Haydenville

After a “wild” workweek, culminating with losing my one and only phone on Friday morning, I decided I deserved a little treat.  Last night, a little retail therapy resulted in me being the proud owner of “special occasion” earrings for the low, low price of $3.   I can’t imagine attending a shindig that would call for glittery chandeliers hanging to my shoulders, but you never know.

B.D. gave me her spare go phone, the phone store replaced my SIM card, and I purchased a new ring tone:  Law and Order.   I was sorry to leave Born to Run behind, but change is good.

This morning I debated the  merits of hitting the road in search of adventure versus sitting in the living room hoping to see The Top 20 Hollywood Unsolved Mysteries or other fascinating show for the tenth time.

Having read about the Haydenville tunnel and cemeteries, I wanted to see the area for myself.  Haydenville, originally Hocking Furnace, located right off Route 33 a few miles past Logan, was a company town.   The clay mine and brick- and tile-making works operated for over 100 years.  Next time, pictures of the town proper, including a visit to the museum.

Finding Haydenville Cemetery was first on the list, and finding it was easy indeed.  I parked in the turn-around and walked inside.  While wandering the grounds, I looked up to see a man approaching.  I must have jumped, because he said, “There aren’t many ghosts here.”  He introduced himself and gave me a short, colorful history of the town.  When I asked him about the stone with the “Indian” he told me that his grandfather (or great-grandfather) made it and fired it in the factory kiln.  He also explained that it was an angel, not an Indian, and the head was missing.

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The ever present clay bricks are all that remain from a mausoleum.

He told me about his aunt who loved to smoke a pipe, and the man who ran a general store and sold him candy as a kid.

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He asked me if I wanted to see the tunnel, which of course I did, and walked me across a ridge and down.   The tunnel goes all the way across the other side of Route 33, but  “no one’s allowed in the tunnel.”   I wouldn’t go inside, legal or not, because I was afraid of cave-ins.   “Some say the tunnel is haunted.”   Does he believe in ghosts?  He hesitated a bit before admitting that yes, he did.  I do, too.  He said his house is haunted, and he just says “settle down, boys.”  I related two events that occurred to me eight years ago.  (Anyone who knows me would know what precipitated them.)

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The only remaining “round house.”  At one time there were three.

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My wonderful tour guide told me about Wolfe Cemetery,  a private family graveyard that allows visitors.  It was a nice little hike up as the road was closed.

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Two brothers sacrificed it all during The War to End All Wars, and are buried in France.

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