Early Letter from Bowling Green, Ohio, 1838

Early Letter from Bowling Green, Ohio, 1838 by Alan Borer

Bowling Green in Wood County, Ohio, was named by the mailman. Joseph Gordon, a native of Kentucky, suggested the name of a town in his home state. Bowling Green Ohio in its very early days was made possible only because a few sand dunes stuck out high enough to provide some habitable land from the surrounding Great Black Swamp. The earliest settlers arrived in 1832. A post office was established in 1834 and that was the office that Gordon named. The village was not incorporated until 1855, when the draining of the swamp made more of the land usable.

I knew when I saw a letter from Bowling Green dated 1838 that the town was still a swampy, frontier settlement, famous only for mosquitoes and malaria at that time. The writer, one William Jennings, did not give the hamlet a good review:

I wish you would rite and inform me about what times you have in the woods. . . . because I cannot stand to live in this Country ere long for times is gitting hard . . . I done wrote in hurry the mail is ready to start. . . .

Jennings wrote his letter, filled with spelling errors, in a hurry. Joseph Gordon, the aforementioned mail carrier, was due to depart Bowling Green in a very short time for either Perrysburg or Bellefontaine, and Jennings wanted to finish his letter in time to send it with Gordon. Gordon was still on the job in 1838. Although Jennings did not leave enough information to further identify himself, the mailman carrying his letter had a minor claim to fame.

Also locally famous was Michael Myers, the recipient of the letter. Unlike William Jennings, Myers was content to stay in Wood County once he settled there. Born in Pennsylvania about 1801, Myers relocated to Columbiana County in northeast Ohio. He pushed westward again

. . . . in 1834, and purchased lands from the State, on the N.E. corner of Sec. 29 [Freedom Township, Wood County]. His wife, son, and four daughters accompanied him into the wilderness, and aided him in building a hewed log house, on the east side of the McCutchenville road, on the north or right bank of the Portage. . . . [p. 257] It was a larger cabin than was usually found in the wilderness, and this fact, taken together with the genial character of Myers, made it at once the mecca of immigrants. Within a decade, he thought it expedient to build a larger concern to entertain his guests, and in 1844 began the construction of the two-story frame building known to this day as “Myers Hotel” . . . . [p. 259]

In doing so, Michael Myers became the first resident settler of New Rochester. New Rochester, while unincorporated today, is still a locally remembered landmark for residents and by the neighboring, and once rival, village of Pemberville. His 1844 home, the “Myers Hotel,” stood many more years, passing into the hands of the Zepernick family. Innkeeper Myers offered rooms for transients as well as visitors staying awhile. It was located at the north end of the bridge across Portage River in New Rochester. The Myers Hotel was rumored to be a stop on the Underground Railroad as well.

Michel Myers wore many hats. In addition to his work as a farmer and a hotel keeper, he was postmaster of New Rochester for thirty years. Active in the Methodist church, Myers donated land for a Methodist church. He also welcomed itinerant preachers, and his home saw the first sermon preached in New Rochester in 1838. But while encouraging and welcoming the forces of settlement, Myers was also a true frontiersman. In the 1830s, the government paid a bounty to hunters who turned in wolf scalps, proving that the hunter had eliminated a supposedly rapacious wolf. Most of the hunters who collected wolf scalp bounties in 1835 were remnants of the Native American tribes of the area: Ke Korngosh, Missaukee, Aausk, Waseon, Pakee, Johnson Quson, and Osauge received $4.25 a scalp. Another, familiar, name was on the wolf scalp bounty list, that of Michael Myers.

Before the Civil War, letters sent to a postmaster were free of charge. Myers noted that his letter from William Jennings was “#1,” suggesting that Jennings wrote other letters, welcome or not. It is fortunate that even one letter survives, for it brings back a long-vanished Wood County of Indians, wolves, log cabins, and swampy roads. Complaints aside, William Jennings opened a window to a long gone time – even if he found life there uncomfortable.

[Quotes are from Commemorative Historical and Biographical Record of Wood County, Ohio (Chicago, 1897), pp. 256, 259.]

Muskrats and Rapeseed

Muskrats and Rapeseed by Alan Borer

When I first read the letter from “Grandpaw” to his grandson Milan Long, I was surprised that Grandpaw described catching “rats.” Rats are a nuisance. They carry disease, they destroy grain in storage, and are hard to catch, with or without a cat. Later in the letter, Grandpaw mentions that he also hunted minks. Suddenly, it made sense. His mention of rats did not refer to a “real” rat, but to a muskrat. “Rat” was a common, country slang term for muskrat in the old days; hunters among us still use the term.

The letter reveals that Grandpaw lived in Kansas, Ohio. Kansas is a tiny hamlet on SR 635 just south of the Seneca/Sandusky county line. Another way to locate it is to find Bettsville and look about three miles west. That may or may not help if you have never heard of Bettsville, or Kansas for that matter, but in this time of GPS and satellite data, finding even the smallest place is easy. Grandpaw did not sign his last name so we cannot be sure exactly where he lived, beyond the fact that he had a Kansas mailing address. He wrote to his grandson Milan who lived in Bloomdale in Wood County, about twelve miles west, beyond Fostoria. The date was May 7, 1912. Grandpaw wrote phonetically, so his message retains a bit of his rural accent. I will correct his spelling:

I didn’t get time to catch any rats this spring. I caught 14 the forepart of the winter. There was not a mink on the prairie this winter. . . . . . how is your paw getting along with his work? Did he sow any rape? I sowed the patch below the barn. It looks nice. . . . .

Grandpaw was a dedicated hunter of muskrats, given how many he caught earlier in the winter. Muskrats are fairly common even today, although they prefer wetlands, marshes, and creeks. Two creeks flow near Kansas, Muskellunge Creek to the north and Wolf Creek to the south, both flowing northeast toward Lake Erie. The area around Kansas was heavily wooded when settlers arrived, but even in the days of the Black Swamp, there were open spaces in the forest, ideal for animals that preferred a part marshy, part open area – ideal for muskrats and the occasional mink.

The other farm news in the letter concerned “rape,” or rapeseed. Milan’s family was planting rapeseed at a historically early time. Rapeseed was planted in India ten thousand years ago, and was prized for its oily seed by farmers stretching from West Europe to China. Rape was planted in America in the nineteenth century, although there was a lull in planting rape at the time Grandpaw wrote because many new artificial oils were coming on the market. After World War 2, farm scientists in Canada hybridized the crop, the end result of which was canola oil. Rapeseed now provides canola oil for a billion dollar food industry. And the letter was correct – rape, especially when it blooms a vibrant yellow, does look nice.

As for the Long family, we only know bits and pieces. Milan Long was born in 1886, son of Frank Long and Zelora C. Inman. Frank Long started as a farmer, but eventually became a salesman. When World War 1 came to America in 1917, Milan was working for A. W. Long (a cousin?) as a farmhand. Sadly, he never made it home from the war. On September 30, 1918, “Milan Long drowned when the ship Ticonderoga was torpedoed by a German U-boat. His body was recovered and at first buried in Brookwood Cemetery in Surrey, England before being removed to Weston Cemetery.” More exactly, he is buried in the New Weston Cemetery in Wood County.

It is one of the ironies of history that small people get swept into events greater than their upbringing suggests. Such was the story of Milan Long and his grandfather. The postcard message with which I started pointed to a pastoral life in the countryside before the warlike twentieth century, but ended in tragedy thousands of miles away. As a writer I was challenged to find the story of Milan Long. A century later, I can salute Mr. Long, and recall his sacrifice to readers.

Maumee River Farmer: J. W. King

(If you go to https://media.gettyimages.com/illustrations/ohio-flat-rock-township-maumee-river-florida-canal-henry-county-illustration-id120569587 and look at the original, you will see the King farm in the upper left hand corner.)

Maumee River Farmer: J. W. King                  by Alan Borer

Old maps show the farm straddling the Henry/Defiance county line.  The farm belonged to John Wesley King until he died in 1892. It was a lovely piece of ground. Mr. King owned land right along the Maumee River itself. His farm yielded the usual crops of corn, wheat, clover, and hay. King also had an extensive apple orchard, and in the spring he gathered maple sap for boiling into sugar. Living on the county line, he could choose between selling his crops in Napoleon or Defiance. Mr. King kept a diary for the year 1879, and using it we can recreate his world with some accuracy.

J. W. King was born in Ohio in 1830. We don’t know much about his origins; his father, Jessie A. King was born in 1797. He married Rachel Kepler in 1858 in Defiance, and the couple had one son, George, in 1860. The east half of his farm was in Flat Rock Township in Henry County, and the nearest post office was Florida, Ohio. J. W. King was only 61 when he died; his widow Rachel lived on until 1909.

King spent much time in late winter boiling maple sap which produced maple sugar. He began the work on March 5:

fixed for sugar making 

Two days later, the real work began:

hauled buckets around in camp tapped some

and

gathered & boiled sugar water

A month later, on April 8, they finished

boiled water finished hauled everything in

Country people in the nineteenth century, at least those who owned or rented land with maple trees, made their own sugar. Small pipes, or spiles, were hammered into trees in late winter. As the sap (King called it ‘water’) poured through the spile into a bucket, the buckets were in turn taken to ‘camp,’ where a wood fire kept the sap boiling day and night. Often a shelter and shed enclosed the boiling pots. When all the liquid boiled away, the residue was sugar – maple sugar. Long before sugar beets or cane sugar was available, families like the Kings relied on maple sugar for sweetener.

In addition to the usual corn, oats, and wheat grown on the farm, King had a large apple orchard. On January 16, King sold part of the previous year’s crop:

went to Napoleon Sold 28 chickens…3 turkeys….71 lbs apples

On April 15 and 16, he recorded:

trimmed apple trees & plowed in orchard and plowed & dragged orchard finished trimming

J. W. gathered other small fruits, including grapes, raspberries and cherries, but nothing as versatile as the apple. In October, he processed the apple crop:

put away apples & a load of potatoes picked up a load of apples to make cider

and

made 110 gallons of Cider

and

Made apple butter 13 gallons

The apple, whether stored, eaten, or used as a beverage, could not be bettered.

Possibly because J. W. only had one son, he was constantly on the lookout for hired help. In 1880, King had a 21-year old “laborer” named Samuel Richards. The year before, J. W. noted in his diary on March 3:

went to hunt a girl

And on May 5,

went to hunt a cow & look for a girl

Not until June 15 did he report success:

went & got a girl Ana Ostman [Ortman?]

By December, King hired another girl named Gusta Spangler, but whether that was to replace the June hire or was in addition, he does not say. The last few decades of the nineteenth century were just before the age of mechanized farming, and hired help was still a crucial need for Ohio farmers.

The work was unending. Fences needed mending, hickory nuts were gathered, cabbage picked and stored, harness to grease. Trips were taken to market for both buying and selling. Occasionally there was a bit of leisure; dinner with neighbors, sledding, grange meetings, trips to Napoleon, Defiance, and one time, to Toledo. But for every free afternoon, there was extra work: a lost horse, a barn raising, even jury duty! There was some free time, but not much.

On October 14, King wrote:

worked at cave in forenoon

I puzzled over this entry for awhile. Did King have a cave on his property? In such a flat area, it seemed unlikely. What Mr. King called a “cave” may actually have been a quarry. Geologists, described a quarry in 1874:

A short distance above Florida is the quarry of Wesley King and brother, in the left bank of the Maumee, it consists of the following succession of parts. . . . 

and in 1991

Old quarry along west bank of Maumee River a short distance SW of Florida, Flatrock Township. . . . What is interesting about this occurrence is that the depth of this "quarry" is extremely shallow. There is no evidence of this "quarry" on topographic maps. Therefore the new name of this locality should be: Wesley King Quarry, Florida, Henry Co., Ohio, USA.

J. W. King would probably not recognize his farm today. The countryside has fewer houses; farms are bigger. But if you want to see the area today, take a drive along Route 424 near Florida. If nothing else, you will see his countryside, and to a farmer, that is seeing a lot.

Jesse Taylor of Pike Township, Putnam County, Ohio

Winameg, Ohio

In 1992, I had occasion to visit Winameg, Ohio, a hamlet in Fulton County. At one time, Winameg was the home of a band of Pottawatomie Indians, whose chief gave his name to the town. Chief Winameg was a good friend of one of the settlers in western Fulton County named Dresden Howard. Howard and Winameg met under a large oak tree that became known as the Council Oak. The Council Oak saw the landscape drained of water through ditching, and was a landmark for the area for 300 years before disease struck. After the tree was cut down, a modest ceremony performed by a modern Native American drew a small crowd, including me.

Twenty five years later found me studying a letter from a man named Jesse Taylor. Written in 1856 to friends, it was postmarked Toledo but written from “Pike.” It took some digging, but I finally found the location of Pike. This is a story of Jesse Taylor, Dresden Howard, and pioneer Fulton County.

The letter started with this line:

I found Mr. Howard’s folks in Toledo and came home with them.

The writer certainly had Toledo connections, but I wasn’t sure who “Mr. Howard’s folks” were. Could “Mr. Howard” be the well known pioneer Dresden Howard? The dates were about right, Howard having lived from 1817 to 1897. Having no other clue at hand, I dug out an 1888 atlas of Fulton County and located Dresden Howard, living just south of Winameg. Across the road from Howard lived another farmer, a Mr. Jesse S. Taylor. I could not help but notice that Howard and Taylor lived in Pike Township. The mystery was solved!

Jesse Taylor was an even bigger landowner than Dresden Howard. Taylor (1828-1905) owned 347 acres of land in various parts of Pike Township in the same atlas. He was born in Massachusetts, coming west with his father and settling near Winameg. By 1880 he was married and had three children. One son became a farmer, the other became a dentist. Married twice, he was a farmer all his life.
The letter was mysterious in other ways. Further down the page, he wrote:

. . . . plenty of work to do. The ditch not finished. I have worked in [the ditch] two days with the team & hired Mr. Kirkman to ditch across Waffles. We have it finished from Waffles up within a few rods of the house. . . .

Waffles? Breakfast waffles? Again the atlas helped. Although outside of the worst of the Black Swamp, Fulton County is flat as a pancake, and even moderate rainfall has nowhere to go. Starting in 1859, the state and county began financing the construction of an enormous system of ditches. By 1888, Pike Township had sixty ditches. The county was thus transformed into a farming paradise. Jesse Taylor appeared to have anticipated the government program by three years, digging his own ditch from his property to that of his neighbor, William Waffle. This waffle was not a pastry, but a person!

Farming virgin land was not easy. Taylor wrote:

I am very much disappointed in our crops. . . .We have been husking [corn] . . . and find it very light about one third of what we expected. . . . buckwheat is a failure. Our potatoes are small.

He was also concerned about a “bird” belonging to his wife, Harriet:

I forgot to tell you the instruction which James gave me in relation of that bird – that it needed a larger dish and clean water to bathe in – the cage kept clean & so on. . . . does it sing any yet?

Not farm chickens, but a pet bird. Residents of Northwest Ohio have kept birds from the beginning. An 1835 letter from Maumee mentions a pet robin in Sylvania Township. Birdcages likewise have been around for centuries, but in frontier Ohio, the cage would likely have been home-built. While Jesse did not mention the type of bird, it was almost certainly a native species and caught locally, as there were no pet shops even in Ohio’s cities until after the Civil War and fast railway delivery.

Initially the letter was a mystery surrounding a dateline ended up being interesting after all. Ditches, pet birds, and frontier Fulton County do not often appear in the same article. Reading old letters can be that way, and learning in a roundabout way is still learning. Just ask Jesse Taylor.
by Alan Borer