Goat Run Honey Fork Road

I visit Union Furnace, New Plymouth Cemetery, and Tick Ridge Cemetery in Starr Township, Ohio, where my grandfather was born and raised. There is a road that has interested me near Union Furnace. Goat Run Honey Fork Road. 

I found the house where Grandpa Joe was born using a 1908 photo of his family in front of the house when he was eight-years-old. (Grandpa Joe on the left)

An old man was sitting on the porch swing when I pulled into the drive. His son came over to see who is this guy who is talking to the old man. When I showed them the photograph, they asked if I wanted to see the inside and backyard. It was dark inside and the warped flooring was evidence of the century-old house. I imagined my grandfather squirrel hunting in the woods or gathering hickory nuts up the hill after the first frost.
They said to come back anytime. Here's my poem about the experience.

Goat Run Honey Fork Road

I got lost on Goat Run Honey Fork Road
And stopped in Union Furnace to find my way.
His routine denied complexity
As I interrupted his simplicity.

He watches the world from his porch swing
At the intersection that is the town.
I showed him the yellowed photograph, fading hard,
Of my grandfather, eight years old, in his yard.

The house is unchanged and, save for the trees,
The porch sets the same after one hundred years.
The walls need painting, and warped floors, waxed with grime,
Make a slanting walk falling me back in time.

Out back is lush-green with deep woods encroaching,
Attacking and devouring the man-made glade.
I searched the defending rock wall for a stone;
A remembrance of this time alone.

I leave him to resume his porch swing duties,

And thanking me for interrupting his day.

He says, “Come again when you’re down this way!”

If I find Goat Run Honey Fork Road again, I may.