“…a wealth of exciting attractions”

The tourist brochure at the Gallipolis Holiday Inn counter is the skimpiest I’ve ever seen: a single sheet (one-third of a threefold brochure). “A wealth of exciting attractions provides a fascinating adventure for the whole family,” it says, but gives no specifics. I am convinced that tourists do not visit Gallipolis.

There is, needless to say, a web site: http://www.gallipolis.org.

Through a communications mix-up we arrived here with time to kill on Monday. I coerced Chris, my travelling partner, into visiting the only “exciting attraction” I could dig up, the Jewel Evans GristMill. It’s a dramatic post and beam structure surrounded by miles and miles of rolling nothingness. It looks exactly like a newly-build 18th-century gristmill which, in fact, it is. The mill is owned and run by Steve Evans, who is, in his own words the “black sheep of the Evans family.”

Bob Evans, his father, is a local celebrity and a very, very wealthy man. He made his fortune by building a many-tentacled empire of “Bob Evans Family Restaurants” through the Southland. The chain still thrives. Though I’ve never heard it before, the name Bob Evans appears to be a close second to Colonel Sanders in the y’all zone. He was born and raised on a sprawling ranch in Gallipolis. I think this ranch is the other “exciting attraction.” Our waitress at the Holiday Inn, who once worked for the Bob Evans corporation, informed us that the Evans dominion had recently swallowed up a second chain of family restaurants and some kind of upscale Mexicanoid franchise in two swift gulps.

I had lunch at a Bob Evans with my students this afternoon (there were few other choices). I guess the one thing that would distinguish it from a Dennys or Friendly’s was the fact that they seemed inordinately proud of their sausage. Please don’t tell the French people about this aspect of the so-called “French City.” I fear they would ask us to return the Statue of Liberty.

Back at the grain mill, customers were pretty scarce yesterday. I guess that if you’re scion of old Bob Evans you can afford to build your own 18th century grist mill in the middle of nowhere and run it as a hobby. Especially if you name it after mom.

Don’t get me wrong. Steve is a delightful fellow. He clearly loves the mill, loves milling, and loves talking with visitors about milling and showing them around. He speaks the gospel of stone ground whole grain, and his employees seemed to respect and admire him. His enthusiasm was infectious. I had a jolly time there. I smelled the fresh ground wheat smell, learned about the superior quality of antique French buhr millstones, and discovered that you judge the artisan who dresses your mill stone “by his mettle,” that is, by observing the pieces of his steel tool lodged in his hand. This is an occupational hazard of chipping away at the hard quartz. At least that’s what Steve says. I’m shlepping home several pounds of stone-ground wheat and corn — about four dollars worth, which seems to represent a significant portion of the days’ receipts. When I made the purchase, Steve couldn’t get the cash register to work.

Alas, Steve says that the vast Bob Evans Empire won’t touch even an ounce of his healthy, fresh-ground products, or, he says, any whole-grain foods.

The mill has (need I even mention it?) a web site, http://www.jewelevans.com, and you can buy Jewel Evans 10-grain cereal at the Vermont Country store in Manchester Center.

Coming Soon: Musing about Gadgets, Atlanta Georgia (mid-February), Travel as Aphrodisiac, and Life in Skyland