There’s Something Rotten in the State of Ohio

Green Springs, Ohio

Much of my job consists of inside sales and primarily, cold-calling.  And because my employer is based in Ohio and a lot of our clients are also based in Ohio, a lot of their prospects—shocking!—are based in Ohio, too.   So in short, I call a lot of people in Ohio.

The more you call companies in Ohio, the more you get intrigued by the names of certain towns and cities and where they came from.  Like Bolivar, for example.  Was it named after Simon Bolivar, the famous South American “Libertador,” and if so, why?  And why are there all of these towns named after places in Spain (Toledo, Seville, Cadiz)?

When I first started calling companies in Green Springs, Ohio, located not too far from me (and in two counties, which I find a bit odd), I was curious about the name.

What kind of springs were they, exactly?  (Besides green ones, of course.)  Springs carry an almost mystical quality, especially when you think about how in many cultures and countries, they were—and in some places, still are—viewed as being magical, imbued with healing properties.  Places where spas where built and where, for hundreds of years, the elite (and the desperate) would go to “take the waters” and hopefully be cured.

Curious, I popped on the infallible source of Wikipedia and learned that Green Springs had been named after the mineral springs it was home to—one of the largest natural springs (and sulfur ones!) in the world.

So duh, I had to go.

On my way down to my parents’ place in Wooster over the holidays, I decided to take a quick detour through Green Springs to see these magical waters for themselves.  In tow was my roommate/best friend, Beeker, my pet black male tomcat who’s a giant asshole, but a cute one.

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Here he is, hiding in a closet.  Why do all cats love closets?

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Look how proud he is that he knocked over my jewelry.

Beeker was hanging out in his cat carrier, so he wasn’t very happy, so I knew I’d have to cut the visit short.

I arrived in town, expecting to find a very-obviously-marked way to the springs.  But I could not find the green springs in Green Springs, even though I did smell the rotten eggs in the air.

I pulled over in a gas station and asked the attendant where they were.  She said she had no idea; she wasn’t from the area, she just worked there.

Great.

Eventually, I found a passerby, who directed me back to the healthcare center I’d driven by  on the way into town and where the scent of sulfur had been the strongest.

The green springs were essentially a small lagoon-type thing, turquoise in color and inhabited with birds.  The air certainly stunk, and the view was marred by the healthcare building, which was clearly using the mineral springs’ fame to its advantage for marketing purposes.

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Hearing my cat meowing from the car, I snapped a few quick photos, then headed out, glad to be away from the stink.

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