The village and the peninsula

 

Columbus skyline from the Whittier Peninsula

Where I stayed

During eight years in Columbus and almost two decades of subsequent visits, I have spent surprisingly little time in German Village. Having a close friend move there changed that. My friend Ben caught the urban bug and moved down into a 130-year-old house in German Village. 

Most placesI wandered on this trip would be new. Not more than an hour off the plane, we wandered for the filling meal I needed. Schmidt’s Sausage Haus, one of German Village’s venerable establishments, was mostly empty. 

While the Schmidt’s meat-packing business in German Village dates to the 1880s, the restaurant on Kossuth was built in a converted livery stable in the 1960s. On weekends, it’s always a mob scene, but on Thursday afternoon, we could chat with our waiter while working through a beer and a sausage plate. 

While Schmidt’s has its share of delectable desserts, including their signature creampuff, I had to keep my own tradition. Friday, I ventured up to Clintonville for my customary stops at Mozart’s, the Austrian bakery run by the Saha family. If I leave without a box of cookies and torte slices, something has gone wrong. 

From Schmidt's, we cut over to Parsons Avenue. We had plans to meet Jeff and Jason at Parsons North Brewing Co. on the edge of German Village where Nationwide Children’s Hospital occupies many blocks. There are few better ways to start a trip to a former home than beverages with old friends. 

Schiller Park became one of the few frequent stops. The lone sunny afternoon it felt a little brighter with its signature art installations, the statue of its namesake (German philosopher and poet Friedrich Schiller), the arbor-covered stage, and the the girl in the rain. The city parks department could have turned the sculpture's water off in this weather). 

Schiller 

Girl in the rain

As happened too often on this trip, a cell of thunderstorms rolled in. We took refuge in the Book Loft, which always feels a little too claustrophobic for me. But I bought some H.P. Lovecraft short stories before the sun returned. 

Rain at midnight

Before the Nick Cave concert, I had beers with Brent, yet another old friend I had not seen in a decade. We had a few IPAs at Seventh Son Brewery and people-watched from a well-worn leather couch while we caught up with our lives. Brent informed me that I was "raw-dogging life" by not taking any medications to boost my mental health, but I countered that by crying freely when it felt necessary, I managed fine. I was glad to see him and needed his his snark. The concert pre-game was an old-fashioned hangout in Harrison West with my concert buddies, Mike and Ron. 

More new eateries followed. More former friends would come on Saturday, even the rain never took a break. We met Katy and Melissa at the Gemut Bier Garten in Old Town East. The German beer styles paired well with everything on their menu. Everyone sat at long tables in the former church building. 

Fox in the Snow delights

Sunday was the only major departure, a trip up to the Cleveland suburbs to visit my aunt and my oldest friends, Marjie and Drew. Always good moments, but there are never enough of them. The only connective tissue was the rain, which did not relent at any point between Lake Erie and the state capitol. 

Monday morning, we ventured through the Village again, with the rain mostly holding off. Fox in the Snow, which served dynamite coffee and breakfast sandwiches. A little pricey for everyday eating, but on a short vacation it was a worthy stop. 

We again came to Schiller Park. The Canadian geese loitered along the lake banks with their yellow goslings still too cute to feel like the nuisance their parents are. 

Perhaps the best break came with the Whittier Peninsula. We started walking, raincoats and umbrellas ready if necessary. The sun was nowhere to be found in Central Ohio. I remember when the city authorized a cleanup of the Whittier Peninsula. 

Schiller stage

On a bend in the Scioto River, the peninsula was an urban industrial district. Most of the industry left by the early 2000s, and the city developed the peninsula into parkland with an Audubon Center, the first in a city’s urban core. 

With the bridge under construction and pedestrian access through a poorly signed detour, we just crossed the old railroad tracks. Despite the width of the tracks, they had not been used in years, although I still feared a Fried Green Tomatoes moment that never came. Everything beyond the tracks was the Scioto Audubon Metro Park. After another morning of rain, the sky cleared up for a journey across the urban parkland. With Audubon’s addition, the city has 1,600 acres of park holdings along the Scioto and Olentangy rivers. 

On weekdays, the peninsula gets light visitation, although the bridge construction probably did not help. A few runners passed, but few daytime visitors went past the fenced dog park. Hiking trails cross the parkland. A climbing wall garners a few daytime challengers. An old water tower has been converted to add several observation decks. 

From the deck and select points on the peninsula, views of the Columbus skyline are unparalleled. A business strip still operates on the peninsula, but it is still far from the industrial land of old. It includes the Audubon center that drove the park construction. The strip includes the Columbus outpost of Nocterra Brewing from the northern suburb Powell. We stopped for a beer, then wandered along the boardwalk that crosses the wetlands traversed by numerous birds. 

The Audubon center is no accident, since the Whittier Peninsula is a major stopover on a migratory bird flyway. The cattails and tall grasses around the ponds hosted many species. We crossed our new favorite railroad tracks, this time following a path of grass matted down by previous visitor and back over to the village. While it does not have the brick streets like the rest of the neighborhood, even High Street feels less urban at this point. 

Devouring a few quick tacos for Cinco de Mayo, we moved onto Antiques on High, a sour beer outlet of the Columbus-based Seventh Son Brewing, was our final stop. The beer outpost still has many flourishes of its previous history, some antiques that form the décor including a child’s toy bear, two taxidermied squirrels in a canoe, and a vintage vending machine filled with very expensive artisan goods. I had a tasty saison to end my trip. 

The rain struck up again as we wound through the brick streets toward Ben’s house. I didn’t mind the rain this time, as it took a break long enough for us to enjoy the hidden treasure of the Whittier Peninsula and the oddities surrounding to aged beers at Antiques on High.