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This town is home to me, no matter where I move or how long I am gone I always seem to find my way back. Columbus is an artsy, musically inclined, working class, creative, funky, liberal, food truck and restaurant-yummy, open minded university town. It is full of hidden jewels - neighborhoods with massive oak and maple trees creating green canopies in the summer, with sidewalks and porches, coffee shops and farmer’s markets. 

I grew up in Clintonville smack-dab in the middle-space between High and Indianola, cushioned from noisy traffic and busy streets. During the 1960’s we only had one car so we walked - everywhere. Walking alone to and from school on a crisp cool Autumn day was some form of enchantment. Shushing through leaves, the scent of wet sidewalks carried in the chilly air. We walked to Olympic pool during the hot sticky summers - before air conditioning was the norm. We walked to Whetstone for 4^th of July or just to explore the woods.

Walking allowed us to think, to smell and hear the magic of the seasons. We were rained on, were hot or freezing depending on the time of year, but when we walked into our homes there was a palpable feeling of comfort. I still do daily walks in Clintonville.

I grew up during turbulent times - the Vietnam war, John and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King's assassinations, college demonstrations, a questioning of the old-guard. But in the background our young and beautiful parents and their friends played Bridge, had parties and raised broods of children. Our mother's wore strappy sandals and a-line cotton dresses in summer, their hair like Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched. 

And in the background we listened to the Beatles, Sly and the Family Stone, the Temptations and Dusty Springfield. Eleanor Rigby, The Look of Love, Ain't no Mountain High Enough all were a part of our playlist while coming of age.

We were surrounded by traditions. Those of us raised Catholic had rigid rituals which were a part of our everyday lives. Sunday Mass, fasting on Holy Days, going to the dreaded confession. Women got dolled up then for church, wearing hats or beautiful lace veils. Our teachers were nuns and up until my 6^th grade they still wore white habits and full-length black robes with simple wooden rosaries dangling from their waists. 

We jumped rope after school at the O’Neil’s. Played Kick the Can and Hide-n-go-seek at our house using our maple tree as home base. We rarely came in until dinner time, then rushed out again hoping to catch the last light before bath and bed. We were lucky, blessed really to have been raised here.

This site is meant to not only explore what Clintonville (and Columbus) was but also to explore the wonder of it today and all that it offers.