Saturday, a road trip, and some boots.

Tomorrow is kind of big day. Besides being Saturday (Hands up for Saturday (hooray) I hear you)* we are going to venture south along US Highway 33 to the wonderful little village of Nelsonville. Nelsonville is not normally a destination, it is more of a minor, almost annoying distraction from all the trees, hills and natural beauty of Southern Ohio as you zoom past on the recently finished bypass.

Nelsonville has a lot of charm, it just isn't very big, and there are not a lot of attractions. The rustic buildings of the business district are a block east of the old highway and a mile west of the new, smooth superhighway that speeds you by the east side of town. Unless you are willing to venture off the beaten path you'll never see the wonderful, ornate brick buildings with the detailed masonry work, the flowing arches and elaborate lintels. We wouldn't have known about it had we not attended a small festival there last fall, and stumbled on the area. And, one of my nieces used to live only blocks from the area.

But, the Rocky Boot Outlet Store is there. And that is worth the drive.

I am not a young man, some people might say I am an old man. It doesn't really matter, though.  What is important is my feet, which are sore most of the time.

For years my wife said "you need to buy some boots."

"You're right," I said. But, I thought, 'I'm not dragging those heavy things around all day. It will wear me out. My legs will hurt, my feet will broil inside them, and wearing socks that far up my ankles will make me all itchy and may suffocate me.' Then I added, "you're always right, and gorgeous, too, can I make you a sandwich?"**

Last fall we went to the Moonlight At Moonville Festival by Lake Hope. Lake Hope is one of those places you are rushing toward when you hurry past Nelsonville. We decided to cruise into town and check out what was going on. A lot, actually. Nelsonville was humming with a street festival, food, people, music, everywhere. Which is when we discovered the wonderful architecture of the the business district. Walking around eating barbecue and southern comfort food.

But, we cruised through the outlet store, and I bought a pair of boots. It was amazing. All of the support, I could work all day and the pain was lessened significantly. I was in love with my new boots.

Unfortunately, my youngest son fell in love with them, too. And since I really owe both sons, and my wife, a debt I can never truly pay, it is not easy being my family, I let him wear them.

Tomorrow, though, he gets his own boots, I reclaim my boots, and possibly pickup a new pair, maybe something for summer, something that will not look so odd with jean shorts, my summer uniform.

And, there is the adventure, a road trip, a day out, all of the excitement... Man, I need to get a life, probably too late for that now. But, I do have several new and promising video apps, so look for a movie in the near future.


*Thanks to the Clash, who were ahead of their time, for "letting" me misquote them.

** Not really, I didn't really say that. But, I should have.

Welcoming Winter with a Little Good Luck.

Yesterday was a good day. Street Fair is our fall kickoff event. We welcome the coming winter with a trip to Yellow Springs. Of course, as far as traditions go it is in its infancy. Just two years old, but, traditions have to start somewhere, right?

It is also an accidental tradition. Last year we planned to go to Yellow Springs just to wander through town, in and out of the little shops, having an appetizer, some coffee, maybe a drink. It is our kind of place, filled with small specialty shops, book stores, little restaurants, and bars. All uniquely Yellow Springs, all uniquely exotic and off beat. Somehow, by some stroke of good luck, we happened to plan our trip the very day they were having Street Fair. Now it is on our calendar, and if you are anywhere around central Ohio in the middle of October you should go. There is a charm and frantic energy to Yellow Springs and Street Fair is the outlet for all the accumulated passion of such an enchanted place. 

We talked to an artist in Marquette, MI last summer, we stumbled in to her shop wandering around waiting for the frieghter to dock and load. She struck up a conversation with us, we have walked through places like hers before and it could be as cold and silent as a tomb. Not there, though, she was so friendly. She had several awards tacked onto her walls and signs explaining her teaching schedule in Michigan and Florida. She was clearly a talented person. She was also an outgoing person, polite, and funny. I looked at a series of paintings, an industrial time lapse capsule captured in stark colors, straight lines and harsh, unforgiving geometry. Without lifting her head from her work in progress she explained the definition of the series. The birth, growth and decay of an industry, building or business. In those few sentences she opened my eyes to the value of a painting, the story and meaning behind the oil and canvas. Somehow I thought she would be at home in Yellow Springs.

This year we have decided to add an event to our warm welcome to the chill of winter. Midnight at Moonville. Moonville is an abandoned mining town in southeastern Ohio. There are rumors of a Moonville Ghost. A man was killed in the raiload tunnel, appropriately known as the Moonville Tunnel, and has been stuck in the area, wandering, lost and alone ever since. I’m not really sure what Midnight at Moonville is all about but the poster says enough for us.

It was another thing we kind of stumbled on. We rented a cabin at Lake Hope not far from the Moonville Tunnel, and since we are who we are we had to go looking for Moonville, and the Moonville Cemetery. We didn’t find them, nor did we find the Moonville Ghost. We decided to go back, an internet map in hand and find town and the graveyard, and maybe the ghost. Though there is no map for that. He is supposed to hang around in the tunnel, showing up occasionally.  Through the wonders of Facebook and the ability to follow and like things Midnight at Moonville showed up on my Facebook page. 

There were no cabins available so we decided to drive down and back. But, good fortune popped up again, someone cancelled and we snapped it up. Now, all of the sudden we are welcoming Old Man Winter with Yellow Springs Street Fair, a long weekend, a kayak excursion, a visit to Taco John’s, Moonville, possibly the real Moonville, and one of the best brunch buffets known to man. 

So winter be damned, we are going into the season with a smile, a nice tan, maybe, and full stomach and a story. Stay tuned.

A Trip from A Different Time, last week

It has been a week since we came back from Lake Hope. One week ago today we were exploring the Moonville Tunnel. Walking the dark, brick lined passage through the hill. Looking for a ghost. I am almost glad we didn't find one, imagine that conversation. I thought about getting an app for my phone to locate spirits, but decided against it. Probably just as well, since there was no service, no phone, no data, nothing, it probably wouldn't have done any good. 

The cabin we stayed in didn't have an alarm clock, and my wife needs to know what time it is when she wakes up in the night. An odd personality quirk, but considering who she is married to it seems almost like a virtue. So, I downloaded an App on my phone while we were enjoying tacos and potato oles at Taco John's (free wifi, potato oles and a spicy green sauce so tasty exporting it to Mexico was the driving force behind NAFTA). Unfortunately, there wasn't enough connection at the cabin to make the app work. So she had to guess, and we had to look for ghosts the old fashioned way, with our senses. It didn't work, the Moonville Ghost eluded us this time, but we will be back, armed with apps (if they don't require data, or phone connection), nets, and a renewed dedication. 

We also went looking for Moonville, but came up empty. We did find a string of poles, like the one on the left. Silent, decaying guides to the heart of Moonville. Many so close to the path you could almost touch them, but almost hidden in the dense green of the southern Ohio forest. We followed them, each one calling us, "follow me, I know the way." A haunted, lonely relic of a time long ago, I don't know if they carried electric lines, telegraph signals, telephone, but I do know they stood, most of them (a few had fallen), proud, solitary, and defiant. Daring time and decay to topple them. 

Unfortunately, we ran into a stream, it wasn't deep, it wasn't rapid, but we were not dressed for an amphibious landing. We turned back. Next time we will find the abandoned town, what is left of it. And the cemetary, and we will offer our respect and sorrow. We will take a few bags with us to pick up the trash left by the careless or the indifferent. Knowing full well it will only make a small difference. Saddened by the fact that we have to do it at all. 

We also went to the Hope Furnace. It is an abandoned icon of the distant past. A time when industry ruled the area. Now it is a tourist attraction. A remnant of a forgotten era. A giant, indecipherable rune that once transformed iron into bullets. Testifying to the hearty people who toiled here. I hope it will stand forever.

It was an amazing building. The stones were cut with such precision. Huge boulders, chipped away, and made to fit into place by hand, it had to be intensive, tortuous labor performed by hand. I salute the men who built it. 

If you are lucky enough to visit the Hope Furnace do everybody a favor and throw a few dollars in the steel pole that serves as an offering plate.

On the way home we stopped at the Nelsonville Brick Factory. Just three buildings losing their battle with the inexorable grip of Mother Nature. Nelsonville somehow survived the collapse of its Industrial Age, unlike Moonville and Hope, but the melancholy may be more profound because of the continued existence. No real effort is being made to preserve the odd, inconsistent beauty of the rough, slightly irregular buildings that had been the lifeblood of so many. Eventually the plants will tear the buildings to pieces, the bricks will crumble and nobody will even notice. "For you are dust and to dust ye shall return."

In one last insult to the forgotten labor and pride of the people who had made their living here someone had hung laundry to dry in one of the buildings. Two lines of rope spread from one wall the other covered with underwear. It was the oddest sight of the whole trip. I found it slightly unsettling, disturbing.

It was a great trip, and we had a wonderful time. It has been a long post and I haven't even talked about the kayaking around the lake. Oh, that lake, the primitive beauty of that lake. The way the shore shoots almost straight up out of the lake. Tree covered hills climbing from the lillypads and fallen logs that cling to the edges. The inky black water reflecting the clouds, sun in a stark, supernatural way, if you believe in God you will see his artistry here. If you don't this might convert you. If you are not moved to a sense of greater purpose of some kind by the vistas of this lake you are made of sterner stuff than I. But, that is another post. 

 

A Day to Remember. Again

Yesterday we went to the Johnstown Swapper's Day meet. It is always entertaining. Always eye opening. Always the same, but always different. It had rained most of the night Friday, not torrential, no downpour, just a constant, light drizzle, and the day was cloudy, and cool. With a chance of rain in the forecast for the afternoon we decided to risk the trip and head to the the sale. It was a lot more crowded than we thought it would be. 

I am not sure what they do at the Sportsman Association when they're not having Swappers Day, but it is a huge place, asphalt paths big enough for a car run through the property. It is 190 acres according to the website. As numbers go that is a big one, but as a reference it is meaningless to a person raised on measurements in blocks. And I coldn't tell you how many blocks could be laid end to end in the area, because we wander from place to place, stopping, looking, backtracking, looking again.  We walked over 9,000 steps as measured by iPhone.

It always surprises me how many people are carrying guns. I think they are trying to sell them, or maybe just bought them. There was an older couple, maybe late sixties, or early seventies pushing an umbrella stroller that had two rifles, a compound bow, and some pistols. I don't know how many, staring at people with enough weaponry to outfit an infantry squad seems foolish. And the Amish people carrying rifles, hunting rifles, rifles that seemed, to my limited knowledge, to fall into the "assault weapon" classification. Pacifism no more. Spend a little time walking the rows and paths of Swapper's Day and you quickly understand "excuse me" is no longer a popular notion. It has been replaced by the silent push, and press. 

In the time I have been there, three years in a row, I have only seen one potential sale take place. Yesterday, a man said "hey, are you trying to sell those?" Pointing to a pair of wicked looking revolvers. I waited for the "or are you just happy to see me?" Which never came. The comic potential destroyed I walked away before the dealing began.

As we rounded the curving, slightly erratic line of vendor's tents was the rotor blade of a helicopter. My wife said she had stopped by to look at it last year. It was UH-1 Huey from Bell Helicopter. It was a display that traveled to various places. I asked why she didn't take me.

"You had probably wandered off somewhere." She said, then she relayed a conversation she had with our youngest son.

"Why do you let him do that?" He had asked. "Just let him wander off like that?" I was a little insulted, but as a five year old he made me hold his hand in parking lots so I wouldn't get run over. At the time I thought he did it as a joke, maybe not, though.

We went and looked at the helicopter. It was from the Vietnam war, it was one of the early models, a UH1-A, I think he said. It was a profound moment. It was so small, there were seats for seven including the pilot. Flimsy looking nylon benches were supported by what looked like aluminum tubing, it looked so finite, skimpy. The shell was thin, almost fragile. One of the exhibitors took me around and showed the patches where bullets had torn through the beer can skin. I said "it looks so small." He explained the letter suffix designation, and how the machine had stretched and changed over time to carry more soldiers and door gunners. But, this was one of the early ones. 

I remembered the lines from Apocalypse Now in an exchange between Martin Sheen and Robert Duvall. Duvall's character said, "Air Cav, son, Airmobile." And Sheen's narration explained how the cavalry had "traded in their horses for choppers and went tear assin' around Nam looking for the shit." And they had done it in something so oddly beautiful, so awkwardly graceful, so tragically insignificant as the small machine sitting in front of me. 

I remembered the book Dispatches by Micheal Herr, and his description of the terror he felt the first time the helicopter he was in took fire. Someone hammering on the side of a helicopter flying at 2,000 feet.¹ It was striking to stand so close to something that had carried so many terrified men into a jungle screaming with anger, fear and death. I couldn't help but think of the words of Isaiah Berlin "liberty for wolves is death to the lambs." 

It had been deployed between 1967 and 1971, a time of vicious fighting, fear, pain and death. The time of Khe Shan, the Tet Offensive. Long after any illusion of guerilla warfare had drained away. I don't know where this little helicopter had been stationed, I didn't ask, but it had seen some action, the patches served as ample proof.

It was a great day, we had a good time, had some good food, and did not get rained on, even a little.. Life can be tough, and sometimes working and living require so much time you overlook the important things. Like how oddly right my wife and I are for each other. Wandering through a huge yard sale, looking at the tables filled with the flotsam of life, I was reminded how close we are. There were times it seemed as if we were the only people there, she was the only thing I could see.

I did find a wide brimmed, floppy hat for kayaking for $5.00. And since I am such a compulsive, uncontrollable, easily influenced sort I bought a small tackle box for $1.00. It was a little broken, and needs some work, similar to life, I suppose, but it was my first step toward the lofty position of  Kayak Fisherman, a big, inexpensive first step. I am that much closer. 

Adventures are everywhere, stories wait at every turn. Next week, 2 1/2 days, we are off to Lake Hope, and a new adventure, on kayaks, at the Moonville Tunnel, in Athens, OH, just the two of us, our two kayaks, and the threat of a guest appearance by our sons, we had better take some extra food. Just a coming attractions.

¹ I don't really remember the height. Just the terror he felt, and the dread he described.

Kayaks, Mexican Food and a Ghost, or Two.

My wife tried kayaking on Lake Superior. She did very well. She did so well we are thinking about getting her a kayak. Her kayaking success didn't really surprise me, she is very talented, and thoroughly stubborn. I have told her, several times, "just because it was your idea doesn't mean it will work." But, it almost always does. It is the maniacal optimism, and fanatical attention to detail that makes things work. I have never known anyone who can see things so clearly, but I have never known anyone who can look at something with such power and precision, such laser focus, sometimes it scares me.

Anyway, our trip, our date week, on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was such a smashing success we have decided to recreate it. On a much smaller scale of course. Nobody can catch lightning in a bottle twice. But, a long weekend before the slog of the school year and the agony of holiday shopping madness is preventative medicine at its finest. Dr. Clark, and his All Star Medical Chorus.

We are going to try to take a long weekend in September and rent a cabin on Lake Hope in southeastern Ohio. My wife, two kayaks, a small, comfortable place to stay, and a three day weekend kayaking around a beautiful lake. Could it get any better?

Oddly enough, yes, it could. Lake Hope is less than a half hour from Athens, OH, home to the only Taco John's in Ohio. As far as I know the only Taco John's east of Iowa. Taco John's is the home of Potato Oles. Small, deep fried pillows of shredded potato covered in some sort of spicy seasoned salt. They are delicious. Burritos and tacos and taco bravos, and some of the spiciest green sauce in the fast food universe. A staple of our wasted youth in Colorado and Nebraska. Only a half hour away, could it possibly be any better?

Interestingly enough, yes it could. Turns out Lake Hope is only three and a half miles from the Moonville Tunnel. Wherein lives the Moonville Tunnel Ghost.  You might think the Moonville Ghost would live in what remains of Moonville, a ghost town. Just a few foundations sticking up from the ground, a scattering of forgotten artifacts of hurried construction and patient decay. He doesn't. Or in the Moonville Cemetery, a small patch of land just south and west of the tunnel, where the few remaining headstones mark the mostly forgotten passing of some resident and whose failing conditions mark the passing of time. He doesn't. Not according to legend, anyway

The Moonville Ghost lives in the railroad tunnel. It is said he (or she, depending on the legend, and I have always been an equal opportunity coward) was killed in a terrible accident in the tunnel. Or a malicious act of anger and jealousy. Once again, it depends on the rumor. Either way, it is the tunnel that is haunted, though some people have claimed to see odd things in the abandoned cemetery as well. So who knows, maybe more than one ghost, or just one ghost who likes to get out and boogie around a little, and that is ok with me.

Kayaks, tacos, ghosts, and my little maniacally stubborn, stubbornly optimistic angel. It should be a good time. Don't worry, I will tell you all about it. With pictures, and possibly a movie.