#mount vernon ohio

[middleland]

Dog Fountain - Mt Vernon, Ohio (2) (3) by Jaci Starkey

[lauramariescorner]

Doggy Fountain

[petnews2day]

WAGS reads to Knox County Dog Shelter canines

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/WSej1

WAGS reads to Knox County Dog Shelter canines

MOUNT VERNON ��� Aubrey Holloway, with a book in hand, sits on a gray blanket reading to Bellasaurus. Bellasaurus is a retriever pitbull mix who’s found her way to Knox County Dog Shelter in search of a home. Holloway and Bellasaurus found each other through WAGS, a program destined to bring Mount Vernon Middle School […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/WSej1 #DogNews #8220Reading, #AdoptedDogs, #Featured, #KnoxCounty, #KnoxCountyDogShelter, #MiddleSchoolStudents, #MOUNTVERNONMiddleSchool, #MountVernonOhio, #VietnamWar, #VietnamWarServiceDogs, #Wags

[unteriors]

N Sandusky Street, Mount Vernon, Ohio.

[bluelizardlives]

BL got awful close trying to stick his tongue into the glass river.

[melicaniccole]

Memories About Mount Vernon Avenue

If you are like most of us, traveling down memory lane has become more of an occurrence than anything else. We travel down memory lane when we think about our childhood, food prices before COVID, and the housing market. When I first started driving at 16 years of age, gas prices were $1.06. Matter of fact, I remember paying $0.99 per gallon one summer. Those were great days, whether or not we…

[porcelainapparition]

Mount Vernon, Ohio

built in 1920

[sapphic-coded]

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Reader is a messed up assassin and loves helping her friend. More fun weapons. Opera music. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: This chapter is finally ready! I hope you all enjoy. I apologize for the long wait. I also apologize for the wait for the next chapter. Your love for this fic is why it's longer than one chapter.

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox @fxckmiup @escapereality4music @gbab09

Chapter Nine: You Can Fool Any Friend Who Ever Knew You

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993 

The sound of crunching snow caused your head to lift. Your friend knelt down in front of you. The wind swept the stray strands of her blue hair that escaped the confines of her gray knitted hat across her face. As her gloved hand reached up to push her hair away from her face, you tried desperately to understand what you were seeing. The look in your friend’s eyes was not one you were accustomed to. It was too strange. Like something out of a television show or in one of your sister’s books. It was fear and slight traces of panic. But not for herself. She looked scared about…you. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. 

Your head turned to look in the direction you had come from. In the direction of the frozen pond. Where the cold, dead hare sunk deep into the pitch black water. You had done it. You had done what was asked of you. So why did it feel like your father was standing right next to you? Scolding. Yelling. 

A soft gloved hand pressed gently against your cheek and slowly turned your head back towards Nat. 

“Y/N?” she asked. 

“I got lost,” your voice shook. You felt so cold. The sting of the wind against your cheeks was gone. The chill of the snow was quickly becoming a memory. Every inch of you was just cold. You were pretty sure your bones were turning into icicles. Which meant if you fell, you would shatter. 

Nat’s gloved hand dropped away from your face and came to rest on your arm. “Is your brother and sister also out there?” 

You shook your head. 

“Your father?” 

“He is at the convention,” your answer was automatic. It was what you were instructed to say if anyone asked about your father. It was an easy instruction to remember. It was true. Your father was attending his favorite convention. Also, no one ever bothered to ask. Nat was the first. 

“C’mon,” Nat said as she helped you to your feet. “We can’t stay out here.” 

Your body felt stiff as you stood. You couldn’t really feel your legs as you went to take your first step, but then Nat reached out to take hold of your hand. Despite the layers of the gloves that separated your hand from hers, you felt a sudden warmth. It was as if you had decided to reach out and grab the radiator in your family room. You instinctively tried to pull your arm back, but Nat’s hold on your hand didn’t let go. Instead, she led you back up the path you had been trying to find. 

Slowly, the stiffness in your body vanished as Nat led you out of the woods and into your backyard. The windows along the backside of your house were dark. As Nat neared your house’s back door, you stopped walking. She stopped and looked back at you. 

“You can’t go in there,” you said. Only your father was allowed to bring visitors over to the house. But even if that rule didn’t exist, you still wouldn’t bring Nat into your home. She was your friend. You couldn’t do that to her. Not when her house was so much better. 

“Okay,” she said. Her grip on your hand never wavered. “My house then.” 

You followed Nat around your house and across the street. The warmth of her home was almost overwhelming when she led you inside. The whole world was suddenly cast in a soft, yellow light as Nat helped you remove your boots. You shivered when you removed your coat and felt your damp clothes sticking to your skin. Nat led you upstairs and left you standing in the bathroom while she fetched spare clothes from her room. 

As you waited in the bathroom, you examined the small room. It was very similar to the one you and your siblings shared. The sink, toilet, and bathtub were all in the same spots. The floor was made of the same small, white, square tiles that covered the floor of your bathroom. But the walls were painted a warm beige. Your bathroom walls weren’t painted at all. Or if your father had painted them, they were just white. But one thing in particular grabbed your attention. 

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub was a bright yellow rubber duck. You walked over and picked it up. These were real?

The door to the bathroom opened, and Nat returned with dry, fresh clothes in her arms. “These should fit you.”  

You set the rubber duck down and took the fresh clothes. “Thanks. Where did you get the duck?” 

Nat looked first at the rubber duck and then back at you. “My mom. Why?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t know they were real. I only ever saw them on TV.” You felt stupid for not connecting the two things earlier. You didn’t have a mother so it only made sense that you also didn’t have a rubber duck. 

You changed into fresh clothes after Nat left. You felt more yourself when you left the bathroom and returned to your friend’s bedroom. She was busy setting up a game of Clue which was one of your favorite games. You settled down on the floor across from her as she finished setting up the board. 

“What were you doing out there?” she asked. 

You picked up the tiny revolver game piece. “Chores.” 

Richmond, Virginia – 2012

She looks stunning. The black dress compliments every inch of her body from her toned arms that spill from its short sleeves, to the graceful curve of her hips, and the commanding presence of her strong legs that peak out from the slit of her dress. Her short red hair looks softer, and the way her earrings catch the light makes you smile. Your focus is drawn to the red lipstick that coats her lips.  

“I know what it’s like to be used by other people.” 

Your smile falters, and you already start to feel the urge to move and do something. Preferably kill someone. But you’ll take standard violence if that’s the only option. The noise and thrill of it all always buries the thoughts and memories that try to climb to the surface. But you can’t do any of that. Climbing into the vent had been hard enough. You had just barely fit. You are also in position. Leaving now would jeopardize your friend’s mission. Which would jeopardize your alone time with her. 

So your only option is to continue to lay in the vent you crawled into. The picture you have of Nat in her dress remains up on your interior visor screen and you choose to imagine yourself in your finest suit. You miss the clothes you used to have. Instead of wearing one stupid suit, you were anyone you wanted to be. You could have easily been her date. Your smile returns. 

Your photo of Nat shrinks slightly as new data appears on the left side of your screen. It’s a message from the phone number you had memorized minutes after receiving it. 

Target approaching. You in position? 

You have just enough wiggle room in the vent to pull your cherished phone from one of your pockets. Your gloved fingers type out your reply. 

Tight fit. Ready. 

As you tuck your phone back into your pocket, you hear the crackling noise of your friend’s comms going live. The hum of voices mixed with the occasional clink of glassware echoes within your helmet. You can imagine the scene clearly. You and Nat surrounded by the wealthy and elite. Your friend on your arm as you make small talk with all the important people who you know so well. Because they hire you to kill their rivals. You enjoy watching the life fade from your targets’ eyes and all the important good wealthy people love staying in power. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. And the cherry on top is your friend–

“You look stunning Miss. Rushman.”

The stranger’s voice drowns out all the background noise. You stare up at the dull, metal panel that hangs two inches from your helmet. 

“Well, it’s not every day a girl gets invited to watch Tristan und Isolde,” Nat’s voice fills up all the space in your helmet. 

“I prefer to treat my business contacts well,” the stranger’s voice replies. “I find that these outings foster stronger connections. Come. Our seats are this way.” 

Your message log with Nat vanishes from your visor screen, and your picture of Nat shrinks as a boring map fills up the majority of your screen. You are familiar with this map. It’s a map of the entire building, and you’ve been studying it for the past forty-eight hours. You’re here to help your friend with her mission and nothing could go wrong. There was no way you were going to risk your time with Nat. So you are going to complete the objective per her orders. You smile at that thought as you review your route to your target. 

“Does that mean you are moving forward with my offer?” Nat’s voice asks. 

The map on your screen vanishes as you press your feet down on one of the vent panels. You feel it drop open and you shift around until you slide out of the vent and land in a hallway. To your left is a stairwell that only goes up. To your right is just a plain concrete wall. You pull your gun from your holster and attach a silencer over the muzzle as you start walking down the hallway. 

“Your offer is the most appealing,” the stranger’s voice replies. 

“It’s the highest bid you’ll get for it,” Nat’s voice says. 

You hear the stranger’s chuckle. “Your offer did take me by surprise, Miss. Rushman. At first, I thought I had appraised it incorrectly. But after reviewing its history, I found that I made no mistake. Every other bid falls in line with what I expected. Except for yours. I’m curious about your story.” 

As you near the end of the hallway, it splits off to the right and left. You turn to your right and raise your gun. Roughly five feet away is a guard dressed in a clean black suit. He stands with his back to you, and you take a moment to line up your shot. 

“My story is rather boring. I’m a collector, and I choose not to insult other colleagues with bad offers,” Nat’s voice says. Her lie makes you smile. You don’t know what the target is exactly. Your friend did not share those details with you. You didn’t push because it was her mission. Whatever all this was about was probably some secretive SHIELD stuff. Most likely real SHIELD since Nat had only invited you to help her. In the end, you didn’t care. But her lie sparked a small bit of curiosity about this target. 

The sound of the orchestra spills through your commlink as you pull the trigger. The guard crumples forward as blood splatters against the walls. Someone grabs you from behind. You jam your elbow into soft flesh and slip free from your assailant’s hold. You turn and bury a bullet in the middle of another guard’s face. The guard’s head jerks back as a large, red hole eats away at the center of his face. No more nose. Most of the upper lip gone. You hear bits of his brain hit the ground less than a second before his body does. 

You step over the fallen guards and are careful not to step into the growing puddles of blood. You continue down the hallway and kill two more guards who came rushing at you. You empty out the rest of your clip on one of the down guards who was still moaning. The guard is still and quiet as you reload your gun. 

“Oh I simply love this part,” the stranger’s voice says as you near the door that leads into the room containing your target. 

You open the door. The room within is large and square. Crates and boxes line the walls of the room. A brief glance into one of the open boxes reveals a random assortment of props. A storage room. You bet that if you could take off your helmet you could probably smell the musty scent that you know is clinging onto every inch of this space. It reminds you of your father’s storage room in your basement. The way the musty scent sucked up all the air. 

But unlike your father’s old storage closet, this storage room had clearly been prepared for visitors. All the lights were on and the space in the middle of the room cleared except for a single square card table. Sitting in the middle of the card table is a brown briefcase. Not one of those fancy briefcases. Well, maybe it had been fancy and eye-catching a long time ago. Now it bears the weather beaten stains of many years of use. You can see the scratches in the once perfect, smooth leather. The golden metal that accents the rectangular handles carries smudges. 

As you reach the card table, your free hand moves towards the pocket that carries your phone. 

Your visor alerts you to the other person’s approach a second after something loud and painful slams into your chest. All the info on your interior visor screen goes blank and the stream of orchestra music filtering into your helmet from your commlink with Nat abruptly stops as the force of whatever hit you lifts you off your feet. You are flying backwards as if yanked back on the end of a line. The crash of breaking crates swallows up your pained shout as your body collapses to the ground. Your suit feels so heavy. As if it was trapped beneath the weight of hundreds of crates. But you’re not trapped. You are lying amongst broken boxes and scattered props. But you can’t move. A flash of pain seizes hold of your limbs, and all you can do is lay there and stare at the dark visor screen while your limbs spasms.

“You certainly take your time.” 

It’s a voice you don’t recognize. That seemed to be the theme of the night. Nat gets her stranger, and you get yours. Your hands continue to twitch as you hear approaching footsteps. It takes only seconds for the stranger to reach you. Even with the black mask covering most of the stranger’s face, you don’t recognize him. His brown eyes examine your spasming body. You want to say something. You want to tell this man that his yellow hoodie looks like the color of piss and that his brown vest only cements the image of a foul toilet in your mind. But you can’t get a single word out. Just pained gasps. 

“This is what they gave you?” he asks as he gestures to your suit. 

Your eyes lock onto the bright bluish-white light that glows out the end of the man’s large metal gauntlets. 

“The way they talk about you, I thought they’d give you the better toy,” he says. 

You can start to feel your legs again as the man shakes his head and then moves his arm to aim one of the gauntlets at your head. You sweep your legs into the back of the stranger’s. The man falls and the blast meant for your head hits the crates behind you as you roll onto your knees. You quickly find your gun laying near the card table where you dropped it. You get to your feet and run towards it, but quickly change directions when you hear a loud whine. Another blast sends both your gun, the card table, and the briefcase flying. 

You turn towards the stranger. Your interior visor screen is still blank. Commlink gone. It’s almost like your old jobs. Minus the stupid suit and whatever kind of weapon this piss and shit themed man was using. You pull one of the black knives strapped to your torso free and rush towards him. The whine of the stranger’s gauntlets grows louder as the squares of bluish-white light where hands should normally be become brighter. You jump out of the way as another blast cuts across the storage room. You close the distance and bring your arm back to drive your knife into any part of him. The stranger raises one of the large gauntlets to block your strike. You drop your knife and catch it in your other hand and go to dig your knife into the man’s chest, but his other arm blocks that as well. 

You go to bring your knee up when a much smaller, but still painful, blast sends you flying back again. Your limbs don’t spasm like before as you crash again into more crates. Your knife is gone. Your gun is somewhere in this mess. Your heavy breaths begin to fog up your visor as you roll onto your side to get back up. You see the briefcase laying within arms reach to your right. You can hear the stranger’s rushed, advancing footsteps. 

You grab the handle of the briefcase and turn, swinging it out towards the man. The edge of the briefcase slams into the side of the man’s head. He stumbles away and you wish he wasn’t wearing that ski mask so you could see what kind of damage you had done. When he shakes his head and lets out a yell, you look down at your new weapon and frown. Apparently the briefcase is so old that the locks don’t work well. The briefcase is hanging open and the contents within landed at your feet. It’s–

Three gunshots silence the man’s yelling. You look up and watch as the stranger drops with a graceless thud. Three blotches of bright red stains his shit colored vest. His brown eyes are still open but very much dead. You missed your favorite part of any kill, but your thoughts are a jumbled mess. You want to look back down at what is laying at your feet, but instead you look over at the shooter. 

Your friend looks as stunning as her picture. Even better with the gun in her hand. You bet the barrel would still be warm if you could get close enough. If you could take off your helmet and just say anything. Anything to erase the last thing you said to her. You watch as she moves towards you. You spot the familiar traces of fear in the way her eyes examine every inch of you. Searching for anything broken. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

She’s so close. Just a couple inches and a stupid suit separates the two of you. It had been so long since she last saw you. Two years had passed. She had become a hero and you thought all connections to your time with her in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, had been severed. You thought she had moved on. You thought playing this stupid game with HYDRA and SHIELD was all you would ever get to spend time with your friend. But you were wrong. 

Her hand comes to grip the back of your helmet. “I need you to answer me.”

You nod. 

She lets go of the back of your helmet at your answer. You follow her gaze as she looks first at the briefcase you hold hanging open. Her gaze drops lower to the object at your feet. A black 9mm Beretta handgun. Your gun. The one you lost. The only one that ever felt right in your hand. 

She’s still playing your game. She’s still trying to find you. 

Nat picks up your gun, and your lips part as if to say something. There’s a million things you want to say, but you can’t. One word echoes amongst your jumbling thoughts, and it steals your voice. So instead, all you do is offer your friend the briefcase. 

“No,” Nat shakes her head. She steps closer to you to slide her gun into the empty holster at your hip. You see the corner of her lip rise into a smirk. “Don’t lose that.” Then, she slides your gun into the holster strapped to one of her long legs beneath the curtain of her dress. 

The briefcase falls from your grip, and Nat takes hold of your hand. You follow her to the exit, and as your thoughts continue to crash into each other and scream, you wonder: does she know it’s you? 

[fromthedust]

John Margolies (American, 1940-2016)

John Samuel Margolies was an architectural critic, photographer, and author who was noted for celebrating vernacular and novelty architecture in the United States, particularly those designed as roadside attractions. For almost forty years, he documented the most remarkable examples he found, publishing some of his discoveries in books and consigning the rest to an archive, which has now been purchased by the Library of Congress who, in a wonderfully gracious move, have lifted all copyright restrictions on the photographs. (see link below)

Gatorland Zoo alligator statue - Route 1, St. Augustine, Florida - 1979

Deschwanden's Shoe Repair (The Big Shoe) - 10th & Chester, Bakersfield, California - 1977

Wigwam Village #2 - office teepee and several teepee cabins - Route 31W, Cave City, Kentucky - 1979

Wigwam Village #6 - Route 66, Holbrook, Arizona - 1979

Jantzen sign - Stamie's Beachwear - Ocean Avenue, Daytona Beach, Florida - 1990

7-Up Bottling Company (two views) - NE 14 & Sandy Boulevard, Portland, Oregon - 1980

Coca Cola Bottling Company (two views) - 14th & Central Avenue, Los Angeles, California - 1977

Coca Cola Bottling Company (detail view of door) - 14th & Central Avenue, Los Angeles, California - 1977

It'll Do Motel (office) - Jonesborough, Tennessee - 1987

Joy Theater marquee - San Antonio, Texas - 1982

White Castle - Reading Road, Cincinnati, Ohio - 1980

Mammy's Cupboard (two views) - Route 61, Natchez, Mississippi - 1979

Dependable Used Cars sign - Division Street, Grand Rapids, Michigan - 1982

Stan The Tire Man statue - Broadway, Mount Vernon, Illinois - 1988

Bomber gas station - Route 99 E., Milwaukie, Oregon - 1980

World's Largest Redwood Tree Service Station (1936) - Route 101, Ukiah, California - 1991

Peach water tower - Frontage Road, Gaffney, South Carolina - 1988

Christie's Restaurant sign (cowboy shrimp) - Houston, Texas - 1983

Roadside flamingo statue - Frog City, Route 41, Florida - 1980

www.publicdomainreview.org/collection/john-margolies-photographs-of-roadside-america/

addendum: seen (not photographed) in a 2007 trip to Garibaldi/Nehalem/Manzanita Oregon — The Wheeler Inn with a wheelbarrow on the roof with a clothed female mannequin loaded into it . . .

[whencyclopedia]

George Washington

George Washington (1732-1799) was an American military officer and statesman who led the Continental Army to victory during the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) and served as the first President of the United States (1789-1797). Often regarded as the ‘Father of His Country’, Washington remains one of the most revered and iconic figures in U.S. history.

Early Life

George Washington was born at 10 am on 22 February 1732 at Pope’s Creek plantation in Westmoreland County, Virginia. He was the first of six children born to Augustine Washington, a wealthy Virginian landowner, and his second wife Mary Ball Washington; George also had four older half-siblings from his father’s first marriage. Little is known about George’s childhood. His early years were mostly spent on the family property of Ferry Farm on the Rappahannock River, and he likely attended school in Fredericksburg, Virginia, where he excelled in the subjects of geometry, trigonometry, and mapmaking. When his father suddenly died in 1743, 11-year-old George inherited Ferry Farm as well as ten enslaved people. Too young to fend for himself, he went to live with his eldest half-brother, Lawrence Washington (b.1718), at Mount Vernon. George idolized Lawrence, who he came to regard as both a father figure and a best friend.

George’s aptitude for mathematics led him to consider a career as a land surveyor, a respectable path to wealth and social advancement. In 1748, at the age of 16, he embarked on his first expedition into the Shenandoah Valley to survey the property of his influential neighbor, Thomas Fairfax. The next year, he earned his surveyor’s license and, through Fairfax’s patronage, was appointed surveyor for Culpeper County. Over the next three years, Washington completed 200 surveying expeditions and measured a total of 60,000 acres along Virginia’s western frontier. But just as George's career was taking off, Lawrence came down with tuberculosis. In November 1751, he went to the Caribbean island of Barbados in the hopes that the tropical air would improve his condition. George accompanied him, and contracted a painful case of smallpox during his brief stay on the island. George soon recovered but Lawrence was not so lucky, as he died shortly after returning to Virginia in 1752. After his brother's death, George started leasing Mount Vernon from Lawrence’s widow and became the legal owner of the property after her own death in 1761.

In 1753, George Washington reached the age of maturity, and was eager to find a way to make a name for himself. He would soon have an opportunity. The French had begun to construct forts on the forks of the Ohio River, fertile territory that had been claimed by Virginia. In November, Washington was sent as an envoy to demand that the French vacate the Ohio Country at once. On his journey into the west, he was joined by Christopher Gist, an experienced frontiersman and guide, and Tanacharison, a Mingo chieftain called the ‘Half-King’ by Virginians. It was Tanacharison who gave Washington the Seneca name of ‘Conotocaurius’ or ‘Devourer of Villages’, in reference to Washington’s great-grandfather, who had helped expel Native Americans from their lands in Virginia. The small party reached the French Fort LeBoeuf during a snowstorm; although they were received cordially by the fort’s commander, Washington’s demands were firmly rebuffed. Washington then embarked on his trek back to Virginia which included several perilous episodes. While crossing the icy Alleghany River in a raft, Washington fell overboard, and likely would have drowned had Gist not pulled him from the water.

George Washington as a Land Surveyor

Henry Hintermeister (Public Domain)

Continue reading...

[middleland]

121 E High St, Mt Vernon, Ohio by Jaci Starkey

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is different- it’s a 1929 French Normandy Q model Rockefeller on National Register of Historic Places. One of 81 homes built by John D Rockefeller Jr with architect Andrew J Thomas. It’s in East Cleveland, Ohio, has 5bd. 3.5bal and is on the market for only $265K. 

Interesting- an outer foyer leads to an entrance hall.

Cozy dark & moody living room. I like the shutters.

And look at this nice den. It would make a snug little home office or library. I would say that it was originally a sunporch.

This looks like the dining room. Nice colorful light fixture.

The kitchen looks like it has the original knotty pine cabinetry. 

Large laundry room- this is a good space.

The powder room has a commercial toilet. The only thing I don’t like about them is that they get leaks, b/c there’s no tank.

Interesting stairs.

This is the main bed. Very spacious.

The bath has been redone.

Smaller secondary bedroom, but still not a bad size.

Oh, look, an original vintage bath. Very nice.

3rd of 4 bds.

And, the 3rd bath.

The 4th bd. is kind of an L shape, so it’s more of a home office setup.

The basement family room has original flooring and wood. 

Utility sink and storage in the basement.

Looks like an old coal room that’s been converted to a pantry.

The rest of the basement is in pretty good shape.

2 car garage.

Plus a patio and side yard.

https://www.century21.com/property/2024-mount-vernon-boulevard-east-cleveland-oh-44112-C2183402403

[csny]

Alaska: Igloo, Kodiak bear, Iditarod sled dog race, Denali

Hawaii: pearl harbor, pineapple

washington: Space Needle, apple, mt st helens, rainier national park

oregon: roses, lighthouse, crater lake, oregon trail, hiking

california: redwood tree, white water rafting, gold, golden gate bridge, silicon valley, yosemite national park, wine country, sierra nevada mountains, hollywood, joshua tree

nevada: silver, las vegas strip, hoover dam

idaho: gemstones, potatoes

montana: rocky mountains, glacier national park, grizzly bear, bison

wyoming: yellowstone national park, old faithful geyser, bucking bronco

utah: great salt lake, zion national park, skiing

arizona: lake mead, grand canyon national park, montezuma castle, turquoise, saguaro cactus

new mexico: pueblo, yucca plant, carlsbad caverns

colorado: rocky mountain national park, columbine flower, elk

north dakota: oil, wind energy

south dakota: crazy horse memorial, the badlands, mount rushmore

nebraska: chimney rock, bald eagle, train

kansas: tornadoes, dodge city, sunflower

oklahoma: tomato, wheat, osage shield

texas: cattle, prickly pear cactus, oil refinery, the alamo, NASA Johnson space Center

Minnesota: lake of the woods, wolf, deer

iowa: prairie grass, corn

missouri; Hog, gateway arch

arkansas: razorback hog, banjo

louisiana: crayfish, mardi gras, jazz music

wisconsin: dairy

illinois: Willis tower, tractor, lincoln

michigan: copper, iron ore, automobile manufacturing, motown

indiana: Car

ohio: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, tires

pennsylvania: street mill, liberty bell

new jersey: constitution

maryland: blue crab

virginia: mount vernon

north carolina: wright brothers national memorial, tobacco farm, great smoky mountains national park, appalachian mountains

south carolina: fort sumter

georgia: peanuts, peach

florida: oranges, kennedy space center, alligator, everglades national park

alabama: cotton, civil rights movement

mississippi: magnolia

tennessee: country music

kentucky: horse racing

west virginia: coal

new york: apple tree, financial market, statue of liberty

massachusetts: american revolution

vermont: maple syrup

new hampshire: fall colors

maine: acadia national park, moose, lobster

And don’t make me repeat it!!!!!!!

[unteriors]

S Mount Vernon Avenue, Loudonville, Ohio.

[bluelizardlives]

Good art makes you feel something. This large metal structure left over from a glass factory made BL feel like he was in Donkey Kong.

[autotrails]

American Auto Trail-Baltimore & Ohio Railroad (Bellville to Mt Vernon OH)

American Auto Trail-Baltimore & Ohio Railroad (Bellville to Mt Vernon OH) https://youtu.be/LBDHaF24nVs This American auto trail follows a route from Bellville, Ohio, through Fredericktown, to Mount Vernon.