Ch.29
Pleasant Valley
The Road Warrior floated up the
interstate like no one’s business and before I knew it I was heading past where
the farm was I grew up on, that I had left for my river lot down south. We had
no time to stop and stopping there would only make me sad as I had to leave a
lot of memories behind when I left
there. People change and times change and circumstances change. It seemed as if
all three hit me there and me at my age i just didn’t care to hang around and
fight with my siblings over how things were to be divided , but opted instead to get away from the hassle
of it all and make my own new life somewhere else. And I did in Stockport. I
have always loved Stockport as it had this mill that at one time served as the
center of grain grinding for the region. They would grind flours of wheat, rye,
and barley and then load it in barrels and ship it down the Muskingum river ,
then down the Ohio river to who knew where then . Steamboats plying north on
the river would take it to Pittsburg and
points east, or barges and flat boats, or again a stern wheeler would take it
south or west. The Ohio Erie canal would allow them to take it north to lake Erie
, then via the Erie canal to New York
city on the Hudson river.
At that time rivers and canals served as
the main traffic source for major cities in the United States around the early 1800’s.
Times change as I said and now the mill is a restaurant which still sports its
own hydroelectric plant to produce electricity for its own use from the same
river that used to grind grain , and they use it there at the restaurant and
hotel . Inside you can see old mill works used long ago by hands no longer with
us today. It is a town filled with history and I love to walk its streets and
love its small-town atmosphere and the people there. Then again I love the
river that makes it all possible on many levels. The strength of the river ,
constantly moving hurrying on to new places carrying pieces jetsam and flotsam
along with it to sometimes wedge up against a hunk of log along a river bank , or
to be nudged as food by a big a fish from underneath. This jetsam and flotsam
as they call it is the fluff of bubbles and trash that float along the surface
of any running water way , and at times is a lot like the human life in many
ways. We hurry along one path till we hit an open water and then laze along as long as everything
is OK until we hit a rough spot like a waterfall or a fork in a creek and then we
bounce off things, until we hit deep water again as you know runs still. This is our life in an
anecdote where we sometimes we find land and lodge ourselves against it and
sometimes we get eaten by bigger fish but it is all symbolic of who we are as
the stuff just passes before our eyes. I just love to sit and watch the raw
power of the river as you can almost hear it moving in front of you. Thousands and
soon millions of gallons pass before your eyes. Rivers offer you freedom as a
lake is closed to exploring , but at my river lot I could go to the Gulf of Mexico,
and never hit dry ground with my pontoon
or as far north as Pittsburg. Try doing that in a round lake. Not that I have
never made that trip but maybe someday I will as I want my ashes spread in my
watershed back home so that one day I too may also make that trip, or at least
my ashes will when nature does its thing and washes me into a nearby creek and
then my trip will begin in spirit if not in form.
Bobby and Sue’s farm was actually south of
Mansfield, around the Loudonville area where
another author who inspired me to write, wrote several books of his own about
farming. And that was Louis Bromfield. He wrote ‘Pleasant Valley' and several
other conservation books as well as some fiction books. He lived and wrote from his farm, using his
farm as showplace for his conservation techniques, in an era of the dust bowl days as he pointed
to the errors of modern farming in those days. He was best known for his
biggest blunder which was bringing the Multiflora Rose from Europe to the United
States and specifically Ohio. They soon became a nuisance as they spread like
wildfire around our region . \Even myself I have cursed the Multiflora many a
times seeing animals trapped in its snare of branches unable to penetrate any
deeper, only being cut by the multitude of thorns one finds on these bushes. They
do provide wildlife with an impenetrable haven when used as a nesting area but,
can lacerate within seconds anything tangled in its web. The berries when eaten
by birds were carried to other parts and then scattered through their digestive
system and end up as new bush elsewhere. This was the problem as they were
prolific and spread all across the state of Ohio leading to an eradication program
where they actually paid farmers to kill the bushes by using an herbicide
specifically designed for them. Myself I find them only to be a mild nuisance
and when brushhogged or finally beaten down can be used as a source of organics
for enriching the soil where they stood. No big deal and the slurs hurled at Mr.
Bromfield are totally unfounded as he
was just trying to make this world a better place. They have since turned his
farm into a museum ran by the state. It is always a pleasant visit for me
allowing me to learn a little more about the man who was my mentor in ways.
I ran into Bobby and Sue there on the
farm years ago as he was the caretaker of the farm. Sue was the bee keeper then
and they both lived in this glorious log cabin that once was owned by a
telephone company executive and still is there today. It had this gorgeous
brass chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling giving the place a certain
ambiance of hominess one doesn't often encounter. The huge brass rings of the chandelier
contained translucent opals and semi-precious stones that would allow light to
pass through and show off their subdued creamy colors unlike anything one would
see normally. We would spend hours at their place fishing in the huge pond
beside the cabin and just relaxing. Then at supper we would fire up the grill
in the party house, and fry up some fish and veggies and sit down and eat in the smell of the pine forest that
surrounded the place.
Sure hated seeing Bobby lose that job. The
perks were unbelievable. Bobby was the one that told me all about Louis Bromfield
in the first place as Bobby was also a conservationist and very smart guy I went
to college with when I attended Ohio State University at ATI in Wooster, Ohio. Sue taught me how to handle
bees and at one point while helping her I had bees all over me on my bare skin
and I was like in nirvana as best I could explain it. I pushed myself to be calm
to not let the bees know I was scared. To have the confidence that if one stung
me I would just let it be. And I did, as I stood there with both arms covered
and her scooping more on me as if to test my resolve . They were everywhere
including the only protection I had which was the head mask I wore for
protection of my face. I was subdued and confident and with over thousands of
bees on me never was stung once. It was an experience I will never forget but
always wanted to repeat, but never had the opportunity to. Bees are one the
most amazing and beneficial insects one could study if you have the chance. Yet
are so necessary to our survival as a human race. We cannot live without them
or it may be awful hard to if something should
happen to them
There was no beekeeping in the program or
planting trees as we needed to drop off the dogs and get moving. We had planned
on driving all night , taking turns at the wheel and trying to put some miles
behind us as we headed for St, Louis. Bobby’s house was the first stop and so
we wheeled into the Wal-Mart parking lot in Mansfield and unhooked the Ford Escape to finish hauling
the dogs to the farm knowing the lane
leading to Bobby’s farm was narrow and not knowing where or how to turn the
behemoth Road Warrior around , we decided to just take the Escape and leave the
Road Warrior behind.
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