Of Ohio’s 88 counties, eight are named for Indian tribes: Delaware, Erie, Huron, Miami, Ottawa, Seneca, Tuscarawas, and Wyandot.
In development since 2019, Ohio’s newest state park is located along U.S. Route 68 just north of Xenia, where “Old Chillicothe” — a historic Shawnee village — once stood. As Gov. Mike DeWine said at its June 2024 grand opening, “The land had a story that needed to be told.”
Constantine Rafinesque-Schmaltz is the scientist you did not know that you knew. His walkabouts through Ohio impressed upon him a desire to discover more about plants and fishes and a prehistoric culture that predated him by millennia.
The family moved to Italy to escape the terrors of the French Revolution. It was there that a self-educated Constantine came of age and took an ardent interest in natural history and languages, which would come to have its consequences in the names of organisms — through the eastern U.S., in Ohio, and even into the American Southwest.
Along the eastern edge of Alum Creek State Park in central Ohio runs a thoroughfare called Africa Road. I’ve lived in the general vicinity for years, and the road’s name always seemed a bit odd to me.
Late last fall, just off Africa Road in Alum Creek State Park, the ODNR unveiled the first of four planned “Heritage of Freedom” trails in the state commemorating Ohio’s contribution to the Underground Railroad. “The Underground Railroad is a key part of Ohio’s history,” says Mary Mertz, director of ODNR. “This Heritage of Freedom Trail serves as a visual history lesson and provides an immersive way to see what freedom-seekers faced in Ohio’s natural environment during this time in history.”
During the first holiday season after the death of her husband, the noted local artist Jack Hubbard, in 1987, Pat Hubbard received a curious gift delivered to her Yellow Springs home: two sacks — one filled with flour, the other with sugar.
“Wheeling Gaunt was a person of faith and a very resilient man who did not let adversity beat him down; he used it as a motivation to achieve,” says Brenda Hubbard Ibarra, Jack and Pat’s daughter. Although she had been born and raised in Yellow Springs, Ibarra was unaware of Gaunt’s story until her mother started getting those gifts. Inspired, she immersed herself in researching that history, and in 2021, she self-published Legacy of Grace: Musings on the Life and Times of Wheeling Gaunt.
Ohio seems to have a bit of a thing with flags. It’s not just that our state flag is the only one out of the 50 that is not a rectangle (an interesting story in its own right).
You might have seen a service flag: a blue star (or stars) on a field of white, surrounded by a red border — hanging in the picture window of a seemingly random home in the neighborhood or in a shop window of a downtown building. But many folks might be unaware, or at least unsure, of its significance.
In the 19th century, Ohio held a crucial place in the national transportation system as Americans gradually gained access to wider and wider areas of the country.
As a result, busy inns and taverns sprouted all over, and quite a few of them are still in business today. These centuries-old establishments are rich in history — and in some cases, ghosts. Below, we have listed some of the more notable haunted watering holes in the state for anyone interested in dinner with the departed, or an overnight stay with the spirits.
19 E. Main St., Chillicothe
Dorothy Montgomery is old enough to remember when the men from “the REA” (in this case, Guernsey-Muskingum Electric Cooperative) started digging holes, by hand, to set electric poles along her country road after the creation of the Ru
Montgomery recalls the excitement that spread among her family and neighbors as more and more signed up to join the co-op to bring electricity to their homes and farms — which had previously been lit by oil lamps or “Aladdin lamps.”
There’s one detail in particular, however, that is still fresh in her mind to this day. “I remember the shock if you stuck your finger in the socket,” she says. She’d been told doing that would hurt — “and it did,” she confirms. “Oil lamps never shocked you.”
Sitting beside a small campfire, its woodsmoke scenting the cool air of a perfect autumn afternoon, I could almost see the scene as vividly as the man seated across from me described it.
The “my people” he speaks of — and traces his lineage to through one of his grandfathers, a full-blooded Native American — were a mixed-race group (modern-day anthropologists term it a “tri-racial isolate”) known as the Carmel Indians. They lived in Ohio’s Highland and Meigs counties until as recently as the early 1900s.
The Shawnees called it Spaylaywitheepi. When French traders and trappers arrived during the 18th century, they described it as the Iroquois had: La Belle Rivière — the beautiful river.
Seeing the Ohio today, it’s difficult to believe that, in its original state, the river was a naturally shallow stream, varying in depth from only about 3 to 20 feet. And during annual periods of low water, such as late summer and early fall, a person could literally walk across the Ohio River on the stream’s bottom at many spots. You’d certainly get wet, possibly up to your waist or so, but the feat could be accomplished.
In 1772, four years before the start of the revolution that wrested control of the colonies from Great Britain, the British king, George III, gave hundreds of acres of land in what was then the Colony of Virginia to an Englishman named Alexander Smiley, for the purpose of f
Smiley, with help from the eighth and ninth generations of Smiley farmers — his son, James, and two grandsons, John and Alexander — raises corn, soybeans, hay, and Charolais beef cattle on 100 acres of the original Smiley farm, plus additional farmland they either own or lease.
“The deed from King George was for at least 500 acres, but might have been for more than 1,000 acres,” John says. “We’re just not sure because parts of it were parceled off when people got married, and lots of the property records were destroyed in a courthouse fire.”
