Country Roads - Memories of Ohio

Memories of Ohio

Memories of Belmont County and Childhood

Belmont County is on the southeastern corner of Ohio and borders West Virginia on one side. The two states are separated by the beautiful Ohio River which flows from its point of origin in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to where it joins the Mississippi River in Cairo, Illinois. The Ohio River is a major navigation route for industrial and pleasure traffic. As it winds its way down the valley it carved in the Appalachian Mountains, it passes hundreds of small river towns that sprang up on its banks during the late seventeen hundreds and early eighteen hundreds. Powhatan Point, Ohio was one of those little villages and my hometown.

Powhatan Point was named for the famous Indian chief, Chief Powhatan and is a coal mining town of about 2,500 people. Over the years it's seen times of growth when the population reached nearly 5,000 only to be followed by recessions that set off migrations to places offering work and a chance to start a new life. My husband and I were caught in one of those migrations when many of the local mines closed their doors in the 1980s and filled the unemployment lines with hundreds of men, and a few women, who knew nothing but coal mining. This recession, triggered off by EPA regulations levied on consumers of the high sulfur coal produced in the Ohio Valley, hit Powhatan hard. It was estimated nearly a third of the families were unemployed miners and another third were retirees of whom a large percentage had been coal workers. After going through all our resources we were forced to relocate and Massachusetts was where we ultimately landed.

You've heard the saying, "You don't know what you've got till it's gone," and it certainly applies in our situation. I find myself reminiscing pretty often about my former life in Ohio and childhood memories are some of my fondest recollections. I still can see the Burma Shave signs we passed along the highways as they spelled out their short slogans with their familiar red and white signs along the road. They were spaced a few hundred feet apart and came in sets of 5 or 6 signs, always ending with the "Burma Shave" image. We'd read them out loud as they went by the window: Don't stick your elbow ---- Out too far ---- Or it may ---- Go home ---- In another car! ---- Burma Shave. How we loved those signs. They were nearly gone by the time I had children of my own but we knew the spots the few remaining ones could be found and managed to drive by them once or twice a year.

Another vanishing image I recall so well is the old Mail Pouch barn. The Bloch Brothers Tobacco Company of Wheeling, West Virginia had a unique method of advertising. They painted barns near the highways in several mid-western states with their well-known motto: "Chew Mail Pouch Tobacco". These barns dotted Belmont County from one end to the other and they were used as guide posts when giving directions..."Go to the old Mail Pouch barn on County Road 409 and turn right" is a pretty common way to locate something. There are few of these old relics still standing and even fewer that are still readable. One remains standing near the crossroads in Powhatan to the best of my knowledge. Here is a small quote from an article found on the web about the Mail Pouch barns:

"After breakfast, we went over to Belmont, Ohio to visit Harley Warrick. Mr. Warrick is the last of the Mail Pouch barn painters. For those of you who are culturally deprived, Bloch Brothers Tobacco Co. of Wheeling, WV have made Mail Pouch chewing tobacco for over 100 years. Their finest advertising piece was barn painting. In exchange for painting the barn (or $20 a year for one side only), Mr. Warrick and the other painting crews would paint the Mail Pouch ad on one side of the barn closest to the road. These barns are scattered throughout the midwest and are considered classic pieces of Americana. Even Ted Koppel of NightLine has a Mail Pouch barn on this property painted by Mr. Warrick! Mr. Warrick retired in the 80's but he still builds and paints miniature barns for collectors."

This quote was taken from the Colbert Roadshow "98 and you'll find some interesting reading there. (Link no longer active)

Covered bridges are another member of the vanishing species in my childhood memories. Once fairly commonplace, these bridges are hard to find and very few of them are in use today. We used to travel across one every weekend on our way to our summer camp and I was happy to see it was still intact when I went home for a visit this year. I always liked the clatter of the wooden floor boards as we traveled through the man-made cavern and marveled at the way the timbers were fitted together much like my Lincoln Log set. My Grandfather told me young men used to sneak a kiss from the girls they were courting when they passed through a covered bridge and I often wondered if he spoke from experience.

Seasonal Changes

The changing of the seasons marked the passing of time in Ohio and each one had its own special activities and charm. Summers were filled with swimming, fishing trips, the Firemen's carnivals, gardening and camping. Life was safe back then. We could sleep outside under the stars and never worry about anything more than a curious skunk who might wander by. The country way of life allowed us time to enjoy the company of good friends, share some wonderful home-cooking and see Nature's artistry at its finest... unspoiled by human hands.

Hot days sent us running for the swimming hole to find relief from the heat and summer nights found us sitting on the front porch watching friends walk or drive by, telling old tales and laughing heartily at funny stories we'd heard a hundred times before. Lightning bugs flashed a yellow-green glow across the lawns and fields and the night sounds of birds and insects created a symphony unequaled by the Boston Pops. The old folks could tell coming weather changes by the music of crickets or the chirping of a Katydid. The sound of frogs in the swamps cried out their message, "It's time to go gigging," and the locusts signaled summer was coming to an end. Every season had its sentinels and we learned to interpret their language at an early age.

Summer faded into autumn and the sight of fall foliage and bright yellow school buses meant we would be getting up early again and homework would keep us busy in the evenings. Playtime was at a premium in the fall because there were so many more things to do. We had to can the bounty of vegetables in the garden, keep the leaves raked on the lawn and ready the house for winter. The air got crisp in the mornings and the smoky haze of fall hung over the hills during the day. Everyone was eagerly looking forward to the biggest event of the year; the County Fair. It was like judgment day for the local farmers, craftsmen, and 4-H kids. The finest livestock, fruits and vegetables, quilts, canned goods, flowers and handiwork were carefully displayed and guarded until the judges made their decision on who would be taking home blue ribbons for their entries. Hearts were broken and tears fell when someone's pumpkin was passed over and another got first place but there was always next year and plans were set in motion for capturing the prize at the next fair. The winners proudly displayed their awards and beamed from ear to ear. Their hard work had paid off this time and they celebrated the victory. We didn't enter any of the contests but took tremendous satisfaction in knowing we had grown a bigger tomato than the one that won and Grandmother's relish made all those pale in comparison. Maybe next year we'd enter our stuff and take home all the ribbons.

The County Fair was a social event for the entire family. There were rides, hot sausage sandwiches made by the 4-H groups, cotton candy and caramel apples. We toured every barn to see the animals but my favorite was the horse barn. How I wished I could have one of my own but living in town ruled out any possibility of that happening. Years from then, when my two oldest children were small, I got to fulfill that wish by getting them ponies and felt a great sense of satisfaction in being able to live out this dream though their joy. As the sun set, the fair came to life from bright colored lights on the midway and rides. We tossed baseballs at milk bottles, picked ducks and threw darts to win an assortment of treasures we lugged along with us. Those shopping bags, handed out as campaign promotions for the local politicians, sure came in handy for something after all. You better be sure to use a Democratic candidate's bag if you wanted to walk with the rest of the family as slowly we made our way back to the car and dozed in the back seat on the way home.

Winter in Ohio was another special time in my childhood. Sledding and ice skating were favorite events for most of the kids in my neighborhood. We'd head off, skates slung over our shoulders or pulling a sled behind us, and rolling an old tire or two along as we made our way to meet the rest of the winter Olympic hopefuls. The tires were burned to give us a place to warm our hands and feet, dry out our clothes and keep us from freezing to death. What a smell we brought home with us! Nothing quite describes the aroma of a burning tire and the smoke marinated children who returned home after spending hours in zero temperature huddled around a smoky, soot-belching fire. The soot from the tires looked like black cobwebs and stained our clothes and skin like axle grease. It took some good old lye soap to remove it.

I think the thing I remember most about winter nights was the silence. You could hear the cold in the air and the sound of snow falling to the ground. When the temperatures were really low you'd hear the groans of the trees and sudden explosions as limbs burst from the freezing temperatures. Everything had a surreal feeling when the landscape was turned into a crystalline wonderland by snow or ice. The ice storms were the most beautiful of all. The entire world turned to glass and sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. Is it any wonder we all believed in fairies and magic?

Spring stirred up a lot of excitement and the first major sign of warm weather was the ice jams on the creeks. We would all pile in the car and head out to see one of Nature's most spectacular displays of force. As the thaw began to turn snow to water the creeks would swell and break-up the thick layer of ice topping them. The ice popped and cracked as it moved along with the rising water until it lodged against one of the bridges crossing the stream. Like a sieve, the bridge let the water move on but held back an ever mounting wall of ice slabs. The ice eventually packed so tightly it created a dam and caused the water to back up behind it. This mountain of ice would pile up higher and higher with more and more water pushing against it until something gave. Suddenly it sounded like dynamite went off and ice blocks, sometimes the size of cars, were thrown into the air. The ice churned and rumbled as it shot forward again, only to be stopped at the next bridge or turn in the creek. A herd of cars and people followed this spectacle down the creek bank roads until the entire mess ended up at the Ohio River where the mouth of the stream emptied it's avalanche of ice into the river and was swept away.

Once the streams were emptied of ice, the spring rains began and usually brought about floods on the smaller creeks and runs. If the rains continued, the thousands of mountain streams added to the flow of the Ohio River until it overflowed its banks. Every few years, Powhatan's main street and business district were flooded and boats replaced the cars on most of the downtown roads. The local folks would carefully watch the rising water to determine who would need to be moved out next. The old timers compared the floods by one standard; the "36 Flood". In 1936, a flood like none seen in recent history hit the Ohio Valley and the high water marks are still visible today on many old landmarks.

When the mud from the floods was cleaned away and warm nights began to turn the world to green again, the forests and fields burst into bloom. Dogwoods, Red Buds and wild Crab Apple trees added splashes of color to the landscape and the forest floor was covered with wild flowers of every color imaginable. Everything seemed so fresh and alive after the dreariness of the winter months and everyone watched for the first robins to return for another summer in Ohio. The cycle never changed, like an endless circle of life, death and rebirth.

Life in Belmont Country was laid back and full of country mannerisms and traditions. Those things are so much a part of my make-up it's impossible to leave them behind. Country people have their own values and ideas about life and a sense of family and belonging are the thing I miss most. Our roots were deep into the Ohio soil and mixed with the bones of our ancestors who helped settle this part of the state. I grew up listening to stories about generations past and developed a love for people who had died long before I, or my father, was ever born. This affinity for people from the past lead me to delve into genealogy with gusto. You'll find another section on this site dedicated to my search for information to fill in the blanks on my family tree. Countless hours of my life in Ohio were spent roaming country cemeteries, searching hidden family burial plots and dusty court house records for names, dates and places to add to the information I had on the first families of our ancestral tree. Someday I hope the story of this generation will be told by my descendants.

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