Revisiting the Greenville Treaty Line

Road Trip Redux

My tent, pitched in an old canal bed near the Greenville Treaty Line.

This morning I head to the southern end of Mohican Country, the Ashland/Knox county line, for the placement of Greenville Treaty markers. With that, a road trip I took nine months ago comes full circle. Again. Such was the nature of that trip.

I’ll share an account here of the last leg of that trip.

This will be new stuff for most readers. Those who have read it, sing along.

I arrived in Bolivar late Saturday afternoon. I’d eaten an early breakfast at my Beaver Creek campsite then spent the day driving aimlessly around the backroads of eastern Ohio. I wasn’t particularly hungry. Still, I felt I should eat something before heading to the outskirts of town to camp at Towpath Trail Peace Park.

I parked my truck across the street from a promising-looking little restaurant — the Canal Street Diner. I was not disappointed. Later I’d learn that, had I stepped out the back door and wandered a short distance and time-travelled to the mid 19^th century, I might have stumbled into the Sandy & Beaver Canal where it joined the Ohio & Erie Canal. Beaver Creek State Park is at the other end of the Sandy & Beaver Canal — about 70 miles away.

Shortly after I arrived at Towpath Trail Peace Park, a man who introduced himself as Laughing Crow came out to greet me. He told me that the owner, Joe Rinehart, was out but would be back shortly. Then he showed me where to pitch my tent.

“Anywhere in there,” he said, gesturing toward a two-tiered grassy terrace. I later learned that the lower tier was a remnant of a canal bed.

Then he seemed to vanish — back into the house or somewhere on the property. I felt Laughing Crow’s presence but didn’t see him for the remainder of my stay there.

I knew there was something special about Towpath Trail Peace Park — something magical.  I got that impression from Joe’s morning posts on Facebook. Like me, Joe’s an early riser and a dedicated coffee drinker. He’s one of those people that, if you lived in the same town, you’d hang out with him at the local diner.

That’s why I decided to camp at the Peace Park on the second night of my three-day road trip through eastern Ohio.

The whole trip started with a chance meeting with a reader — a guy I’d never met before — in the parking lot of Wedgewing Restaurant in Perrysville, which is near where I live. I mentioned that I was looking for places to camp and canoe and he suggested I try Beaver Creek State Park near the Pennsylvania border.

I rarely act on such recommendations, much less even consider them. The stranger had no sooner driven off in his old Ranger pickup truck when I had one of those “why not?” moments. By the time I got home, I’d drawn up a rough itinerary in my head.

That included a stay at Joe’s Peace Park.

Two days after the chance meeting in Perrysville I was tooling down the Lincoln Highway singing along with Willie Nelson. “On the Road Again.”

Somewhere this side of Lisbon, Ohio, a bald eagle swooped down to the road in front of my truck. The eagle was after fresh roadkill but thought better of it when it noticed my truck bearing down. The eagle veered off to a field of corn stubble and grabbed a talon full of nesting material instead.

That seemed to set the tone for what would be three days and two nights of nonstop surprises, coincidences and connections that spanned time, space and the human condition. Nowhere was that more evident than Towpath Trail Peace Park.

The private campground is located at a crossroads of Ohio history.

As Joe describes it: “The Ohio-Erie Canal Towpath Trail runs concurrent with the Buckeye Trail, Great American Rail Trail and the Ohio-Erie Canal Scenic Byway across our property. The Greenville Peace Treaty Line of August 3, 1795, intersects with the trails at the Bolivar Boardwalk and Towpath Trail Peace Park primitive campsites. 

“The northern view from the Peace Park includes where the largest Delaware Indian settlement throughout the 1700s existed and across the Tuscarawas River is where Christian Frederick Post built the first log cabin in 1761 within what is now Ohio.”

In addition to that, a telegraph line also ran through there. For you younger folks, telegraph was the precursor of the internet and social media.

That evening Joe and I spent a few hours walking the towpath trail and talking. In the morning, I joined him for coffee on his patio. He showed me his Buddha shrine in front of the house, which includes a tribute to his late wife, Rose Ebner Bond Rinehart.

“I’m a bad Buddhist,” he confessed.

“Me too,” I responded.

I guess a lot of us come up short when it comes to practice. Regardless of our spiritual discipline.

After breaking camp early Sunday morning, I headed out to meet with friends to paddle a stretch of the Tuscarawas River. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Joe. I left him a bag of Black Fork blend coffee, named after a branch of the Mohican River that passes through Perrysville. Seemed fitting — another connection.

I completed my journey with a leisurely paddle from Gnadenhutten to Newcomerstown with Scott Freese, Curtis Casto and Ashlee Smith. It ended up being 16 miles or so, as I recall.

I’ve always regarded bird sightings as omens. Bald eagles graced us with their presence — rousting a murder of crows from the treetops along the Tuscarawas. As the crows flew off, I noticed there was one white bird among them. They were too far distant by the time I saw it, but its shape and manner of flying led me to believe it was a crow.

Not sure of the significance, if any.

Meaningsymbolism.com offers one explanation: “The white crow symbolizes healing, purification, revelation, transformation, and change. In some traditions, the appearance of a white crow signals that it is time to let go of the past and move on to new beginnings.”

Or another road trip.

Cue the travelin’ music. Sing it, Willie …