My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be

– From “My November Guest”, by Robert Frost

The wind blew coldly from the north and passed through the branches above, rattling them about and echoing through the forest like distant drums; a harbinger of winter, unseen but forever marching forward just over the horizon. I pulled my jacket collar around my neck and pondered how strange this autumn had been. The foliage was late this year. Planning for a crisp mid-October trip, I waited and watched for an extra three weeks until the leaves began to change in earnest. The wait, however, proved worthwhile as dreary November weather kept the I-77 traffic around the Akron-Canton area relatively uncongested, especially for a Saturday. Sometimes the gray and bitter November shows its own unique virtues.

Every hiker knows that there is a brief period of time toward the end of the warm season, before the first significant snowfall, where leaves die and the trees come to life in funerary hues of gold and red. My destination, Cuyahoga Valley National Park, boasts some of the best views of fall foliage in Ohio. As a national park, Cuyahoga Valley cannot be compared to the majesty of Yosemite and Yellowstone, the breadth of The Grand Canyon or the Martian otherness of The Badlands, but it is uniquely important in its own right – historically significant, naturally wondrous, and unequivocally Ohioan. The park was established in October of 2000 but the land itself can trace its relationship with human occupants back over 10,000 years. 

To early inhabitants, the Cuyahoga (meaning “crooked river”) was an anchor which provided drinking water, transportation and a reliable area for hunting and fishing. When the influx of European settlers crept westward into the land south and east of Lake Erie, they desperately wished to connect the Great Lakes with the Ohio River. Thus was born the groundwork for the Ohio & Erie Canal. The wish for such a canal first began to stir in the 1780s, not even ten years removed from the American Revolution. After nearly fifty years of planning and politicking, construction of the canal began in 1825. By 1832 the canal was completed, providing a trade route beginning near Chillicothe and ending at Lake Erie by way of the Cuyahoga Valley. The canal, and by extension the state of Ohio, prospered between 1832 and approximately 1860. Unfortunately, industrialism is a rapidly-growing beast and by the 1870s the economic strain of the American Civil War and the ever-increasing usage of railroads left the canal unable to support itself on trade alone. By 1913, 81 years after completion, transport along the Ohio & Erie Canal ended for good, leaving the rapidly deteriorating system an industrial relic. 

The Cuyahoga Valley itself began to move from industry to conservation in the 1870s as the lush area allowed an escape from the ever-increasingly hustle and bustle of both Cleveland and Akron. By the early-mid 20th century, areas in and around Cuyahoga Valley became designated as part of the Cleveland Metroparks initiative. Unfortunately, the designation of parkland does not always equate to conservation, as by the 1960s the Cuyahoga River was one of the most polluted in the country with no less than thirteen fires being reported occurring on the river, the most destructive of which occurring in 1952. By 1969, after another burning of the river and increased national scrutiny, the United States Government under Richard Nixon created The Environmental Protection Agency and passed The Clean Water Act, curbing pollution and lessening the impact of industry across the entire country. The Cuyahoga River recovered over the next several decades and is substantially cleaner now than it was before. 

The Cuyahoga Valley National park was established in October of 2000 and hosts over two million visitors every year. The park features the Ohio & Erie Towpath Trail, which is a 21-mile path that traverses the length of the park, following the route of the old Ohio & Erie Canal. This path crisscrosses other trails, including the state-spanning Buckeye Trail. The trail can be hiked, biked, or, for those wanting a more luxurious tour of the park, toured via train. There are many natural attractions around the park, including Brandywine Falls, the second tallest waterfall in the state. For bird watchers and wildlife enthusiasts, the park is home to a wide variety of animals including beaver, fox, coyote, heron, peregrine falcons, and many others. For those who aren’t as into the outdoors, the area around the park houses shops, restaurants, and the Blossom Music Center and its many concerts and festivals. 

Cuyahoga Valley National Park has a history as colorful as its foliage and is one of the most beautiful and ecologically diverse parks in the entire state of Ohio, rivaling even the prehistoric beauty of Hocking Hills. I found the park impressive, even in the cold and muddy November, and I recommend it no matter the season. The US National Park System is top notch and Cuyahoga Valley is no exception. So the next time you find yourself heading up I-77 toward Cleveland, do yourself a favor and take a detour north of Akron. You’ll be glad you did. 

The post The Colors of Cuyahoga Valley appeared first on Clutch MOV.

Most sources place the genesis of the American oil industry in Titusville, PA in 1859 when Edwin L Drake, a New York businessman, successfully used a drilling rig to strike oil. The Drake Well was not the first oil-producing well in America; however, it did unleash a deluge of industry across Pennsylvania and into the Appalachian Mountains which would culminate in a multi-decade oil boom that would help shape the American economy and grow one of the world’s largest industries into what it is today. 

In the July of 1860, a year after Edwin Drake struck black gold in the Quaker State, the town of Burning Springs, WV whose salt and petroleum wells were already well established, became the epicenter of the Appalachian boom when landowner and businessman Cass Rathbone struck oil. Rathbone’s discovery birthed a migration of workers and industrialists from across the nation seeking their fortunes in the fields which grew Burning Springs into a bustling center of industry until the spring of 1863, when Confederate forces led by General William Jones raided the town, setting fire to the fields. The conflagration was enormous, setting the Little Kanawha River ablaze and burning ,by some estimates, around 150,000 barrels of oil. 

The Burning Springs raid was a significant blow to the United States and served in some ways as Virginia’s final parting shot to West Virginia which, through a proclamation by President Abraham Lincoln, joined the United States of America as a sovereign state on June 20, 1863, after two years of delegation. The raid did not, however, totally kill production in Burning Springs, WV, as more wells and oil towns sprang up across the region over the next few years. 

One such town was called Volcano. 

Volcano, WV sprung up in the mid-1800s and, in a similar fashion to Burning Springs, exploded onto the national stage as an oil and natural gas producer in the 1860s, enjoying a large and lucrative growth between 1864 and 1879. The wells were numerous and facilitated the hemorrhage of oil which burned from the towers like great mechanical candles, gas flares lighting the night skies like magmatic ejections from a volcanic fissure – giving the town its unusual name.

As workers and wealth descended upon the town so too descended investors and entrepreneurs. Needing to move product and people, workers erected The Laurel Fork and Sandhill railroad, a connector to the famed Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, between 1866 and 1869. This railway – the first of its gauge in West Virginia –  was a game changer, bringing in more workers and facilitating expansion, growing the town’s population to somewhere between 8,000 and 10,000. As workers moved in, businesses began springing up around the fields. Oil and liquor flowed freely with some quipping that saloons outnumbered grocery stores in Volcano. 

Volcano proved a lucrative venture but with all industrial ventures, it had its risks. A fire erupted on August 4, 1879, and quickly burned through most of the town, igniting oil barrels and letting loose the burning oil which, according to a New York Times article from 1879, “ran through the streets, setting fire to everything on either side.” The town was reduced to ashes. Volcano would eventually rise from the soot and return to production, however, the damage was irreversible. The once thriving boomtown would never again return to the heights it enjoyed before tragedy struck and closed production for good in the 1970s, over a century after it rose to prominence. 

Today the memory of Volcano lives on at Mountwood Park in Waverly, WV where the area’s rich oil and gas history is celebrated every September at the Volcano Days Antique Engine Show & Festival. Thousands of visitors attend Volcano Days each year to learn about Volcano and our region’s rich oil & gas history. This three-day event features engine displays, live music, and vendors, as well as tractor rides up to the Stiles Mansion, which once overlooked the town.

Those interested in a more detailed history of the area’s oil and gas history can visit The Oil & Gas Museum in downtown Parkersburg, WV. 

The post Fire on the Mountain: The Rise and Fall of Volcano, WV appeared first on Clutch MOV.

November 2nd, 1966. It is a commute driven a thousand times before. Woody Derenberger, a Mineral Wells resident and local salesman, heads southbound on I-77 from Marietta after a long day of work. It is roughly 7:30 pm. Evening comes early with the autumn winds and that night’s darkness is no exception. Headlights ablaze, his panel truck journeys onward toward the Staunton Avenue exit. Other cars, their lights shining through the murky dark, pass. One such vehicle passes with yet another behind it following closely at a distance of maybe 25 feet. This vehicle veers in front of the truck and slows, forcing Woody to slow as well. Woody first notices through his headlights that the vehicle has no wheels, but rather appears to be hovering over a foot off of the ground. He then notices the vehicle’s peculiar shape and length. It is roughly 30 feet long and is shaped like a stovetop pipe. A door opens, and out into the headlights walks a man, well-dressed and smiling. Woody describes him as looking very tan, with slicked-back hair and wearing a button-down shirt and trousers which, despite having a metallic sheen, more or less match the fashion of the day. The man proceeds to ask Woody a series of questions, some about the area, some more personal. Midway through the conversation, Woody realizes that the man is not speaking but is rather pressing the conversation telepathically. Realizing Woody’s apprehension, the man tells him to not be afraid. When asked about his name and origin, the man speaks plainly.

“I am called ‘Cold’.”

Mr. Derenberger will make local news the next day. Fifty-two years later, many will try to make sense his story and the interwoven thread of terror that would grip the Ohio Valley for the next year.

November 10, 1966. One week has passed since the Derenberger story aired on WTAP News in Parkersburg. The days are growing colder and shorter still. In a cemetery outside of Clendenin, WV, five men are at work, laboring one of the great, ancient professions. Gravediggers, by their very nature, are not the type to be easily spooked or prone to fantasy, but on that November day, these men would note something birdlike, brown and disturbingly human flying amidst the treeline, passing over and away. Five days later, a small riverside town nearly 100 miles away would descend into chaos and conspiracy in the shadow of events that echo to this day.

November 15, 1966. Salem, WV resident Merle Partridge (referenced as “Newell” Partridge in some sources) is watching television at home. It is a little after 10pm on a Tuesday. Merle’s television emits an awful hum, growing louder and louder until the screen blackens. Bandit, his full-blooded German Shepherd, is restless. The dog grows more and more agitated, pacing Merle’s front porch, focused on the far end of the property. Merle, concerned by Bandit’s erratic behavior, grabs his shotgun and walks out onto the porch. He scans the property. It is quiet, the Appalachian night bathing in a kind of darkness one only experiences in lonely places. There is nothing, despite Bandit’s growls. Nothing. A pair of lights apparate, red and circular against the shadow. They circle over and over. Bandit charges, disappearing. Barking and barking, Bandit runs deep into the fields until he is no longer barking. The silence sets in again. Merle cannot pursue for he is frozen by extreme fear like that of prey in the eyes of its predator. Despite being armed, Merle Partridge cannot bring himself to leave the porch. He never again sees his beloved Bandit.

“…about six or seven feet tall, having a wingspan of 10 feet and red eyes about two inches in diameter and six inches apart.”

That same night, 90 miles away in Point Pleasant, WV, two local couples, Mr. and Mrs. Scallete and Mr. and Mrs. Scarberry, are driving through the McClintic Wildlife Management Area (known locally as the “TNT Area”). Twenty years prior this backcountry produced and stored ammunition. The abandoned munitions plant sits decaying in the hollow, the wilderness creeping in. It will be demolished many years later. It is near 11:30 pm, one hour after Merle Partridge faced down an unseen terror. According to the 1966 newspaper report by Mary Hyre, local correspondent for The Athens Messenger and somebody who will become wedded to Mothman lore, the couples describe witnessing a creature “..about six or seven feet tall, having a wingspan of 10 feet and red eyes about two inches in diameter and six inches apart.” The couples flee back to Point Pleasant, speeding down backroads. The creature keeps up with them, matching speeds up to 100 miles per hour. On the way back into town, Roger Scarberry notices the corpse of a large dog along the side of the road. Once in town, the youths rush to the sheriff’s office, reporting the incident to Deputy Millard Halstead. Other reports from across the area soon start flooding in. The sheriff’s investigation turns up no evidence of any creature. The body of the dog seen earlier in the evening is nowhere to be found.

Once Ms. Hyre publishes her brief story about that evening’s strange occurrence, a localized Pandora’s Box of extraterrestrial and paranormal activity opens. Between November of 1966 and December of 1967, over 100 reports regarding sightings of the creature and of UFO phenomena floods police stations and news outlets across the area. More witnesses see the creature, specifically, its red and reflective eyes, in and around the TNT area. Orange and red lights are observed in the skies. Many witnesses who come in contact with the creature report red and swelling eyes, diagnosed by local doctors as actinic conjunctivitis – a kind of eye inflammation caused by long exposure to ultraviolet light.

The story explodes, reaching notoriety across the region and across the country, drawing the curiosity of many, including paranormal writer John Keel. Keel, whose research into UFOs had gained him some notoriety prior to the events in Point Pleasant, would become central to the lore, with his 1975 account, The Mothman Prophecies, becoming a national bestseller and primary inspiration for the 2002 movie of the same name.

Sightings continue over the course of the next year. By now reports of UFOs and monsters are evolving, with accounts of demonic entities, poltergeist activity, and strange men in black suits entering the mix. Ms. Hyre and John Keel both report in The Mothman Prophecies encounters with these “Men in Black” (and yes, to be clear, the Men in Black phenomenon is what inspired the movie franchise of the same name). These men are described by Keel and Hyre as tall, unnaturally pale, and devoid of hair with unnatural speech patterns and awkward social graces. Furthermore, their dress is described as unusual for 1960s West Virginia. Hyre describes these men as dressed in black suits and matching hats, looking more at home in a 1950s jazz hall (or perhaps a mid-90s ska punk concert). These odd visitors would follow Keel, if one believes his book, throughout The Mothman sightings and into the years after, attempting to dissuade him from pursuing his reporting on UFOs and related events.

A year passes. The Christmas season is in full swing as 1967 draws to a close. The residents of Point Pleasant are going on about their lives with the last year’s weirdness fading into the past like a fever dream. John Keel, however, finds no rest. Like a swimmer caught in a rip current, John is consumed by The Mothman. In his book, Keel describes mental torment at the hands of an omniscient entity that watches him, taunting him with vague messages and prophecies. The entity gives a cryptic warning: A disaster is coming. And it is coming soon. Keel describes his frantic attempt to decode the message. He believes something will happen at one of the local plants, perhaps a spill or an industrial accident. The coming disaster does not meet John Keel’s fear, it eclipses it.

The Silver Bridge collapsed in 1967, killing 46 in one of the deadliest bridge collapses in American history

December 15, 1967. It is rush hour. Commuters are traveling on the Silver Bridge that traverses the Ohio River between the towns of Point Pleasant, WV and Gallipolis, OH. It is a cold night. Deep in the workings of the bridge, a single eye-bar with a mechanical defect nearly impossible to detect begins to crack. This failure sets off a reaction, creating a domino effect until the bridge, compromised by its failing mechanics and the weight of the traffic above, falls into the river. 46 perish in the black water. Only 44 bodies are recovered. It is, at the time, the worst tragedy of its kind in America. As the region mourns and grapples with making sense of what has happened, whispers of conspiracy abound. Keel writes of locals witnessing strange men under the bridge in the days leading to the collapse. Others report having seen a large flying creature prior to the tragedy. These reports are unsubstantiated and anecdotal, much like the dozens of stories that came before. Officially, the tragedy is declared a result of faulty engineering and improper maintenance.

Pieces of the original Silver Bridge on display at The Mothman Museum

Paranormal activity dissipates rapidly in the months following the collapse. All eventually becomes quiet. The witnesses go about their lives with the memories of the experience fresh in their heads. John Keel makes a career as a writer, churning out several books on ufology and pseudoscience. Decades pass and a memorial bridge is constructed, but Point Pleasant is never the same.

It should be noted that some view Point Pleasant as a town which was never meant for normalcy. Perhaps the sleepy West Virginia town is itself the stuff of legend. Let us look into this a bit more deeply.

(Author’s note: The Battle of Point Pleasant is a story itself deserving of a full article and analysis, not simply as a footnote in an article about UFOs and cryptozoology. Expect a more methodically researched and better-written piece on the subject at some point.)

Point Pleasant was the battleground for the bloodiest encounter of Lord Dunmore’s War, a British expedition into Shawnee and Mingo territory during the autumn of 1774, approximately four months before the first shots of the American Revolution. John Murray, 4th Earl of Dunmore was royal governor of Virginia up until the colonial rejection of British rule. In the years leading to The American Revolution, Great Britain acquired territory from France during The Seven Years’ War, specifically its North American theater, known to history as The French and Indian War. After the acquisition of lands in what is now West Virginia and eastern Kentucky, British settlers came against Native Americans who had populated the region for centuries prior. In 1768, the British signed The Treaty of Fort Stanwix with the Iroquois Confederacy, which ceded Native American lands south of the Ohio River to the settlers. The Shawnee and Mingo tribes who inhabited this territory, however, were not signatories to the treaty and opposed the deal. In October of 1774, a Virginian expeditionary force made their way through the newly acquired territory. Their objective was to meet with another expeditionary force moving west from Pennsylvania and cull any resistance put up by the indigenous population. While camped at the confluence of the Ohio and Kanawha rivers in what is modern day Point Pleasant, the Virginians were met by a force of Shawnee and Mingo warriors led by Hokolesqua, or as he is known in most history books, ‘Chief Cornstalk’. The battle was violent and intense, deteriorating into hand-to-hand combat at times. The Virginians eventually win the day, forcing back Hokolesqua’s force. The Shawnee and Mingo would eventually make peace with the invaders, Hokolesqua himself becoming something of a diplomat between the two cultures.

Chief Cornstalk’s grave site with memorial to the Battle of Point Pleasant in the background

Three years later, in the autumn of 1777, Hokolesqua makes a diplomatic visit to Fort Randolph in Point Pleasant where he is captured and held hostage at the volition of Commander Matthew Arbuckle. One month later, after reports reach Fort Randolph indicating that a white settler had been killed by a Shawnee, Hokolesqua is murdered by soldiers at the fort along with his son and two other Shawnee captives. Legends since have stated that Hokolesqua placed a curse upon the land with his dying breath, which some attribute to The Mothman sightings and subsequent collapse of Silver Bridge; however, no reliable proof of such a curse or utterance exists and it is assumed that the legend of Cornstalk’s Curse is nothing more than embellishment predicated upon the racial stereotype of the “Indian Curse” prevalent in the American horror tradition (E.g. Stephen King’s Pet Semetary and countless traditional ghost stories).

Regardless of facts, and believe me when I say that facts are hard to pin down in this case, The Mothman and the events surrounding its appearance have made their impact. A bestselling novel, several documentaries, and a Hollywood movie later, the Winged One has grown from a lurking terror to a loveable mascot, and Point Pleasant has embraced that history. Whether you visit Mothman Museum located downtown and its gift shop complete with every accessory a Mothman enthusiast could want (You’ve gotta try the Mothman Rootbeer, it’s fantastic), check out the annual Mothman Festival held in September or just get your selfie taken with the big guy himself at the one-of-a-kind Mothman Statue adjacent to the museum, it’s clear that when it comes to paranormal must-sees, Point Pleasant more than earns its spot.

It is tough to say what, if anything, happened in Point Pleasant between 1966 and 1967 outside of the Silver Bridge collapse. John Keel is a polarizing figure, both celebrated as a ufology trailblazer and castigated as a snake oil salesmen capitalizing on tragedy to sell a book. If you go to Point Pleasant, go for the history and for the people as it is truly one of the Ohio River’s crowned jewels. But if you find yourself out a desolate Appalachian road late on an autumn night…

Keep your eyes on the road and not to the skies,

Lest you catch the gaze of the thing with red eyes...

The post Wild, Wonderful and Weird: The Mothman appeared first on Clutch MOV.

With virtually pitch-perfect musicianship and an ever-growing online following, Brock Davisson has grown from small-town musician to what one could legitimately consider a guitar hero in certain internet circles. “Brockstar”, as some have dubbed him (and he sometimes half-jokingly refers to himself), enjoys the ability to showcase his passion via social media, stating: “I personally love doing this more than sitting in a bar and playing. My music and videos get passed around all over the world, in places that wouldn’t know who I was if I was just staying in a bar band.”

And passed around his work has been – his Facebook video “Did You Miss the Blues?” has accumulated around 3.2 million views and his dozens upon dozens of other videos regularly reach tens of thousands of views and hundreds of reactions. He has been featured in several online competitions and promotions including the Randy Bachman Vintage Guitar Magazine competition, which he won in 2016. He is also a three-time winner of the Annual C.A. House Guitar Competition in Parkersburg, WV. Brock’s crowning achievement, though, is the release of his first full-length album in 2015, “Outtakes From the Soul.”“My main and biggest accomplishment,” Brock says, “Is getting my 2015 CD done and out there. It even hit #15 for a week on the blues billboard chart. Doing that with only 300 CD’s out there, no touring, no music videos, no signed record deal, etc. – That’s not easy to do. None of it would have happened though if it wasn’t for Andy and Courtney Holbrook from Skylight Media. They did a short documentary on me in 2014 and that lead to people wanting me to do an album and that lead to a funding campaign and releasing the album, etc. So any accomplishments that happen here on after is because of them because they really pushed me over the edge to where I am now. I was doing crappy videos and some people here and there knew who I was, but things got bigger and bigger since 2014 when they did the documentary on me!”

I’m a sucker for guitar instrumental more than anything because it is what speaks to me, so musicians like Joe Satriani and Steve Vai are big influences.

A guitarist’s guitarist, Brock’s glassy tone and smooth blues chops alone are enough to match many of the all-time greats, Clapton and Vaughan included, but one would be sorely mistaken to reduce him to a typical bluesman. Brock’s style is varied, and although he has a great affinity for the blues, his style encompasses a wide array of genres.“I started out with Nirvana of course,” Brock states, “And then I got into bands like Metallica and Megadeth, but then I found myself branching off into blues like BB King, Stevie Ray Vaughan, etc. Today, I’m pretty wide open. I’m a sucker for guitar instrumental more than anything because it is what speaks to me, so musicians like Joe Satriani and Steve Vai are big influences. I don’t have many newer influences except like Nick Johnston and maybe a few others. But again, I’m wide open on genres. I like a bit of everything. Also, you know movies and life and people become influences as well as memories – so you write about them or think about them when playing, etc.”

(As an interviewer’s aside, anybody who likes Satriani is a-okay with me.)One thing that sets Brock aside from most guitarists, is his unique style of fretwork. Unable to use the guitar neck in the same way as most musicians due to physical limitations, Brock developed his own way of attacking the instrument.

I never really thought of it differently until later when I noticed more people play the normal way.

“When we first got the guitar and amp I would see my brother play the guitar in the “normal” position and I couldn’t do it because of limited mobility in my wrists and joints, so I just did what I thought was normal for me and put it [the fretting hand] over the top and it worked well for me. I never really thought of it differently until later when I noticed more people play the normal way. Also, no I didn’t copy Jeff Healey, as I didn’t even know who he was until years later.” Brock states.

(Jeff Healey, for the uninitiated, was a guitarist well known for playing in the overhand style and was quite popular both in his native Canada and among blues fans. He passed away in 2008.)

Currently, Brock is working toward what will be his 2nd studio album, which he hopes will show a more diverse side to his repertoire.“I want it to go a different direction.” He says, “Sure, there will still be blues playing on it, but also other styles. This time I’m going for diversity, showcasing that I’m more than just blues. I want to show some jazz, some instrumental shred, and some other stuff. I personally don’t like being lumped into one genre or category.”

He is currently waging a IndieGoGo campaign to cover production costs associated with the album. You can provide support for the album here. Brock’s 2015 album, “Outtakes from the Soul” can be downloaded on iTunes, Amazon, google music, and most places digital albums are sold. Vinyl copies of the album can be purchased here.

Photography by Skylight Media

The post The Brockstar appeared first on Clutch MOV.

If walls could talk.

It’s a bit of a cliche, isn’t it? The phrase itself is a universal colloquialism – it doesn’t matter which cultural or generational background a person comes from, everybody understands the idea that structures, much like humans, bear witness to history. Take for example the Great Pyramid of Giza; the structure, though now a national tourist attraction set along the backdrop of Cairo’s urban and distinctly 21st-century sprawl, beheld the rise and fall of rulers and the scrolling of countless stories – many of which are now lost to the time’s ever-forward march.

Every town has its Pyramid of Giza. From cities to rural villages, the structures we pass by daily as we go about our lives imprint stories from past and present. We often take these buildings for granted, which is unfortunate, because as one begins to dig into the past, one finds that the walls of these structures, much like the painted interior of an old house, reveal the colors of yesteryear with each layer that is stripped away.

The Mid-Ohio Valley, if we wish to continue the paint analogy, is a mural. The buildings that constitute the River Cities rise from the muddy banks of the Ohio River and each has a thousand novels etched into its walls, many of which, much like the forgotten stories of Ancient Egypt, are lost. The stories that have survived, however, provide an important connection to our roots.

Today I’d like to discuss the Levee House property, located along Marietta’s riverfront. The building, known to most for the popular restaurant which occupied its lower hall over the past thirty-odd years, has housed a multitude of tenants and businesses over its colorful 192 year past. It has also seen its share of gatherings, banquets and, in the case of one late 19th-century incident, an ax murder. We’ll talk about that last part a little later.

The building itself is comprised of two separate constructions. The original three-story building was erected in 1826. The lower wing where the Levee House restaurant operated was constructed in 1920. The original building was designed by Colonel Joseph Barker, a prominent early settler. Colonel Barker earned military recognition in the Northwest Indian War and was instrumental to the region’s development. A master carpenter, Colonel Barker is credited for designing several area buildings, many of which are no longer standing. His original 1811 home and the home of his son, Judge Joseph Barker, stand to this day and are included on the National Register of Historic Places. As an interesting aside, Barker was also a gifted shipwright and provided some of the ships that would be staged at Blennerhassett Island as part of a maligned expedition later known as “The Burr Conspiracy”.

Shortly after the construction of the Levee House property, early Marietta resident Dudley Woodbridge Jr. moved in and established himself as the first dry goods merchant in the Northwest Territory.

Let’s linger a bit on the importance of that last statement. The city of Marietta was established in 1788 and was itself the first permanent settlement in the Northwest Territory. The Levee House building was designed and erected in 1826 – 38 years after Marietta came to be. Early 1800s Appalachia was virgin frontier for the first New Englanders who made the western journey across Pennsylvania from the former colonies. The infrastructure that had existed for the past hundred or more years between Philadelphia, Boston and New York did not exist in the Northwest Territory. It was a frontier in the truest sense of the word. The presence of a dry goods supplier at the time would signify the forward progress of the young city.

At some point in the late 1800s, the three-story building would serve as a boarding house for a time under the care of a Madame Nora Descott. By most accounts, the area of Ohio Street near the property was substantially rougher than other parts of the town and the building garnered a reputation as a den of ill repute. It is widely believed that several ladies used the upper rooms for their, uhm, well…let’s say “entrepreneurial endeavors”.

Braddock Liquor, Shared by Harley Noland

Remember that ax murder we discussed earlier? Well, this article is about to get a good bit messier. Squeamish eyes, be forewarned. There are a few different version of the story, but most tellings go something about like this:

The patriarch of a well-to-do family is visiting one of his favorite girls in an upper room. He has made these visits a habit and in pursuing his chosen vice has drawn the ire of his teenaged son. The young man, blinded by shame and fury, follows his father to the building, ax in hand. The boy stalks the stairwell, one dreaded footfall at a time. He finds his father in bed with a woman who is not the man’s wife and with a wide arc, the boy brings down the ax, severing his father’s head. His father’s mistress, covered in her client’s gore, rushes screaming down the stairs and out onto the streets. An arrest is made, a trial is held, and by the virtue of 19th-century justice, the boy is acquitted on the grounds of having committed a “crime of passion” while defending his family’s honor.

The years following the incident saw the addition of the previously mentioned lower dining hall where Braddock Liquor once operated (you can still see the ghostly remains of 20th-century advertising faded against the outer brick walls). In 1977, Harley Noland purchased the building and opened The Levee House Cafe. The restaurant operated for over 30 years as a staple of the local economy before closing its doors earlier this year. The Levee House currently sits vacant, but will undoubtedly serve new tenants in the future.

It is important to remember the past, to tell the stories that need to be told. This is true of all things that exist, including buildings. Architecture carries both the vision of the architect and the collective wants, needs, and fears of the tenants who live inside its geometry. The Levee House property is not Marietta’s only important structure, far from it; however, it is – to return to the earlier metaphor – one of Marietta’s Pyramids of Giza. And just like those grand, ancient structures, it too deserves reverence and protection.

The post Memory and Masonry: A History of the Levee House appeared first on Clutch MOV.

Stories of “close encounters”, that is to say, contact between humanity and something not of this earth, have become major cultural touchstones of modern society. Our collective imagination has, since before the time of mass communication, envisioned visitors from the stars descending upon chariots of fire and bringing with them alien technologies. Sometimes these imagined visitors come as peaceful apostles bearing gifts of enlightenment. Other times they come as conquerors and destroyers who enslave and exterminate with Roman efficiency.

Hollywood loves these tropes. Since the dawn of cinema, science fiction classics like “The Day the Earth Stood Still” (1951), “E.T.” (1982) and “Independence Day” (1996), have basked in the pop culture love affair we have with the concept of extraterrestrial life. When you think about it, our affection for the otherworldly makes all the sense in the world – we are curious creatures adrift in an average galaxy, circling a nondescript star on, as influential astronomer Carl Sagan put it, “a pale blue dot.” Ours is a lonely existence, and we want to know how alone we really are.

It is with this understanding that I wish to tell the tale of a very strange incident that occurred not far from the Mid-Ohio Valley on a cool September evening in 1952, in the town of Flatwoods, West Virginia.It’s a quarter after 7pm on the 12th of September. Brothers Edward and Fred May and their friend Tommy Hyer are enjoying the pre-autumn air at the school playground. Shortly thereafter, the youths spot a bright object arc across the darkening sky, slamming down over a nearby hill. The boys, excited by what they have just observed, rush to the May household where they relay the incident to Mrs. Kathleen May. The boys convince her to accompany them to the property where the fireball had descended. Along the way, the quartet is joined by neighborhood boys Neil Nunley and Ronnie Shaver, along with 17-year-old national guardsmen, Gene Lemon.

The woods of Appalachia run deep and are dense.

The events that occur after the group enters the woods vary by interpretation and we’ll discuss that here in a moment. I want to take a second to set this stage, just for the sake of perception. I don’t know if you have ever spent any time a West Virginia forest, but if you haven’t, know this – the woods of Appalachia run deep and are dense. They can be disorienting in broad daylight and downright eerie at night. Now, imagine that you and a group of your friends who are aged between ten and seventeen are walking through the forest at night, armed with flashlights. There is one adult with you, but you are otherwise on your own. You have seen something that you cannot explain crash into the woods and you are unsure of what you will find once you reach the crash site. There is an innate anxiety there, no matter how stout your heart may be, and suddenly every sense is magnified. You are aware of every footstep, every whippoorwill’s call. You sense every shadow, every breath. The mind, in situations like these, rests in a liminal space between logic and instinct, floating between what is real, and might be real.

This state of being is what horror movies are predicated on. With that understood, let’s return to our story.

The group treks through the woods and eventually reaches the area where the boys had witnessed the bright object fall and are immediately overwhelmed by a foul, metallic odor that radiates from a strange mist that has settled along the ground. The group notes a pulsating red light through the trees. Gene Lemon, the young national guardsmen, notices a pair of eyes, not unlike that of a nocturnal animal, watching the group from what appears to be a branch on a nearby tree. He shines light upon the figure, revealing an unearthly terror standing nearly ten feet tall with a spade-like face and claws outstretched in front of it. The beast hisses and glides toward the terrified party. The group flees at the sight of it and later reports the sighting to authorities. Their stories are corroborated and reports are filed. The testimony from the witnesses will later fall under the cross-examination of ufologists, cryptozoologists, hobbyist believers, and skeptics around the world over the course of several decades.

Original drawing of the Flatwoods Monster done in 1952

On the surface, there is a lot of compelling – if subjective – evidence that one could use to build a case for a close encounter in Flatwoods, WV. The UFO, the strange lights, the metallic-smelling mist, the creature itself – all of this comes together to create a fantastic story. The skeptics, however, chalk up the events that occurred in this small West Virginia town to coincidence and, as we discussed earlier, human imagination.

Take the UFO for example. The boys describe a “fireball” blazing across the sky. A crashing alien ship, perhaps? Well, maybe not. On September 12, 1952, the bright, blazing light was witnessed by a large number of people across Maryland, Pennsylvania and West Virginia. Most observers surmised that it was a meteor – an impressive sight, but certainly not an indicator of a Martian visitor. The pulsing red lights described by the eyewitnesses are largely dismissed as airplane lights or perhaps an optical illusion attributed to the overall stress of the situation. The metallic-smelling mist might sound compelling as anecdotal evidence, but according to investigators who looked into the incident, nausea felt by the witnesses at the time was likely psychosomatic and the mist itself was likely fog settling in over the forest. As for the monster itself, most skeptics point to the same perpetrator – the common barn owl. The creature is described as having a spadelike face, outstretched claws, and raspy hiss, all characteristics of a barn owl. The creature’s size can be attributed to the height at which the owl would have been perched before the flashlight’s beam spooked it, causing it to “glide” toward the group. So while the Flatwoods Monster is a great moniker for a creature that will become embedded into the pantheon of West Virginian mythology, it is more likely that the residents of Flatwoods did not have contact with an otherworldly entity but rather a very perturbed nocturnal bird.Despite a myriad of banal explanations regarding the incident, skeptics have not kept the tale from becoming a centerpiece of Appalachian folklore, and nowhere is that more evident than in Braxton County, WV. The town of Sutton, WV houses a museum dedicated to the creature and all throughout the county, one can find oversized decorative chairs dedicated to Braxxie, an endearing nickname for the monster. If you’re adventurous enough to track down all five chairs and have your picture taken at the locations, you can earn a special sticker showing your dedication to preserving local lore (yours truly might just have to do that before the summer is out). If all that isn’t enough, Flatwoods is home to a restaurant and dairy bar close to where everything went down all those years ago.So there you have it – the harrowing tale of the Flatwoods Incident, one of the many unique stories that enriches the Appalachian experience. The events that took place on that September night in 1952 have become part of West Virginia’s history and is something that will not be found anywhere else. Real or imagined, the Beast of Braxton County has left its mark.

I love folklore. It is, in my opinion, one of the purest form of storytelling: fantastic events, real or imagined, passed down through generations where truth and tall-telling blend into something greater than the sum of its parts. You will find these kinds of tales wedded to civilizations throughout all points in human history. It is one of those things that makes us, well, us.I hope you have enjoyed sharing in this tale with me and I hope that you’ll join me over the next few installments of this series, looking at the folklore that makes our neck of the woods special.

As for the existence of extraterrestrial life, who knows?

The truth is out there.

Thanks to Andrew Smith and the Braxton County CVB for sharing their photos!

The post Wild, Wonderful and Weird: The Flatwoods Incident appeared first on Clutch MOV.

Like mournful echo from the silent tomb

That pines away upon the midnight air,

Whilst the pale moon breaks out with fitful gloom,

Fond memory turns, with sad but welcome care

To scenes of desolation and despair,

Once bright with all that beauty could bestow,

That peace could shed, or youthful fancy know

– Excerpt from “The Desert Isle”, by Margaret Blennerhassett

When Margaret Blennerhassett penned the words of the titular poem from her 1822 collection, The Desert Isle, she unleashed the mourning cry of a family scorned, her words forlorn and and smoldering like the ashes of her family’s Palladian mansion built upon a sprawling island in the middle of the Ohio River Valley, abandoned in 1806 and burned to its foundation only a few years later. Her poem, sixteen stanzas in length, haunts its pages with desolate imagery and provides a first-hand chronicle of a period of American history rife with conspiracy and sedition. The history of the Blennerhassett family is Shakespearean in its details, an appalachian Macbeth whose players included some of America’s founding fathers.

Margaret settled the area that would later become the Blennerhassett Island State Historical Park with her husband and uncle, Harman Blennerhassett, in 1798 after emigrating Ireland to escape political and personal upheaval. They completed the island’s landmark mansion in 1800. In 1805, they hosted Vice-President Aaron Burr (famous for, among other things, dueling Alexander Hamilton to the death in 1804) who, after unsuccessfully petitioning the British for guns and money for what he claimed was an expedition into Spanish-controlled America to settle land leased to him by Spain in the Texas Territory, appealed to the Blennerhassett family for support. Harman Blennerhassett cooperated, offering financial support to Burr along with the use of the island. In 1806 the United States Government, suspicious of Burr’s intentions, dispatched local militia to seize the island. Margaret, Harman, and their children were forced to flee. Burr was captured and charged with treason after word reached President Thomas Jefferson that Burr had conspired to form a separatist government in Spanish territory. Harman initially fled authorities, but was later arrested and imprisoned on charges of conspiracy.

Rows of Black Walnut shade the grounds on the Island.

Following one of the most controversial trials in American history, Burr and his alleged cabal  were acquitted from charges as prosecution could not produce enough evidence find to Burr culpable. The Blennerhassett family was financially devastated. After a failed venture owning a cotton plantation in Mississippi, the family moved to Montreal and later back to Europe where Harman Blennerhassett died in 1831. In 1842, an elderly Margaret Blennerhassett returned to America where she petitioned Congress for restitution following the destruction of her family’s mansion thirty years prior. Congress approved her appeal later that year, but Margaret died in New York before restitution could be paid. On the 16th day of June in 1842, Margaret Blennerhassett, matriarch of one of the most notorious aristocratic families of the 19th century and one of West Virginia’s first recognized poets, passed from this world penniless, destined to reside in the footnotes of American History textbooks.

Blennerhassett Mansion

The tale of the Blennerhassett family, were we to leave it where it stands, rivals even the most cathartic of Grecian tragedies. The island itself, however, has met with a happier fate. Prolific writers such as Nathaniel Hawthorne and Walt Whitman have written about the island. In 1972, the island made it onto the National Register of Historic Places. In the 1980s, historians and architects resurrected the mansion, building an exact replica of the Blennerhassett’s original home. Since then, The Blennerhassett Island Historical Park has welcomed droves of visitors to its inviting shore where tourists can journey two centuries into the past, enjoying strolls upon the mansion’s grounds beneath the canopy of black walnut trees, guided tours of the grounds via horse-drawn wagon, or hikes along nature trails that vein across the island where visitors have spied deer, raccoon, coyote, and various species of waterfowl along with a multitude of local flora. If nature and history aren’t your thing (and if they’re not, then I doubt you’ve made it this far through the article anyway), the Blennerhassett Island Historical Park hosts a plethora of events and activities perfect for explorers of all ages throughout its May-October season. Trust me when I say that the island is worth the $10 ferry ride.

The Island Belle

Horse drawn wagon tours are available on the island

If you’re already planning a trip to the island, I suggest arriving early and touring the Blennerhassett Museum located on Second and Juliana Streets in Parkersburg, West Virginia (you can purchase tickets for the ferry ride at the museum without touring it, but I highly recommend taking the time to look through the exhibits). Here you will find relics from the area’s rich history including recovered portraits, artwork, firearms dating back to the 19th century along with flint arrowheads and artifacts from indigenous tribes that settled the island long before Europeans were aware the new world existed. After returning to the mainland, consider stopping by Point Park Marketplace, a collection of local vendors walking distance from both the museum and the ferry drop-off.

A wide array of flora and fauna populate the island

It is impossible to fit all the intricacies and necessary detail regarding the history of the Blennerhassetts into a thousand word web article. There is enough important history tied into both the family and the island to fill a doctoral thesis. But if you have a free Saturday and are looking for a one-of-a-kind day trip for the family, then skip the zoo or the mall and spend a day exploring our local past.

I think you’ll enjoy it.

The post The Desert Isle: Conspiracy and Tragedy at Blennerhassett Island Historical State Park appeared first on Clutch MOV.

Deep within the heart of Hocking County lie a series of verdant gorges and sandstone caves chiseled by time’s artisan hand. Here one will find turquoise streams and pools pushed forward by picturesque waterfalls that flow between monumental cliffs and stately groves of hemlock and pine.

Each year millions of people visit Hocking Hills State Park, located just outside of Logan, Ohio, to experience this natural beauty firsthand. The park is accessible as far as natural areas go, boasting over 100 electric campsites, 40 cabins, an archery range, six picnic shelters, and the 17-acre Rose Lake where one may fish with a valid Ohio fishing permit. The park’s crown jewel, however, is its interconnected trail system that weaves around the its many landmarks, including Old Man’s  Cave, Cedar Falls, Whispering Cave, Hemlock Bridge, and others.

Ranging in difficulty from pleasant strolls to steep and rocky jaunts, the Hocking Hills trail system provides hikers of all experience levels an unforgettable journey. Old Man’s Cave, which is arguably the park’s best known feature, can be accessed by a roughly one mile loop trail that extends from the visitor’s center. Here one will experience the tranquility of rushing waterfalls and streams that race through prehistoric crevices and boulders down toward the Blackhand sandstone cliff face that houses the recess cave where hermit Richard Rowe lived out his days as a trapper in the late 18th century. Less than a mile south from Old Man’s Cave, one finds rocky cliffs and ancient groves comprising the Hemlock Bridge and Whispering Cave area.

Looming over the secluded valley, the skyward-climbing greenery shelters the rugged and rocky trail that spans through dips and curves within the gorge topography. The Whispering Cave itself, a wide and relatively young (geologically speaking) sandstone recess welcomes hikers with gorgeous views, including an ephemeral 100 foot tall waterfall that flows  into the stream below. Follow the trail back and head due east a little over a mile and one will eventually find the roaring deluge known as Cedar Falls. This impressive torrent delivers more water by volume than any other set of falls in the park, and does so with authority. Here travelers pose for family photo ops and selfies or sit in contemplation upon the logs and rocks amidst the chirping of birds and the white noise of rushing water. It’s serene. It’s beautiful. And fortunately, it’s very accessible, either as a reward for a morning spent on the trail or as a pit stop along the park’s intersecting roadways. Either way, Cedar Falls welcomes all comers.

The Sphinx

Cedar Falls

All of this is impressive enough. But here’s the cool part: The trek described in the above paragraph? That’s one trail system. One morning or afternoon consisting of six miles (or less) of hiking. That’s it. One adventure, complete with caves, cliffs, waterfalls, and grand trees that stretch to the heavens, all condensed into a few hours worth of walking. And this of course doesn’t include the park’s other monuments; Ash Cave and Rock House with their stunning  terrestrial architecture, Cantwell Cliffs and its narrow, winding passages, or Conkles Hollow and its steep cliffs and vistas that display large swaths of the Hocking Hills region. All accessible, all incredible.

Upper Falls at Old Man’s Cave

My adventure lasted one morning, but I easily could have spent an entire weekend crawling around rocks and roots along the stream bed. And that’s the park’s true beauty: No matter the season, no matter the reason, there’s a little something for everyone, and although it is easy to fit the park into a day trip, one can embark on multiple outings over multiple weekends and still not see all that Hocking Hills has to offer.

Hocking Hills is the total package and a stellar entry into southeast Ohio’s state parks. It’s beautiful. It’s epic. And it’s just up the road from anywhere in the Mid-Ohio Valley. But hey, don’t take my word for it.

Go.

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