We made our almost annual, at least occasional, pilgrimage to Lake Hope in southeastern Ohio. We walked the Moonville Tunnel, and looked without success for the Moonville Tunnel Ghost and the forgotten town of Moonville. We even climbed the hill to the Moonville Cemetery and paid our respects to the poor souls who left this earthly vale in that mysterious place.
It is strange how many people have visited the site, leaving coins and trinkets and on the simple markers. I can’t help wonder if these were surviving family members or just voyeurs like me? And, like always, we drove to check out places we hadn’t seen before. Narrow roads leading to small towns, towns so small they don’t have a diner, grocery store, gas station, not even the ubiquitous Dollar General.
It is the space between towns that really grabs your attention. All that space, all that wild, primeval space. Despite the beauty of the rolling hills and ancient forests, there is an overwhelming sense of abandonment, loss. You can see it in the derelicts left to the spirits of the forest, short-haul trucks, farm equipment, off-road vehicles, campers, all with trees growing up through the frames, grass sprouting around the base, plants vining around the wheels and axles. Windshields smashed, tires flattened, falling apart, piece by forgotten piece, looking monstrous and ugly. It makes me wonder what future archeologists will make of the ruins of our society.
Will they understand the way the government left these people to scrape by hoping charity would keep them from starving? Will they see the profound injustice of unbelievable tax cuts for the oil and coal companies and giant corporations while the impoverished are left to scramble for scraps?
“You fill this house with things of gold while handing crumbs to the old and poor and then you preach about being pure and wonder why we’re laughing.”[1] Will it make sense? Will the record reflect the indignities these poor people had to suffer just to put food on the table? How will history judge mankind in the 21st century? Assuming we leave the planet in a suitable condition for occupancy.
Will they wonder how all those plastic cups and bags ended up in the deep draws and narrow ravines? The perfect artifact of modern society, the Golden Arches emblazoned on a plastic container that sells any size for a dollar and comes with free refills. It will survive climate change, the ravages of time, waiting out of reach until some intrepid scientist crawls down, picks it up and asks, “why the hell did somebody throw this indestructible treasure all the way down here?” Here we are perched on the verge of eternity and the most durable thing we can make is a “disposable” cup.
Yesterday, while driving back to our cabin, down some single lane, unnamed road in the middle of nothing, we came across an abandoned industrial site. Naturally, my wife wanted to climb up and look and since there is no stopping her we climbed and looked. It was a complete mystery, there was no indication of what it used to do. It was a red brick building on the side of a hill. It measured about 20 feet by 10 feet and was about 12 feet tall and most of it was filled with a huge iron tank, oven, or metal apparatus. Bricks in one end had started to fall off and the interior was completely exposed. It was just big enough to hold the tank, which ran over 2/3rds of the building, the other end had a small door and chamber, maybe an oven. There was nothing else there, no roads, or pipes or rails. Nothing to suggest why it was there. It was almost alien sitting alone in the woods.
Modern America has passed this territory and left it wanting. I don’t know why they quit mining iron, whether it was too expensive or the ore just ran out. I read somewhere that a lot of the iron was used for bullets during the Civil War (trust me, there was nothing civil about it) and God knows the demand for bullets is still strong. Maybe it is just cheaper to have the bullets made in China. Much the same as it is so much more cost-effective to have the American flag cowboy boots made in China. They are for sale in a store in a town about 15 miles from here. These colors don’t run, of course not, they were made in China.
We didn’t find Moonville, we didn’t find the Moonville Ghost, but if there was ever a place that deserved a ghost or two it would be the hills and valleys of southeastern Ohio. And the ghosts are there. The abandoned production facility sitting on the side of the hill. Or the mobile home, deserted, desolate, alone, haunted by pride and accomplishments slowly fading into oblivion.
Ghosts of the past, ghosts of the things that used to be. Or the spirits of happy meals. Ghosts everywhere you look.
[1] From Here to There Eventually, Steppenwolf.
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