Findlay Market opened in 1855 as one of Cincinnati's nine municipal market houses. It is the only one still in operation. Named for General James Findlay, it is built on ground owned by the general and left to the city by his estate to be used as a public market. Today it is a popular place for fresh fruits and vegetables, large varieties of meat (including rabbit, goat, and all parts of the pig), baked goods, and cheese. Outside of the air conditioned building you'll find vendors selling jewelery, handmade soap, baskets, and flowers.
|Well? The Professor needed a surface to write on. Chester was handy.|
|Jule's Hematite necklace.|
Chester and I left Grandma and the Inmates on a bench and went into the farmer's market area. I picked up a container of peaches for The Professor, who loves fresh ones only if they're family farm peaches and not Meijer peaches. We also tasted some cheese samples and bought a block of a kind called Ludlow which was superb. With the rest of the gang, we popped into a tea store nearby, which had a cute selection of pots, cups, and a few tacky William and Kate souvenirs. On the day of the wedding they were hosting an expensive tea celebration, but I chose to celebrate at home in my pink bathrobe and kick-ass red hat.
We had been unable to park in the crowded lot, so we got a space farther up Vine Street. As we approached our vehicle there were several men sitting on the building's stoop smoking something that had a strange smell and I briefly worried about my kids getting a contact high. I climbed behind the wheel and coming down the street was one of the locals. She was a good 250 pounds, with her pants low-slung, her belly dangling over the waistband. She was probably a DD bra size, but it was hard to tell since she wasn't actually wearing a bra and they dangled over her waistband as well. As I started to pull out I caught a glimpse of her in my side mirror and she was showing half a foot of butt cleavage. We didn't point her out to the Inmates for fear that a) Foghorn would loudly comment on her or b) they would lose their appetites.
|The Rookwood in Mount Adams.|
|One of the old kilns behind the bar.|
The American Sign Museum on Essex Place in Cincinnati. This was a new place for us and it was surprisingly cool. From the outside it is deceptive. It's in a dilapidated area in a rather dilapidated building that looks like a warehouse. Inside, though, it a wonderland of signage. There is an area just inside the entrance with large neon signs from bowling alleys, motels, restaurants, drug stores, and even a Pentecostal church. In the air conditioned building is a nice assortment of signs from all eras, tools, and even a couple gas pumps and air pumps. The place is relatively small, but there is a fundraising drive underway for expansion and it would be wonderful to see this place grow. It is by far one of the most unique museums in Cincinnati.
We were particularly taken with some of the early 20th century lighted signs that looked like something Buster Keaton would have run past while being chased by cops. I also was drawn to a giant pair of eyes behind neon glasses that reminded me of the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg from The Great Gatsby. Grandma noted a sign for Wilson's milk that admonished us to "Save the Labels." She said that she did so back in the day and you could then trade them in for household items. Her mother used them to have my siblings buy Mother's Day gifts and such for her, including many of the pie pans she still uses today. The Professor was particularly taken with a bubbling neon sign for Pittsburgh Paints and a clock with a sign that flipped like the old 70s alarm clocks.
Foghorn declared it "The Most Boring Place in the World." The Professor snapped back with, "How can you call this place boring?!?" The rest of us thought it was really neat. Admission is $10 per person, with children under 12 free if accompanied by a paying adult. (Check the website for hours, as this is a small organization.)
For once we had the bulk of the afternoon and early evening off, with our last outing of the day not taking place until 9 p.m. We had the whole gang along -- Foghorn, The Professor, Uncle Chester, Grandma, The Vulcan, and The Warden -- to help earn the Ghost Tour patch. Miamitown is in southwest Ohio, not far from the Indiana border. I actually spent my teenage years in nearby Whitewater Township and am familiar with the area. Since most of my family, except for The Vulcan, have at least a passing interest in the paranormal and since I am a certified paranormal investigator (no, really), I thought it only fitting to take the Miamitown Ghost Tour.
We were part of a group of about 14 who were led through the streets of Miamitown by our tour guides, Garett Merk and Jeff Morris. I've been on a number of ghost tours in my time and we all agreed this was one of the best. Besides stories of haunted happenings, we got a lot of history of the area itself that was unknown to me before. I had lived not far from the Mt. Hope Pet Cemetery and it wasn't until tonight I learned there was a baby elephant buried there. Who knew?
The Professor was engrossed in the stories from the first moment and mostly stuck with Uncle Chester, while I stayed in the rear with Grandma, who had brought her rolling walker, more to have a place to sit than to actually help her walk. The thing turned out to be a bit of a pain, as apparently Miamitown's tax base isn't what it should be and there were so many bumps, holes, and uneven spots in the roads and sidewalks that a chunk of the time I simply carried the dang thing instead of trying to roll it. Foghorn was quiet and attentive, but as the tour wore on and it got increasingly dark, she became increasingly spooked.
The tour was just short of an hour and a half long and when we were about 2/3 of the way through, they stopped by the bridge on Harrison to talk about ghost stories relating to the bridge collapse in 1989. We were then to be taken down a small, dark, and spooky road that ran parallel to the main road. The guide said that once someone told him she felt an icy finger on her neck while walking there. Then, on a later tour, someone else said she felt an icy finger. It was then that he started sharing that information with his tours and he jokingly said, "Now every time there is at least one member of my tour who is touched by an icy finger...usually one of the youngest ones in the group." Everyone snickered and started down a grassy hill to the road. Grandma was given the option of taking the main road so she didn't have to fight the walker. Foghorn then started crying and saying she didn't want to go on the scary road. I tried to get her to go with Grandma, but naturally she only wanted to go with me, so I missed out on the spooky lane. She had taken the guy's story seriously and assumed that the owner of the icy finger targeted the youngest person in the group, which in this case was her. The Professor, Chester, and The Vulcan took the lane, although Chester informed me later the only scary thing that happened is she nearly tripped in a hole and fell.
|The Professor in Miamitown Cemetery|
For additional photos of camp activities, please see the post below or check out my photos on Flickr.
* Camp Photos
For more ideas for things to do in Cincinnati (and things to do with kids in Cincinnati), please check out the post below.
** Things to Do in Cincinnati
You might also be interested in:
* Camp Gonnawanna - The Kickoff
* Camp Gonnawanna - Day 1
* Camp Gonnawanna - Day 2