Art – ADDetrick.com

From the Banks of Grand River

Harpersfield Covered Bridge spans the Grand River, a tributary that collects Cleveland area water and drops it into Lake Eire. Built in 1868 in the wake of the Civil War, the bridge remained standing when floodwaters from the Great Flood of 1913 washed away the land at the north end of the bridge. Covered bridges stay erect by using a truss design which simultaneously holds the vertical length up by compressing some elements and putting tension on other elements, so there was no way to simply extending the bridge. Instead, what was created was just two independent bridges, connected together.

And so it was in 1913 that the steel expanse connected the settled northern bank with the covered bridge. It creates a unique, cobbled-together appearance, but remains on of the longest covered spans in Ohio.

And I almost climbed into the wrong car as I was leaving.
In front of the car’s owners.

They were not pleased.

Color TV

The Poolside Motel in Geneva-On-The-Lake, Ohio was not a particularly well-reviewed establishment before it closed. It was a standard 1950s-era motor lodge on the shores of Lake Erie: one-story, four-unit bungalows with doors that open to a centralized parking lot.

It’s hard to tell if the outdated signage was there for nostalgia, aesthetics, or inertia, but when “color TV” and “ice” are your key selling points, lodgers may be in for an interesting night.

Also, the pool was empty and covered in garbage.

Outside the Octagon

The history of octagon houses have a confusing history. Originating in the 1850’s, the North American versions were either designed as an homage to the pseudoscience of phrenology, or they were an unique approach to load-bearing walls. Others claim they were homes designed for the unitarian pious (all walls and rooms are of equal size and equidistant from each other), or for security from the rancor of the Civil War (frequent windows and vista porches made it easy to scout for approaching marauders).

Whatever the reason, the Gregg-Crites Octagon House in Circleville, Ohio was built in 1855 and sat on the main road between Columbus and Chillicothe, the original capitol city of Ohio. The original farm was sold in the early 2000s to Wal-Mart, and the house was slated for demolition to make way for a Wal-Mart Super Center. (Or, what we call “progress”.)

Fortunately, the Circleville residents were able to form a commission that moved the entire house to a safe location a few miles from its original home. They hope to renovate the house and turn it into a museum someday.

Fear and Loathing in Kentucky

Kentucky is a mystery to me. It’s a place of total unpredictability. It was the first state west of the Appalachians. It was difficult to get to, and it’s rocky soil made agriculture difficult. It has a hardscrabble history atop some of the richest natural resources in the country. Possibly more than any other state, Kentucky has a lineage of tough-as-nails motherfuckers making due with very little.

It’s a state of fierce independents who make their living doing deadly work for low pay in industries that openly exploit them. It’s the third-most Federally-dependent state, but regularly and overwhelmingly votes candidates into office who support cutting Federal benefits.

Contradiction is Kentucky’s nature, and that tension of opposites creates both hopeless poverty in some, and a creative and indomitable will in others. It’s unsurprising that it has a legendary musical history. And less surprising that it was the birthplace of two of America’s most polarizing and intriguing figures: Muhammad Ali and Hunter S. Thompson.

I think I’ve read everything Thompson ever published. And like many Thompson fans, I wandered the murky, Blakean artist’s path between madness and wisdom. But Thompson was like an elite athlete of both. And like all elite athletes, he understood the nature – and the benefits – of sacrifice. His massive appetite for knowledge, experience, and intoxication led to insights into the human experience that few have been able to communicate. His was a life of madness and wisdom, of irresponsibility and wisdom, a walking contradiction. Like a true son of Kentucky.

“No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride…and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well…maybe chalk it up to forced consciousness expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.”

This mural is on the side of a vegan restaurant in the Germantown neighborhood of Louisville.