The eastern half of Richland County is full of forests, fields, and folklore -- with each of the area's legacies, legends, myths, and ghost stories connected to various bends in the road and other distinctive landmarks throughout the region.  This story below is the first in a series of attempts to write down some of the folklore from this Rich Land of Stories... 

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Olivesburg is one of those towns that's so small that it doesn't even warrant a speed bump.  Ohio State Route 96 barrels through the settlement with just a mild reduction to the speed limit -- from 55 miles per hour, to 45 miles per hour -- although most motorists ignore even that.  Being as such, it only takes about five seconds to breeze past the dozen houses that make up Olivesburg.  And all things being equal, it's a pretty forgettable town.

But something happened on a dark spring night, many years ago, which made Olivesburg such that it can never again be forgotten.

It was early May.  The spring had been a rainy one, so the rivers and streams were swift and swollen, but on this particular weekend the weather was bright and clear.  Lilacs bloomed by the roadside, with their sweet purple smells hanging heavy over the land.  The robins and cardinals chirruped cheerfully from the trees.  And the students of Crestview High School were on their way to prom.  The boys wore tuxedoes and musky cologne.  The girls wore long, billowing, satinny dresses along with perfume that made the smell of the lilacs seem dull.  The parents took pictures as the boys offered floral corsages to their dates and the couples posed by the family fireplaces.  And then the high schoolers were off to dinner:  "fancy" places like the Red Lobster in Mansfield and the SkyWay East in Madison Township.  Along the way, they laughed and reveled in their youth and vitality.  And then they drove from their restaurants -- scattered across Richland County and Ashland County -- to convene at the Crestview High School Gynasium for the night of their lives.

The prom went off without any problems bigger than a few kids getting busted for smoking in the bathroom, or vomiting all over the dance floor.  But after the party in the gymnasium started disbanding, one particular car full of high-schoolers left the parking lot, driving east on 96 towards Ashland for some after-prom activities, never to be seen again.  The driver of the car was a senior who had borrowed his family's Ford for the evening, and his date had been one of the nominees for prom queen that evening.  Another couple was in the back-seat.  But as they approached Olivesburg, at the place where State Route 603 intersects with State Route 96 at a 20-degree angle -- the Olivesburg Fork -- something happened that caused the car to spin out of control, into the wooded area on the far side of the intersection, and tumbling down the ravine.  Some say that there had been an Amish boy traveling by horse-and-buggy, returning to his family's farm after courting a girl down the road.  Others say that there was a near-miss with another car westbound on 96, which had drifted slightly left of center.  Still others say that the driver had just tipped back a few too many glasses of punch that had been spiked at the prom.  But in any event, the vehicle crashed into the bottom of the ravine at a high speed, the car crumpled like a paper bag, coming to rest upside-down in the creek that filled the bottom of the ravine.  Nobody actually saw it happen, as far as anyone could tell, but some of the folks in Olivesburg heard the noise and came out to investigate, only to find that all four teenagers were dead at the scene.

It was a tragic end to the school year, and the families mourned their losses for years afterwards.  But when many of the local high-schoolers visited the scene of the accident to lay flowers in memory of their friends, multiple ghost sightings were reported.  Even today, area teens will go to the site at night.  And when passing vehicles cast their headlights into the woods on the Ashland side of the Olivesburg Fork, people swear they can see the silhouettes of four young people -- two women and two men -- walking up the hill towards the road, on their way back from prom.

Did you know that you can travel from Amsterdam to Calcutta to Toronto to Damascus... without ever leaving the state of Ohio?

It's true.  Ohio has an astonishing number of cities which are named for other world cities.  Dozens of them.  As I drive throughout the state, I see signs pointing to all of these various places, and I can't help but smile.  It's become something of a hobby to catalog all the different names that fall along these lines -- several of which have comically-different pronunciations than the other (generally more well-known) cities which have similar names.  For instance, most people have heard of Milan ("mee-LAHN") in Italy -- but how many people have heard of Milan ("MY-lun") in Ohio.  Most people have heard of the capital of Peru:  Lima ("LEE-ma") -- but did you know that there's also a city in Ohio called Lima ("LY-ma")?  The French may have their famed palace, Versailles ("ver-SY) -- but Ohio has a city named Versailles (ver-SAILS)...

European cities are the most popular namesakes for Ohio knock-offs.  Names from the German-speaking world are quite popular:  Berlin, Bremen, Dresden, Frankfort, Hanover, New Bremen, and New Vienna (not to mention Germantown!).  From the Low Countries, one can find Ohio cities named Amsterdam, Holland, New Holland, Antwerp, and Ghent.  Hearkening back to the British Isles, there are also Ohio cities which have been named:  Dublin, East Liverpool, London, New London, Manchester, Oxford, Plymouth, and Sheffield.  Greek/Balkan names also feature frequently throughout Ohio:  Athens, Berea, East Sparta, Macedonia, New Athens, and Troy.  There are also a couple of names derived from the Iberian Peninsula:  namely Toledo and Lisbon.  Throw in a few Italian names: Geneva, Genoa, Milan, Parma, Venice Heights... A few French names:  New Paris, Strasburg, and Versailles... A couple of Polish references:  Poland and Warsaw... And << Voila! >> you've got a veritable Continent within a state one-third the size of Germany.

When it comes to African namesakes, however, the only thing that comes close to such a parallelism is Sahara Sands, Ohio.  And I couldn't find any Ohio cities that share the names of prominent locations in Australia / Oceania.

But still, there's quite a bit to be discovered in Ohio.

Did you know that they observe the 4th of July in the Netherlands?  It's true...

It comes just after their observance of the 3rd of July and just before their observance of the 5th of July! :-)  Sorry, I couldn't resist the old joke.

But seriously:  We didn't get to watch fireworks this weekend, and we didn't grill out in the backyard.  We didn't deck the house with red, white, and blue bunting.  We didn't even sing any patriotic songs.  We did very little to mark the celebration of American Independence Day.  But we did have a pretty special weekend, all the same.

Particularly when it came to watching European sports.

Friday evening, the Dutch football (soccer) team stunned Brazil in the World Cup quarter-finals, suddenly making them favorites to earn a trip to the finals (Uruguay comes next, though they're generally considered the weakest of the four remaining teams, and even at that they'll be missing their top player for the next game).  Everyone here in Amsterdam was desperately hoping for the win over Brazil, but I don't think very many were actually expecting it.  To say the least, the city was a pretty happy place on Friday evening after the game...

And then, on Saturday, the Netherlands played host to the opening of the 2010 Tour de France.  I've been following cycling for a good while now (even before moving to Europe, back in the early Lance Armstrong years) -- and when I heard that the Tour would be starting in Rotterdam this year, I decided that I needed to make the trip to experience the event for myself.  Thankfully some friends offered to take our kids to the Efteling (kind of like a Dutch Disneyland), so we didn't have to keep them with us in the crowds and extended curb-side waiting in Rotterdam.  Instead, Marci and I waved them off at Amsterdam's Centraal Station and then took our own train south to Rotterdam, together with our friend Linda.

By the way, if you want to read more about our kids' adventures at the Efteling (without us), you can read Elliot's excellent report on his own blog...

Around the time that they were arriving at the amusement park, Marci, Linda, and I were starting to walk along the racing route in Rotterdam.  As we crossed over the famous Erasmus Bridge, we got to see teams who were making some practice runs over the course.

Eventually, we chose a spot where we'd be able to see each rider twice -- 1.5 kilometers into the route, and then again as they were headed into the last 1.5 kilometers.  We also had a convenient view of a large jumbotron (which showed the riders at other points on the course), and we had a gentle bend in the road which gave us a better view of the cyclists as they approached the finish.  A pretty good spot overall, I think.

But once we settled in there, we had a lot of waiting to do.

All said, we stood at that spot for about seven and a half hours -- through blazing sunshine, drizzling rain, and blustery winds.  But suffice to say, we got to see the Tour de France!

We got to see all the big names, including Alberto Contador (last year's winner), Ivan Basso, Andy Schlek, and Cadel Evans.  But two of my favorites were George Hincapie (above), and of course Lance Armstrong (below).

I've been wanting to see the Tour de France for quite a long time.  And now I can say that I've done it.  I can say that I've seen all the major riders -- all within just a couple of meters in front of me, about the distance from which I normally sit from my television to watch them!  I can say that I watched Lance Armstrong race in what will probably be his last Tour de France.

And now that I can say all those things, I don't have to do it again.

Honestly, I believe that the Tour de France is a sport that is perfect for television.  You can see more of the riders, hear more of the back-stories, get a better overview of the course (all those majestic, panoramic, post-card, helicopter shots), and sit in leisurely comfort while the athletes gut it out on one of the grandest stages in all sports!

Seeing it in-person was cool, and I'm still very glad for the experience this weekend in Rotterdam -- but to tell you the truth, it was not so comfortable sweating in the melting-hot sun and shivering in the cold wind and rain, over the course of seven-and-a-half hours.  It's a pretty amazing spectacle, with all the sponsors and merchandise thrown about, with all the skill that goes into competing for such an event and covering it in a way that so many spectators can enjoy.

But from now on, I think I'll be happy to enjoy it from home, where I can put up my feet, have something cold to drink, and quip about the time that I saw the Tour de France with my own eyes, on Lance Armstrong's last tour.

This weekend, Marci and I got the chance to get away with just the two of us.  To Rome.  It was fabulous.  Our hotel had a beautiful view of the Colosseum, and we ended up getting to see a lot more of the city than we had ever expected (the Colosseum, the ancient Roman ruins, the Vatican City, the Piazza Navonna, the Piazza di Spagna, the enormous cathedral at San Giovanni in Laterno, and much more along the way).  But most significantly, Marci and I just got to have some special time together.

In particular, we were celebrating our wedding anniversary and Marci's birthday.  On both counts, Rome proved to be a lovely place for celebrating.

I could write about a lot of things that we saw, said, and did together -- but I will limit my reflections to one observation about the Sistine Chapel.  For about ten years now, I've wondered if I would ever get to visit this famous landmark in the Vatican City, and in particular I wondered if I would ever get the chance to experience what the Sistine Chapel smelled like.  The curiosity came from watching the movie "Good Will Hunting" where the old therapist challenges the young genius's tendency to intellectually pick apart everything about another person until he finds a squishy spot he can exploit.  He suggests that the young man might be able to tell him everything there is to know about Michelangelo, or even about Renaissance art -- but he couldn't tell him what it smelled like in the Sistine Chapel.  So ever since seeing that movie, I've kind of wondered what it smelled like in the Sistine Chaple.

And now I can tell you (in case you never get the chance to make it to Rome for yourself):  it smells like sunscreen, sweat, and the traces of a thousand tourists.

The painted ceiling of the Sistine Chapel truly was a remarkable work of art -- well worthy of its reputation -- but honestly, my main memory of the space was the crowded tourists looking up while the two beefy Italian security guards kept clapping and shouting, every two minutes, "No photos... No talking... No photos... No talking."  The tourists didn't seem to pay much attention to the fact that the Vatican officials wanted to maintain the sanctity of the space as much as possible.

Seriously, though, Rome was amazing:  a special place that we will remember for a long time to come.  If you want to see more pictures from our time in Rome, you can go to the Family Pictures section of our website.

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And then we came back to Amsterdam just in time to see the Netherlands play (and win) its first World Cup match, earlier today.  I watched the first half of the game with some friends at a nearby cafe terrace...

And I watched the second half of the game at my kids' school -- where the normal afternoon activities had been cancelled, in order for the whole school (and parents, who were also invited) to work out their case of Orange Fever in the school gym.  Fortunately, the result was a positive one.  Who knows?!?  Maybe this will be the year for the Dutch...

You can also find more pictures of this afternoon's expression of Orange Fever in the Amsterdam Pictures section of our website.

Viva Italia!  Viva Hollandia!

I felt very blessed to be able to find an affordable plane ticket from Amsterdam to Minneapolis -- leaving on only the second day after the ash cloud started to clear out over Europe -- so that I could attend my grandmother's funeral in North Dakota.  But I had no idea just how incredible the level of blessing would be.  It was beautiful to be able to remember my grandmother's life, together with so many other family members and friends.  It was powerful to be able to hug my grandfather, hold his hand at the funeral, and speak words of support, love, and encouragement to him in the face of his catastrophic loss (he loved Grandma so very much).  But perhaps what surprised me the most turned out how wonderful it was to have our whole family together -- even if it had to be for Grandma's funeral.

Our family is so spread out -- not just to three different cities in Ohio, but to Texas and the Netherlands as well -- that it's a special occasion whenever we can all be in the same place.  But because of the last-minute circumstances of coming for Grandma's funeral, there was the extra dynamic of it being just our family (me and the five other people with whom I grew up), with no spouses and no children.  I shared a hotel room with my brothers.  We drove together in cars again.  We ate meals together.  And we got to interact with each other while simultaneously getting to see several relatives that we (or at least I) hadn't seen for decades.  As weird as it sounds to say it, we really had a lot of fun at Grandma's funeral.

Is it sacriligious to say it?  Is it inappropriate to find such joy in such circumstances?  I don't know.  All I can say is that we cried together, but we also got to laugh a lot together.  We put the rest of our lives on hold this week to mourn a significant death, but this afforded us the opportunity to experience a different kind of liveliness together as a family.  We came to see our grandmother laid to rest, but we also got to see the World's Largest Buffalo.

[For what it's worth:  I would advise viewing the above photo collage at a larger size, here on the Flickr page, in order to get the full effect]

In particular, it was really special to spend some time together with my brothers and sister, in between the post-funeral family visitation and the late evening private family hang-out at Grandpa's house.  And yes, we got to do this in the context of Jamestown's most celebrated landmark:  the world's largest buffalo (and its accompanying "Frontier Village").  We talked about serious stuff as we walked around together, processing Grandma's death a bit; but we also spent a lot of time goofing off and taking fun pictures of each other.  I guess you could say that we got to celebrate Grandma's legacy by simply being a family together that afternoon.

The sun set far too quickly on our time together as a family -- but at least we got to watch it set together, on the prairie overlooking the James River valley, up beyond our grandparents' house where we used to play together as children.  I'm so glad that everything worked out for us all to be there for Grandma's funeral.

[In case you might be interested in seeing more pictures from our family's time together, a couple dozen of my favorite shots (taken almost entirely by my brother Jay and my sister Anna) are posted in the Family Pictures section of the website.]