When we were young boys, my brother and I sometimes paddled a battered aluminum canoe on the Mohican River in north-central Ohio.
One of those streams is the Mohican, and today’s paddlers can view the Mohican River Water Trail at the ODNR website or download a brochure to find information about access points (including Greer Landing), picnic areas, and points of interest, as well as low-head dams and other hazards along the way.
Nearly four decades ago, Dwight Miller climbed an electric utility pole to rescue a fellow lineman who had accidentally made contact with an energized line. The injuries were bad, and although the lineman survived, the scene haunted Miller’s sleep for weeks.
Miller’s laser focus on safety — whether in an official capacity or “just speaking up when nobody else would speak up” — altered his career path.
Today, Miller’s nine-member safety team works in Ohio and West Virginia to coach, train, and support not only the 375 lineworkers employed by the co-ops, but all 1,500 cooperative employees in the state, with an aim to keep everyone safe.
In 1957, humorist James Thurber wrote to Columbus Dispatch writer and artist Bill Arter to discuss the future of the house where Thurber had been born.
Not a bad local legacy for a humor writer and cartoonist who frequently made his hometown and its inhabitants the butt of his jokes. In stories like “The Day the Dam Broke” and “University Days,” the good citizens of Columbus and its land grant college, Ohio State University, were often portrayed as naïve or foolish at best, bumpkins at worst. But overall, his portrayal was fond, says Leah Wharton, operations director at Thurber House.
In the small Hardin County village of Ada, the play clock begins ticking about two weeks before the first snap of America’s most-watched sporting event.
“As soon as they know who wins, they are making these balls and they are shipping them out,” says Lindsay Hollar, director of the Ada Area Chamber of Commerce. “The guys just want to get their hands on them.” Hollar doesn’t work for Wilson, but like lots of people in and around town, she speaks with a sort of proprietary pride about the local treasure that is the Wilson football.
The pole barn — as familiar a fixture on modern farms as a pickup truck — is an architectural innovation born in the 1930s, the result of a marriage of necessity and opportunity.
For decades, the pole barn has reigned supreme on American farms. But the pole-frame structures of today have come a long way from the simple pole barns of the Depression, says Caleb Miller, owner and president of MQS Structures in Lancaster. Pole framing remains a popular design for farm outbuildings, but these days, Miller’s company, a member of Lancaster-based South Central Power Company, may just as likely be using pole-frame construction to build the shell for a far more complex structure.
Anyone who recalls the thrill of getting a good push while learning to ride a bicycle can appreciate the growing popularity of electric bikes — bicycles outfitted with electric motors that lend extra oomph to your pedaling.
The last organized departure of Shawnee people from Ohio began in September 1832.
Telling the story of the Shawnee — and their relationship with Ohio settlers — is the motivation behind the creation of Great Council State Park, scheduled to open early this year on State Route 68 between Xenia and Yellow Springs.
Wallace, who has tangled with state officials on other issues, praises ODNR and the Ohio History Connection for the efforts to accurately present the Shawnee story in the new park. “I’ve always told them, ‘Don’t talk about us, talk with us,’ and that has happened from day one with this project,” she says.
In the fall of 1935, in the depths of the Great Depression and the dawning of the New Deal, a young executive from the Ohio Farm Bureau Federation traveled to Washington, D.C., to meet Morris L.
The initial meeting didn’t go so well, as Lincoln remembers in his autobiography, Vice President in Charge of Revolution.
Shown into his office, I told him that we of the Farm Bureau wanted to avail ourselves of the benefits of this legislation and set up our own utility plants.
“What do you know about the utility business?” Mr. Cooke asked.
“Nothing,” I admitted cheerfully. “I was trained in dairying and animal husbandry.”
Electric power is a service that is simultaneously deeply appreciated and yet taken for granted.
“We all take electricity for granted, until you’re at your own house and you lose it, and then you say, ‘Where’s the power company?’” laughs Schunn, plant manager for the Cardinal Power Plant in Brilliant, a small town on the Ohio River in eastern Ohio. Cardinal’s three coal-burning units produce up to 1,800 megawatts of power at a given moment. It’s the main baseload generating plant for Buckeye Power.
Travis Wise has been an apprentice lineworker for only about a year, but already he’s experienced the kind of extreme weather that is both the scourge of the lineworker and a source of collective pride.
“In June, we were working 16 hours a day in 90-degree weather, for about a week,” says Wise, 22. “Then winter storm Elliott hit (in December) and we worked a lot of overtime when it was minus 30. We’ve seen the hottest of the hot and the coldest of the cold.”
“Sure, I want to be home,” Wise says. “But there are people out there who don’t have power and if we’re not out there doing this, then who is?”
