After the tornado – blazing a new trail at Malabar Farm State Park

I’ve lived up the hill from Malabar Farm State Park for more than 20 years and hiked there countless times. None will ever compare to the hike on the morning of June 14.

The previous night a tornado slashed through six miles of southern Richland and Ashland counties. The brunt of it hit between Butler and Newville. The path of destruction extended well beyond that. Wind bursts in excess of 100 miles an hour snapped off clusters of mature trees or uprooted them entirely. Power lines dangled from broken poles or lay on the ground everywhere you looked.

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I was up before dawn on June 14. There would be no time to spoil the pets and enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee, my usual routine. My friend Annette McCormick and her sister Phebe Simpson planned to fly to Washington, D.C., for a pleasure trip. Phebe was to drive down from Medina and pick her up around 10 a.m.

For those wondering who Annette is, years ago she felt sorry for me and took me in just as she’s done for stray dogs, cats, and even a few domestic turkeys that had wandered off from a farm up the road. I don’t purr, play fetch, and am too old and tough to serve for Thanksgiving dinner. So I have to earn my keep.

That’s what I was doing that morning — out at the crack of dawn making sure Phebe could make it to the house.

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Roads in both directions were choked with fallen trees and dangling wires

I had no idea of the extent of the storm damage. My first clue should have been the big pine tree laying across the driveway. I got out a chainsaw and cleared a path wide enough to drive through. Then I started my hike, which ultimately covered five miles.

The roads in both directions were choked with clusters of fallen trees and dangling wires. I set out for Malabar Farm, a mile down the hill on Bromfield Road. I wanted to see how close Phebe could get to the house and scout the best way for Annette to hike down to meet her.

I hiked and picked my way through tangles of fallen trees and limbs — each denser and more foreboding than the previous. I pressed on, wanting to make sure that Malabar Farm was accessible from Pleasant Valley Road.

I hiked back up the hill overland, through sopping wet vegetation. The storm had delivered more than an inch of rain. I hoped to find openings in the debris field where Annette and I could wend our way down the hill. There were none.

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When I got back to the house, I told Annette the only way down would be a gasline that leads to an open crop field behind the Malabar Farm Visitor Center. The grass had not been mowed this year and was about 3 feet high. Plus there were low-hanging wires across the gas line.

She pressed me to try another option, a narrower gas line that runs down to the road near Pugh Cabin. We didn’t have time to explore other options — especially ones that might not pan out. We opted for the only sure thing.

She put on a pair of Wellingtons, I hoisted her suitcase onto my back, and off we went. It was a mile-long trek and slow-going because of the high wet grass. By the time we reached Phebe’s car, we looked like a couple of drowned rats. Phebe should be commended for not laughing out loud.

Out of curiosity, I took Annette’s suggested route back to the house — the gas line from the Pugh Cabin road. The humorist in me wants to say she was right. How ironic it would have been if that route had been clear of storm debris, lined with undisturbed wildflowers, unicorns contentedly grazing in the picnic grove, and a shimmering rainbow arcing overhead.

But that was not the case. It was even worse than Bromfield Road. It was a pleasant hike just the same. Mostly because I’d get to say those words few men have occasion to utter — I told you so.

Irv Oslin, a retired Times-Gazette reporter, is a canoe and outdoors enthusiast.

This article originally appeared on Ashland Times Gazette: Hiking in Ashland County becomes a whole new adventure after a tornado