O'Brien Cemetery

When I was back in Ohio recently, my dad asked if I'd like to go see a cemetery that he'd "been driving by for 30 years and never stopped to check out."Of course I said yes. O'Brien Cemetery is less than five miles from the house where I grew up, but I'd never heard of it before. I wasn't as diligent at seeking out cemeteries (or exploring in general) then as I am now, but my recent trip back made me realize just how little I actually know about the place where I spent the first 27 years of my life.

Fortunately, at least one Charitan has been paying attention, and it felt right that my dad and I got to see the cemetery together. The only thing my dad had seen was the tiny sign ("Get your camera ready," he said) at the end of a long driveway that disappeared into woods. We drove down the gravel road not really knowing what to expect, but it felt like the way a horror movie might start, so we were optimistic.

The O'Brien cemetery was established in the 1880s, however burials took place on the site as early as 1806. The area, on the west side of Hudson Drive in Hudson, Ohio, was once called "Little Ireland," and the cemetery residents are primarily of Irish descent. There is a map of plots and names, including a lot of O'Briens, McCauleys, McKenzies and Galloways, although the plaque acknowledges that since a lot of the records have been lost, "there are definitely errors in this listing."

The cemetery is very small with only about 175 residents. It's definitely one of the smallest cemeteries I've ever explored, second only to the Second Cemetery of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, which is the smallest cemetery here in the city. Some of the stones are broken, some are in near-perfect condition, and others are adorned with fake flowers that probably seem like a good idea (they never die!) but somehow look extra creepy when they're tattered, sun-bleached and covered in spider webs.

At the entrance to the cemetery is a carved wooden monk, holding a tray on which visitors had left various offerings. Some of them made sense (coins), some were obviously just hastily taken from cars (the Little Trees air freshener, a salt packet) and others just made me laugh (a fossil collection diagram). I wasn't prepared, but I still felt as if I should leave something. I defaulted to the second category, hastily grabbed my Dinosaur Land wristband and offered it to the cemetery gods as a thank you for leading us to such a wonderful spot.

The Ohio State Reformatory: Chairs

One thing that JMP and I kept noticing as we toured the Ohio State Reformatory was all of the chairs. In almost every room that we entered, there was a chair—almost always alone and almost always a different style. I seem to always notice chairs when I'm in abandoned spaces—like the Ellis Island Hospital complex or the creepy dentist chair in the Staten Island hospital—and they add so much character and feeling to otherwise lifeless spaces.

A lone chair sets such a lonely scene, suggesting that a space's inhabitants simply got up and left, but at the same time suggesting that they may one day return. They humanize empty spaces and provide much-needed scale. We wondered if they were placed deliberately, and if so, we commend the chair-placer on duty that day—every one we came across was better than the last.

The variety of different styles kept us searching for more, and every time we found a new one we were thrilled. I'm always on the verge of becoming overwhelmed by incredible places like the Reformatory, and searching for specific things helps me stay focused. I only regret that I didn't happen to catch a ghost relaxin' in one of the chairs—catching an elusive JMP, however, was equally satisfying.

Longaberger Basket

The last stop on our recent #ALLCAPSEPICROADTRIPOFDELIGHTS was the (now former) Longaberger Basket headquarters in Newark, Ohio. I have always appreciated novelty architecture, but I've become more and more obsessed with seeking out examples of it. The Longaberger Basket is just about perfect in the "buildlings shaped like what they contain" department, right up there with Twistee Treats, donut shops like Randy's Donuts and the Big Duck (the latter two are top of my wish list).

I've said it before, but the whimsy of novelty architecture is something that is sorely missing in most people's every day lives. Unless of course, you drive down Ohio's Route 16 frequently, which has a near-perfect view of the big basket. If you never find yourself in rural Ohio, know that you can creep on the basket from Google Earth, where—just like Willy the Whale—the basket and its adorable shadow can be viewed at any time.

The basket was completed in 1997 at the insistence of founder Dave Longaberger, and at what would turn out to be the peak of the company's success. Two years after the building's completion, Longaberger died. Due in part to changing decor tastes, sales of the expensive baskets began to decline, and the company stopped paying taxes on the basket in 2014. Longaberger currently owes $577,660 in property taxes, and in mid-July they relocated their remaining employees to a space at their nearby manufacturing plant. 

We arrived at the basket late in the day, and there were two cars in the parking lot but by all accounts the building already looked abandoned. The large side parking lots are overgrown, the flags out front are in shreds and from up close you can see that the exterior paint has begun to peel. Because the company is so behind on the taxes, the possibility exists that the basket will be seized and put up for auction, with the minimum bid set at around $570k. This might be a steal if the basket wasn't located in Newark, Ohio, or if it wasn't so costly to maintain—I read somewhere that the handles need to be heated in the winter to prevent ice from forming and crashing through the massive skylight. 

I knew the basket was big—seven stories with handles and brass tags 160 times the size of a standard Longaberger basket —but it's definitely something that needs to be seen and experienced in person. 

Although it was a bit out of our way, finally making it to the big basket was a total dream-come-true for me and the perfect way to end our already-perfect roadtrip. I'm interested to see how this next phase of the basket's life turns out, and I do hope that it lives on in some way. However, if it does happen to stay abandoned and fall further into disrepair, a return trip to Newark is a must—the only thing better than a seven-story, basket-shaped office building is an abandoned, seven-story, basket-shaped office building.

Bonus Basket! I couldn't resist making one last, last stop at the nearby Longaberger Homestead, home of the "World's Largest Apple Basket," which was hand-woven out of hardwood maple and stands more than 29 feet tall.

Abandoned: Warner and Swasey Observatory

After fueling up at the Diner on 55th, and before roasting in the sun at the Rubber Bowl, JMP and I explored the Warner and Swasey Observatory in East Cleveland. The observatory was built by the owners of the Warner and Swasey instrument and telescope company, and given to Case University in 1919. The observatory originally had a 9.5 inch refractor and grew over the years to include a 24-inch telescope, library and lecture hall.

Light pollution from downtown Cleveland began to make observations difficult beginning in the 1950s, and a new facility was built 30 miles to the east. The observatory was officially abandoned in the 1980s, and plans to turn it into a residence fell through in the mid-2000s. There are a few boarded up windows and locked doors, but we actually just walked in through the back door, which was wide open.

Since the observatory has sat abandoned for so long, it's covered from top to bottom in graffiti. Most of it is run-of-the-mill, unimaginative penis drawings and swear words, but there were a few phrases that made me laugh, like "Long Live Bob Ross + Happy Trees," and the people that amended "You Will Die" with "probably" and "might."

The main observatory, despite missing a few dome panels, was such a thrill to see. I'd seen photographs of this building many times, but nothing prepared me for how cool it was to actually stand inside of the large rotunda. It must have been really extraordinary to observe the heavens from here in the early 1900s, and even though thinking about space really freaks me out, I would love to have seen the observatory in its heyday.

One of the main thoughts I left with was how large the observatory seemed from the inside vs. my expectations. It seemed as if we kept going through hallway after hallway and finding room after room. The auditorium was a last minute, A+ find, although it was so dark that we had to use flashlights just to barely make out the lecture hall. We found a classroom with a chalkboard still hanging, and some rooms with somewhat new construction suggesting plans that never fully materialized.

We almost missed the smaller observatory, but I'm so glad we stumbled on it before we left. Of course I wish that we had been able to see the observatory as it was originally, or at least not covered in layers and layers of average graffiti, but it's kind of a miracle that it's still standing at all after so many years of neglect.

Cleveland: Diner on 55th

Before a day spent creeping on abandoned places around Northeast Ohio (ending with the spectacular Rubber Bowl), JMP and I knew a proper diner breakfast was the only option. She scouted out a few diners around the Cleveland area, and after a false start at one that turned out to be a catering company, we ended up at the Diner on 55th. The diner is named after where it's located: on East 55th and St. Clair, just east of downtown Cleveland.

Although it looks straight out of the 1950s, the diner—from a pre-fab diner company and built in three pieces so it can be reassembled anywhere—is relatively new. The owner, a proper Greek, diner-lover named Dmetrios Anagnostos, came out of retirement and opened the Diner on 55th in 2001 after visiting a diner in Georgia and deciding that maybe he wasn't done with the Cleveland restaurant scene after all.

Seated at a table next to us was who I can only assume to be Anagnostos himself. Noticing my very conspicuous camera, he asked where we were from. When I told him I lived in New York, he talked fondly of the diners here and mentioned that New Jersey is also a bit of a diner goldmine. He was friendly and warm, and his love of diners was so obvious that I loved him (and his diner) immediately.

The inside of the diner is a veritable shrine to Coca-Cola, with a red-and-white color scheme to match. Even though the decor (and even the dining car itself) falls into the category of diner I like to call "faux retro," the service and food really made the visit memorable. My breakfast sandwich was incredible, my grits were the best I've had north of the Mason-Dixon line, and despite the very busy day that followed, I wasn't hungry until dinner time.

Muffler Man: Traders World

After visiting the field of giant corn cobs, and before treating ourselves to a cone (and a float) from The Cone, we were on the hunt for a Muffler Man. I had his location pinpointed on my map, but I had no idea that we were about to hit the roadside kitsch jackpot at the entrance to Traders World.

Traders World claims to be the "midwest's largest and most colorful flea market," and has been in Lebanon, Ohio for more than 30 years. It's pretty far south from where I grew up so I had never heard of it, despite my deep love of flea markets and roadside figurines. They have 16 buildings, 850 inside vendor spaces and 400 outdoor vendor spaces—sadly it was closed by the time we arrived, but it looked enormous.

Luckily, the grand entrance gates are flanked by not only the top-notch Muffler Man, but several other fiberglass animals and beautiful handpainted signs. I was so happy to be able to see yet another Muffler Man in person (my seventh!), and delighted beyond words to stumble upon all sorts of additional critters, who—despite the many signs—did not roar or bite once.

Rubber Bowl: Abandoned

When I knew I was going to have a few days in Ohio after our recent road trip, I started making a list of abandoned places that I wanted to try to creep on. Ohio has its fair share of abandoned places and I'm constantly mad at myself for not taking advantage of all the Midwest has to offer back when I lived there. I've been determined to make up for lost time, and top of my list was the Rubber Bowl. Built in 1940 as a football stadium for the University of Akron, the Rubber Bowl closed in 2008, and despite plans to renovate it, it currently sits vacant.

In addition to hosting football games, the Rubber Bowl was also a performance venue, hosting the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus as well as concerts by The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, The Grateful Dead, Simon & Garfunkel and Black Sabbath.

The stadium has a seating capacity of 35,202, and is right next to Derby Downs, home of the annual Soap Box Derby. In fact, the Soapbox Derby was happening at the exact same time we planned on creeping on the stadium, and we were almost deterred by the crowds. I'm so glad we had the courage to go ahead as planned anyway, because the stadium was an absolute post-apocalyptic dream.

We initially went into the interior of the stadium, which doesn't have much left in it except piles of bleachers and other debris. The stadium, striped of its bleachers down to the concrete feels more like the Roman Colosseum than a modern-day arena. It's crazy how big the stadium felt, probably even more so because we were the only ones there. The toilet rooms confused me (so close together!) until JMP pointed out that there were once stalls to separate them from one another (duh).

I'm definitely still a novice when it comes to exploring abandoned places, but I can't imagine finding a place much better than the Rubber Bowl. Abandoned spaces are fascinating to me because of contrasts—seeing a place that was once filled to the brim with people, now completely empty; man-made concrete and steel structures being reclaimed by nature, green crawling and sprouting from every crack. The Rubber Bowl is a perfect example of this, with its evergreen artificial turf looking game-day ready, while the rest of the stadium crumbles around it.

Field of Giant Corn Cobs

As a native of Ohio, I'm no stranger to cornfields—in fact, I used to live on a street that had two of them, and nothing made me happier than wrapping my porch columns in dried cornstalks every Halloween. If you mix an intense love of roadside attractions with my cornfed, Ohio DNA you'd probably end up with something very similar to the field of giant corn cobs in Dublin, Ohio.

The 109 larger-than-life corncobs sprout from a field once farmed by Sam Frantz, inventor of hybrid corns. In 1994 the Dublin Arts Council commissioned artist Malcolm Cochran to create the field of concrete corn using three molds with different kernel patterns. I did notice the variation, and to the untrained eye it looks as if each cob is unique.

We were most surprised about where the field is located—smack dab in the middle of a bland industrial park, right next to a busy road and surrounded by the upper class suburbs of Columbus. While the setting was unexpected, the field of giant corn cobs has all the ingredients of a classic roadside attraction—an every day object that is dramatically scaled, accessible, strange and seemingly out of place, but with a connection to local history (however tenuous) that makes it all feel much more normal than a field of giant, concrete corn probably should.

The Cone

When we were planning our recent road trip, my friend JMP casually mentioned that we should try to hunt down an ice-cream-shaped ice cream stand to add to our itinerary. I replied "oh, I already did," and sent her information for The Cone, located in Tylersville, Ohio (a suburb northeast of Cincinnati).

The Cone is a Twistee-Treat-style ice cream stand, like the Twist o' the Mist in Niagara Falls or the two I visited back in October in Massillon, Ohio. The Cone is the first orange-and-white color scheme I've seen on these buildings, and I love how infinitely customizable they are. We saw a lot of people ordering the orange and white twist cone, which must be their specialty. I definitely would have ordered it just for the novelty factor, but orange ice cream sounds horrible to me, so I had a root beer float which was excellent.

They had garbage cans shaped like ice cream cones, a water fountain shaped like a lion AND a pressed penny machine, which is the holy grail of any roadside stop, in my opinion. As if the main building wasn't charming enough, they also had a few "Mobile Cones," topped with sprinkles and I can't think of anything cuter to catch cruising around town.

The Ohio State Reformatory

The second stop on our recent ALL CAPS EPIC ROAD TRIP OF DELIGHTS was the Ohio State Reformatory, in Mansfield, Ohio. The Reformatory opened in 1896 and housed more than 155,000 inmates until it closed in 1990. The building was designed by Cleveland architect Levi T. Scofield, combining three architectural styles; Victorian Gothic, Richardsonian Romanesque and Queen Anne. The hope was that the architecture of the complex would encourage inmates to turn away from their sinful lifestyle, embrace their spiritual lives and repent.

The Reformatory may be most famous as a filming location for the Shawshank Redemption, which has always been one of my favorite movies. Shots of the cell block were filmed at the Reformatory, and you can visit the warden's office, the space where Red has his parole reviews and the apartment where Brooks (SPOILER ALERT for a 22-year-old movie) meets his end. The movie also filmed scenes around Ohio in Ashland County, Upper Sandusky and at Malabar Farm.

The six-tiered, east cell block is the largest free-standing steel cell block in the world. The OSR reminds me a lot of Eastern State Penitentiary, although the overall layout and visitor experience is a bit different. It's mind-boggling to stand inside one of the teeny tiny cells, trying to imagine being locked inside of such a cramped space—not to mention also having to share it with another person.

In addition to two cell blocks, the Reformatory also has an entire administration wing with offices and residences. There's an old library, shower room, solitary confinement, a chapel, and a whole maze of different rooms and spooky corridors to explore. The Reformatory is often associated with paranormal activity (but what old place—especially old prison—isn't?), and they offer "Ghost Hunts," which include a tour and "independent investigating" from 8pm-5am.

This was my second visit to the Reformatory, and while I appreciate the info to be gained from a guided tour, being able to roam the place at our own pace was ideal. Mansfield is a little out of the way if you don't find yourself in Ohio often but if creeping around old abandoned places is your jam, the Reformatory is a great place to spend the afternoon —or night if you're really brave.

Willy the Whale

My friend Jean-Marie and I recently embarked upon a three-day road trip that we dubbed the ALL CAPS EPIC ROAD TRIP OF DELIGHTS (you can browse our silly hashtag on Instagram, if you'd like: #allcapsepicroadtripofdelights). The destination was Wigwam Village no. 2 in Cave City, Kentucky, but as with any proper road trip, it was mostly about the journey. Our first stop after picking up our rental car was the site of the former Mother Goose Land fairy tale park, in Canton, Ohio.

Mother Goose Land opened in Canton in 1954 and closed in the 1980s. It sat abandoned until fairly recently, when Willy and the park's entrance gates received some much-needed attention. The park originally had storybook and animal displays such as Humpty Dumpty and the Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe, and sadly Willy is all that remains. You can actually see Willy from Google Earth which delighted me to no end when I first went looking for him and spotted his distinctive shape.

Across from Willy there is a mural which appears to fairly new, paying homage to fairytale characters such as Humpty Dumpty, the three little pigs, the three blind mice, the gingerbread man, Puss n' boot and even (a quite sinister-looking) Willy himself. There's not much else to the park and it was deserted when we were there on a Saturday morning. I wish I had been able to see the park in its heyday, but  I'm so grateful that Willy survived and that attention, however little, is once again being paid to Mother Goose Land.

Twistee Treat

When my friend Katie told me that she would be getting married about five minutes from where I used to live in Massillon, Ohio, Jim and I started planning a roadtrip. He'd never really been to Ohio before, and I was eager to revisit a few spots that I took for granted when they were part of my every day commute. I was particularly excited to see the two Twistee Treats that are a few minutes apart and just down the road from the last place I lived in Ohio.

According to Roadside Architecture, Twistee Treats are "28 feet tall and 20 feet wide fiberglass ice cream cones topped with cherries. The design was created by Robert G. "Skip" Skinner who built the first location in North Fort Myers in 1982. The buildings were produced in Cape Coral, FL. They were made from 19 pieces of fiberglass and assembled on-site. By 1986, there were 30 locations, all of them in Florida. It is believed that about 90 of these buildings were produced over the years. About half of them have been demolished."

Chubby's is definitely my favorite, and as far as I can tell one of the nicest ones that still exist. The cherry, fudge, raised lettering and hand-painted signage really bring it to the next level. While we were creeping on it, the owner actually pulled up to collect her planters. We thought she was going to question why we were creeping on her obviously closed business, but instead she apologized that they had just recently closed for the season. She also remarked "there's no doubt what we sell," which is what I love about novelty architecture. Is there anything more charming than getting ice cream from a building shaped like an ice cream cone? Nope.

The other location is more sparse than Chubby's, but any building shaped like what it sells is perfect in my book. I do love the matching umbrellas, and this Twistee Treat gets the distinction of being the only one that I've actually patronized. We went through the drive-thru once and I got a chocolate-dipped cone that was a very delicious but hazardous choice.

There is another Twistee Treat quite close to these two, but it's nearly identical to the pink one and was slightly out of our way so we didn't get to it. After browsing the #twisteetreat hashtag on Instagram and seeing one for sale, Jim and I promptly developed a fantasy of buying one, plopping it in a New York park à la Shake Shake and retiring as millionaires—with a lifetime supply of ice cream that looks exactly like the building in which it was made.

Texas / Ohio

I'm finally back in New York after a whirlwind two weekends. On Easter I visited my sister, brother-in-law and niece in Texas, and two days later I went to Ohio to visit family, friends and former co-workers. I had a great time in both exotic locales, but I legit teared up when I touched down at LaGuardia because there's nothing like back-to-back trips to the south and mid-west to make me appreciate the fact that I get to call New York "home" even more than I usually do.

While in Texas I hung out with my incredibly smart, hilarious, beautiful and sweet 11-year-old niece — we dyed Easter eggs and I found myself being jealous of every single brilliant egg she made and wondering how I could be so lucky to be related to such cool people.

We even made like proper Texans and ventured to a bluebonnet "field" to take photos, because I think it's against the law not to — the people taking selfies and dragging around props were completely fascinating. We saw empty frames (to stick your head through, of course), lots of matching denim and even a tiny pink Cadillac because nothing says "wildflower field" like a motorized plastic model of a classic car. The people watching definitely trumped the actual bluebonnets themselves, although they were pretty and the closest I'll probably come to an actual flower field until I can make my way over to Holland for their tulips.

On Monday my sister took me to Denton, Texas which is a super cute town with a great candy shop, vintage shops with wonderful signs and a great used book store that I would probably still be browsing if I hadn't had to catch a flight back to New York the next day.

Two days after getting back to New York, I headed back to LaGuardia, this time on my way to Ohio. On Friday I spent all day at my former place of employment, 427 Design, making cookies and helping them get ready for their annual open house party. I wasn't going to let a silly thing like "moving to New York" let me miss the best party in my hometown.

The theme for their 8th-annual open house was 8-bit and I made some very simple "pixel" cookies in New York, packed them in my carry-on bag and iced them in Ohio. It was a great way to see all of my very favorite Ohioans at once, and I hope I'm always able to return for future open houses.

It was also wonderful seeing my dad, uncle and grandparents and I even spent some time in my old bedroom, which my dad has turned into an office while preserving all of my angsty-teenagery hand-painted wall quotes and the crazy color scheme.

This was the first time I had been back to Ohio just to visit since I moved to New York — no moving or packing up all of my possessions, insanely teary goodbyes or cats on eight-hour car rides to complicate matters, and it was nice and blissfully stress-free. My home town may always be in Ohio, but it was equally nice to return to New York, because — to cheesily quote my favorite movie of all-time — there's no place like home.