hand at male genitalia representation; either that or a dachshund with big round ears.

Apparently, I’m logistically-challenged because after visiting the covered bridge in the northeast corner of the county, I decided the next item on our itinerary was a restaurant in the southwest corner of the county.  We followed State Route 42 mostly south and west around the county seat and across the Scioto River. Turning south on Dublin Road, we drove to the small community of Shawnee Hills where we found the Morgan House restaurant.

The eatery is built around an authentic log cabin that originally stood in Morgan County, Ohio.  The founders of the Morgan House had the cabin moved to its current location in 1985 and named the restaurant for John Hunt Morgan. I find it “interesting” that the website, in giving the restaurant’s history, describes Morgan as a “famed Civil War veteran,” and gives a brief biography of the man that only covers his pre-Civil War life.  He was in fact a Confederate general who led a raiding party of 1,000 troops through southern Indiana and Ohio in 1863. He was eventually captured and sent to the Ohio Penitentiary, from which he escaped. He was shot by Union troops in Tennessee a year later. Why name a restaurant near Dublin, Ohio for a Southern general? It is believed that Morgan may have stayed at the Morgan County cabin during his raid.

Laying history aside, Michele and I picked up menus and enjoyed a delicious lunch.  I started with a cup of tomato basil soup before moving on to the daily special, an open-faced turkey club sandwich on Texas toast.  Michele ordered the Morgan House soup, a “thick chicken cream-based soup with celery, onions, mushrooms, white wine, and black wild rice that features dominating flavors of sherry and curry,” and the Basket Lunch, which included a chicken salad sandwich with fruit and chips.

After our meal, and a quick perusal of the extensive gift shop in the Morgan House, we drove east along Glick Road atop the O’Shaughnessy Dam, and then north along the reservoir on Riverside Drive.  Fun fact: The O’Shaughnessy Reservoir, along with Hoover Reservoir, also in Delaware County, and Griggs Reservoir in Franklin County, supply 90% of the City of Columbus’s daily water needs of 140 million gallons.

We entered the county seat of Delaware along Sandusky Street, passing the campus of Ohio Wesleyan University.  We found a parking spot on West Winter Street and proceeded on foot to investigate some of the local businesses.  Our first stop was Endangered Species, The Last Record Store on Earth. It’s also sometimes shortened to Pat’s Record Store for owner Patrick Bailey.  Perched behind the counter, the long gray-haired proprietor appeared just how you might imagine someone who has been in the record trade for 40 years to look.  On a previous visit, his friendly banter included some affectionately-intended (??) mocking comments regarding our purchase of an REO Speedwagon greatest hits cd.  Our selections this time of “The McGarrigle Hour” by Kate and Anna McGarrigle, and Hayes Carll’s “KMAG YOYO” escaped editorial comment.

Across Winter Street from the record store is Bun’s Restaurant, a local institution since 1864 when it opened as a bakery.  We’d eaten there on a previous visit to Delaware and our present county trip meal dance card was already full, so we had to give Bun’s a miss this time, but I’d recommend it to others.  The neon “Bun’s Restaurant” sign that hangs from an arch over the middle of the street makes it easy to find.

There are plenty of shops to check out on Sandusky Street, but we spent our time in the city’s two main antique stores: Sandusky Street Antiques and Delaware Antique Mall.  The former offers a nicer, higher end selection of goods, while the latter is larger and features more varied pickings. We came away however, without any purchases.

As the clock neared 4 p.m., our agreed upon check-in time for our night’s lodging, we returned to our car and made the short drive to the west end of the street and parked in front of the Winter Street Inn, a 142-year old Victorian-era home that was converted into a bed & breakfast by owners Rodger and Debbie in 2006.  Rodger met us at the door and led us upstairs where the Humphries Room awaited us. Named for a previous owner of the house who owned a thriving Ford dealership, the room featured silk wallpaper, an antique Persian rug, and a comfortable king-sized bed which provided us a spot for a late afternoon siesta.

It was dark by the time we returned outdoors.  We left the car behind and walked down Winter Street, appreciating the architecture of the Italianate homes that filled the lots, many of which appeared to be serving as frat houses, or were owned by people who liked decorating their facades with large Greek letters.

We stepped into the Staas Brewing Company, Delaware’s first (and only?) brewpub.  We sat at stools at the bar and requested a couple of porters; an 8% Baltic Porter for myself and a 6.4% Vanilla Porter for Michele.  Most of the chairs in the bar were occupied, mainly by folks who could have been grad students or parents of students from nearby OWU.  The television screens were muted, but contained sports-related programs. The beers were good and the ambiance was relaxed and inviting.

For a total contrast in clientele, our next stop was the Hamburger Inn Diner on Sandusky Street.  It’s another longtime Delaware institution, dating back to 1932. Closing time is 10 p.m. or midnight during the week, but its open all night on weekends.  Most of the stools at the U-shaped counters were occupied when we entered, but we found a couple at the back of the restaurant. Fox News was playing on the television and a Blue Lives Matter flag was displayed opposite an American flag.  There were lots of tattoos and piercings and overheard drama about people doing other people wrong. And that was just the staff! But everyone was friendly and helpful and the food was good and exactly what I was expecting. I had a cheeseburger and Michele had a chili dog.  We shared our sides of onion rings and waffle fries topped with bacon and cheese.

Feeling a bit stuffed after our meal, we rolled south down Sandusky Street and around the corner onto William Street. We paused at a historic marker memorializing the birthplace of Rutherford B. Hayes, nineteenth president of the United States.  The marker was erected in 1926, the same year the Hayes home was torn down. In its place is now a BP filling station, referred to on a website I came across as the Rutherford B. Hayes Birthplace Gas Station.

Continuing around another corner, we found Roop Brothers Bar, or Roops, as the locals call it.  “Where live classic rock and blues music lives!” The building is a nondescript red brick structure with stacked beer barrels out front.  Inside, the mostly middle aged crowd was preparing for a night of good rockin’ with local favorites, The Stolen Fire. The band was formed in 2011 by four professors from Ohio Wesleyan University.  I stepped up to the bar before the music started and ordered a pint of Brew Dog’s Radio Zombie Phone In, a Russian Imperial Stout. I noticed most of the other drinkers were ordering their brews in cans and bottles.  There was also Jägermeister available on tap!

We stayed for about an hour, listening while the band ran through a series of Zeppelin covers followed by “Pinball Wizard” and Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust.”  They sounded good and the crowd was into them. After my nursed beer finally emptied, we stepped into the nippy night and strolled back to our B&B. We slept soundly.

I awoke the next morning early enough to shower before breakfast.  The bathroom for our room was so small, the washbasin was located outside it, near our bed.  As I sat on the toilet, I was mere inches away from the mirror that hung from the back of the door.  While performing my morning necessary, there was the spitting image of myself, pants down around his ankles, gawking at me.  It was a bit unnerving. I’d look away, but every time I snuck a peek, there I was, still staring.

Perv!

Promptly at 8 a.m., we descended the winding staircase to the first floor.  In the dining room, Rodger already had our places set. There was a bowl of mixed fruit and granola in yogurt, and on a side plate, a cherry-filled donut.  Coffee and juice filled our cups and when we were ready, the main entrée was brought out consisting of a sunny side egg atop a muffin, accompanied by slices of melon and pineapple.

After our meal, we hung out in our room for awhile, getting our money’s worth.  At 11 a.m., when we checked out, teeny random snowflakes had begun to fall. I snapped a photo of our B&B as well as the building across the street, the former George W. Campbell home, which was originally built in 1854.  It was designed with Romanesque and Norman Revival architectural features which included a round tower and arched windows and doorways made of locally-mined blue limestone. It now serves as the Delaware County Cultural Arts Center.

We drove northwest out of Delaware along West Central Avenue and then veered north on State Route 203 up to the village of Radnor for another architecturally unique structure.  At the entrance to the local graveyard is the Radnor Cemetery Lych Gate. Traditional in England and Wales, lych gates are covered gateways used to shelter coffins until clergymen arrive for burial. The Radnor version was designed by a local architect over a century ago to commemorate the early settlers of the town who emigrated from Wales.  It’s built of locally-quarried stone and features two openings: a larger one for a horse-drawn hearse and a smaller one for mourners. The gate was also given a tower resembling a church steeple to give it an ecclesiastical style.

We drove east from Radnor for about four miles until arriving at U.S. Route 23 about a mile north of the entrance to Delaware State Park.  I thought a little outdoor exercise might work off our morning donut. We wound through the park before stopping near the camp check-in station.  Near there was the beginning of the Lakeview Trail. For awhile, the path was dry and pleasant. The sky was a solid cloud, but we could see Delaware Lake.  The lake was formed in 1951 after the construction of a flood control dam. The state park was dedicated a year later.

Once the trail looped away from the water on its way to connecting to the Briar Patch Trail and the return to the parking lot, big muddy patches began getting in our way.  We tried walking around them, but the sides of the trail were lined with briars and needle-filled plants. The Sunday morning stroll became a slog as more and more sections of the trail contained standing water.  One can attempt to be very Zen about it all and concentrate on a particular mantra to distract from the trail conditions, but when that repeated word becomes, “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!” then you realize your attempt at serene meditation is, well, in a word, fucked.

After a couple miles of less than ideal hiking, we arrived back at the lot and spent some time scraping off the brown slop that had caked to our boots before allowing ourselves back in the car.

As we drove back to Delaware, the snowflakes hitting the windshield became bigger and wetter.  We had made plans to meet my sister and her daughter at the 1808 American Bistro at 1 p.m. for Sunday brunch.  Katanya and Jennifer introduced us to this very fine restaurant a year ago and we looked forward to returning. I considered myself lucky when I spotted an open parking spot directly across the street.  After we parallel parked, the car behind pulled up next to us and rolled down a window. My sibling and niece were inside and were a bit miffed because they had seen a car vacate that prime parking spot and had quickly driven around the block so they could get it.  “Sorry!” I weakly responded, although I couldn’t stop laughing.

Once we sat down to eat, all thoughts of stolen parking spaces were forgotten as we were all easily distracted by the food.  The restaurant has been open for over a decade and has a deservedly good reputation for its Sunday brunch. I had the shrimp and grits which was outstanding with shrimp and andouille sausage bathing in polenta and a creamy Cajun sauce.  We all enjoyed a leisurely two-hour meal, which was long enough for a layer of snow to accumulate on the windows of our cars.

We said our goodbyes and swept our vehicle of snow and drove a few blocks away to the Richard M. Ross Art Museum on South Sandusky Street.  It’s housed in OWU’s Humphreys Art Hall, a former United State Post Office building. I was looking forward to seeing the current exhibit, “Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow,” a collection of curated works by African American artists and artists from the African Diaspora.

When we entered the museum, we saw right away that there was some sort of to-do taking place.  There were lots of well-dressed people milling about and socializing. (We later learned the Delaware Community Chorus was hosting a reception for its donors.)  Michele was hesitant about proceeding, but I really wanted to see the art and figured so long as we weren’t turned away, we could still do so. Michele’s misgivings were reinforced when we were somewhat strong-armed into wearing nametags.  I acquiesced quickly on the assumption that we’d be less conspicuous if we had nametags like everyone else. I was wrong. We were both greeted by name by complete strangers on multiple occasions. I’m not particularly fond of being so familiarly hailed by someone who doesn’t know me.

We did our best to circulate through the galleries, but it was near impossible at times as the hors d’oeuvres-munching, wine-swilling crowd didn’t seem to have a problem socializing directly in front of pieces while completely ignoring the art.

I was able to get close to one piece and was contemplating it when a guy ambled up next to me and asked with a laugh, “What does that say to you?”  I find the perusal of art in a gallery to be a somewhat personal experience and regardless of whether or not I have a specific reaction to a piece, I don’t want to discuss it with a stranger.  I had the feeling he didn’t want to seriously deliberate its merits anyway, but rather was just make a joke of it. I responded by ignoring him. After enough awkward silence passed, he finally took his plastic wine glass and moved on with a laugh and a mutter about still waiting for the art to say something to him.  I continued on my way while screaming in my head, “I just want to be left alone to look at the art!”

Michele later told me she did her best to display a demeanor that said, “Leave me alone,” but was unsuccessful time and time again.  Apparently, whatever talents the Chorus possesses in singing and fundraising far exceed the ability of its members to read body language.

I can’t imagine we resembled the normal philanthropist, what with our attire of cargo pants and mud-caked boots, but perhaps we were mistaken for the reclusive and deep-pocketed donors, Mr. and Mr. “Anonymous” who always appear at the top of contributor lists.

Percy King

So the conditions were far from ideal, but we did our best to circulate through the rooms and actually look at the art.  There were a few artists represented with whom I was previously familiar such as Aminah Robinson and Kojo Kamau, but there were also many who were new to me.  It is always a pleasure to discover a new favorite. One example was the “First Avenue” triptych by Don “DonCee” Coulter, but the artist whose works may have made the biggest impression on both Michele and myself was Percy King.

OSU football fans may remember King as the safety who blocked a punt for a touchdown against Penn State in 1998.  After a brief stint with the Kansas City Chiefs, he turned to another passion of his: art. What he has since named, “Shaolin Wood Technique,” his works incorporate layered sheets of compressed composite wood.  The results are very cool-looking 3-D portraits of prominent cultural figures from Langston Hughes to Snoop Dog.

By the time we completed our tour of the exhibit and escaped to our car where we were both anxious to compare our museum experiences, the snowfall had increased in intensity.  Road visibility approached white-out conditions as we drove south on U.S. Route 23. I’d originally planned on ending our weekend with a hike in Highbanks Metro Park to see a couple of Adena mounds, but the weather situation forced a change.  We just kept driving south and soon exited the county.

Time spent in the county: 32 hours, 2 minutes

Miles driven in the county: 138 miles