Craig Springer

The glaciers also left a little prize that they picked up on the slow slog south: gold.

Yes, there is gold in Ohio. You can find it in perhaps most any stream that flows over glaciated Ohio, but the vast majority of the fine flecks of the yellow metal occur where the glaciers advanced their farthest and fell apart — melted — dropping what they had carried along.

This orange-and-black or red-and-black speck of an insect (which is technically a beetle rather than a bug) is the size of a pencil eraser, and it brings a welcomed utility to orchardists and farmers alike. Ladybugs, as cute and dainty as they may be, are voracious predators of other bugs, including some destructive ones that are too small for the human eye to see.

The nasally call of summer insects has begun to fade away, and the shiny wax coating of tree leaves is beginning to lose its luster. As summer turns toward fall, buckeye seeds come to rest on the forest floor, where they will sink into the soil and take root, as they’ve done since the Pleistocene winter of 10,000 years ago.

Coded in that inedible promise of a would-be tree lies all the information the seed needs in order to make a living in Ohio’s rich and varied soils — just add water and light.

Let’s look to the future: It’s mid-July and incredibly hot, just as it’s been every summer. On one of those 80-80 days — in the ballpark of 80 degrees accompanied by 80 percent humidity — the condensation pools on the table around the base of your glass of iced tea.

Conveniently, ice is but a few steps away. Open the freezer, twist a white rectangular tray, and cubes fall out; push a button on the door and crescent-shaped ice chips cascade into your glass.

Maps make for good reading. In the names of places, you’ll find some history, drama, romance, biography, and even some fiction — or at least some mistakes. All that and more lies within a map covering College Corner, Ohio. It’s a quaint place, an unassuming, long-established village with quirks that few towns anywhere could claim.

The notion seems so fanciful: A U.S. Navy ship sinks in Ohio, not in Lake Erie or the Ohio River, but over the Appalachian piedmont of Noble County. It was a rural, bucolic setting — a patchwork of woodlots and farm fields split by fence lines and hedgerows and narrow roads with curves that followed the contours of the hillsides.

And the sky! An ocean blue that seemed meant for sailing — this, after all, is not a maritime tale, but rather, an aviation story.

You descend from a long line of walkers. Walking was a way of life for virtually all of your ancestors. Other forms of conveyance, from bicycles to jet propulsion, are, in the scheme of things, quite new to us.

This primal form of getting from one place to another is an elixir: it burns some calories, improves your heart’s health — and takes the wrinkle out of your brow.

The year 1868 was one of turmoil and uncertainty in this country, when the very Union itself was in crisis. One man’s act of valor — not on a battlefield, but in a legislative body — may have been the deciding factor that held the nation together.

Edmund G. Ross cast the deciding vote in the staid United States Senate to acquit the impeached President Andrew Johnson in May of 1868. The vote earned him the widespread scorn at the time. But his act of conviction — ignoring both attempted bribery and physical threats — put him on the right side of history.

The headlines in late 1950 looked grim for our boys on the front lines in the Korean War — and for the Ohio-based Lustron Corporation.

Literally, side by side, you could read newspaper columns across the country about Marines and soldiers facing the coldest winter imaginable as they sought to liberate South Korea from the Communist aggressors, and about the Lustron Corporation facing ruin as it was pushed out of the burgeoning post-World War II housing market. Both made national news.

Ohio is one of only three states that does not recognize a state fish, but if ever our lawmakers should decide to name one, there’s but a short list of great candidates: the yellow perch, for example, or the Ohio Muskie. A particularly strong case, however, could be made for the smallmouth bass — the gamest fish that swims.