George Brown
By George Brown

Last week fellow hiker Jim Meyer and I had a delicious breakfast at Mamma’s Grill in Williamsburg, then headed east to hit a couple of trails in Adams County. Both of the trails we hiked are part of the Richard and Lucile Durrell Edge of Appalachia Preserve, under the umbrella of The Nature Conservancy. The Joan Jones Portman Trail, located off State Route 125 east of West Union, was the shorter of the two. Its natural beauty includes a long stretch through a grove of cedar trees, majestic rock outcroppings, and a scenic view at the pinnacle. It also happens to be part of Ohio’s 1,444 mile-long Buckeye Trail.

The second trail, Buzzardroost Rock, is a few miles further east. It is a well known and popular hiking trail in Southern Ohio, but even those familiar with Buzzardroost Rock may be surprised to learn that the entire trail was rerouted this past summer, except for the short ridge approach to the overlook. The new trail is about a half mile longer than the old one but is now a moderate, pleasant upward trek instead of a grueling, precipitous climb.

Jim and I maintained a leisurely pace, stopping often to chat and take photos, and still managed to reach the overlook in just under an hour. When we arrived, as though on cue, the clouds parted, exposing a brilliant blue sky, which made the panoramic view all the more beautiful. We lingered for 15 minutes or so and then Jim said, “I guess we’d better be heading back.” I agreed and fell in step behind Jim, as we began retracing our steps along the ridge.

When we reached the spot where the old trail drops off to the left we paused and I asked Jim if he’d ever heard the story of how Buzzardroost Rock got its name. Jim leaned on his walking stick and replied, “No, but I suppose it had something to do with buzzards.”

“Yes, it did”, I said. “Would you like to hear it” Jim knew I wanted to share the story, and apparently he wanted to hear it because, without responding, he sat down on a log at the edge of the trail and looked up inquisitively, like a little boy waiting to hear a bedtime story; and so I began.

I heard this story when I was here four years ago. I had hiked out to the overlook and was making my way back when I spotted an older fellow sitting right there on the log where your sitting now. I say old because I judged him to be at least 80, maybe even 85. His walking stick was as gnarled as his hands, and a broad brimmed hat shaded his weathered and wrinkled face.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it”, I said, hoping to strike up a conversation. The old man nodded but seemed to be lost in thought, so I persisted. “I’ bet you’ve hiked this trail more times than I could count. Do you happen to know why they call it Buzardroost?”

This sparked the old man’s attention. Tipping his hat back to reveal soft brown eyes, he lifted a crooked finger and pointed to his right. “You see that sign over there?” The old man was pointing to a small wooden sign with the single, barely visible word, ‘Trail’, etched on it. “That sign helps city folks find their way out the ridge to the overlook, but what folks don’t know is it also marks the resting place of Jedidiah Brown.”

Without further prompting the old man went on to tell me the story of Jedidiah Brown. “Jedidiah was born in upstate New York around 1775; nobody knows for sure. In the spring of 1810 he made his way down the Ohio on a flat boat and got off at the mouth of Brush Creek. Jedidiah was a trapper and he had in mind to build a small log cabin and then work beaver traps up Brush Creek and other nearby creeks, which he did that summer.

“It was getting on toward fall when a friend, a fellow trapper named Brash Meyer, realized he hadn’t seen or heard anything of Jedidiah for more than two weeks, so he and some friends commenced to searching for him. They followed Brush Creek till it turned into a trickle but never saw any sign of Jedidiah except for his unattended traps. They knew some ill will had befallen Jedidiah but they finally gave up the search and Brash Meyer took over Jedidiah’s traps.

“Come spring, Brash was working Jedidiah’s traps when he happened onto a trail he and his friend’s had not seen the preceding fall. The trail led Brash up here and he found Jedidiah’s body laying right over there, picked clean to the bone. Jedidiah’s torn cloths were still more or less hanging on his body, and Brash found a note in Jedidiah’s pants pocket that he must have scrawled shortly before he died. It read, “Rattlesnake bite, buzzards circling overhead. I love you Mattie.” The note was signed, “Jedidiah B”.

“Brash didn’t know who Mattie was so there was no point in trying to return what was left of Jedidiah to her, so he buried his friend right there where he found him. Later Brash came back and placed a wooden marker on the grave. The sign read, ‘Jedidiah Brown Trail’. In the course of time the top half of the sign rotted away, or some one broke it off, so all that remained was the word, ‘Trail’. As time passed new folks moved into the territory and heard the story of Jedidiah and how he’d been eaten by the buzzards so they started calling this Buzzardroost Rock Trail; and that’s how this trail got its name.

“That’s quite a story”, Jim said.

“Yes, but that’s not the end of it”, I responded. “When the old man finished his story he stood as if to walk out the ridge to the overlook, but before he could go, I reached out and shook his hand. ‘I enjoyed meeting you’, I said. Then I turned and started down the trail, but I’d only gone a short distance when I realized I was carrying the old man’s walking stick. I hurried back to the log where he’d been sitting and looked out the ridge prepared to call to him, but the old man was gone – vanished into thin air. “I happened to glance up and saw a single buzzard circling overheard, which sent a cold chill up my spine because I suddenly realized I’d been conversing with the ghost of Jedidiah Brown, or maybe it was the ghost of Brash Meyer.

Jim looked at me and smiled. “George, I don’t know whether to believe you or not, but it sure was a good story.”

“I’ll tell you what Jim, the next time we go hiking I’ll bring that walking stick along to show you”, I told him.

Yes, it surely was an enjoyable day at the Edge of Appalachia.