Time Warp in More Ways Than One

So Chris and I spent three blissfully quiet days in southeastern Ohio last weekend without our children. We visited Hocking Hills, where we shared a dinner we'll never forget. In fact, years from now our kids will roll their eyes when we begin to tell the tale saying, "We've heard about the Lunchbox Cafe a million times, Mom." The story they'll have to endure yet again will go something like this.

Chris and I were looking for someplace unique to eat. We'd seen an add in the paper for Etta's Lunchbox Cafe and Museum and decided to check it out. It was 20 minutes from anywhere, but that's true of most attractions in Hocking Hills, so we headed out, map in hand. We pulled in at the portable lighted sign next to the llama pen and parked in the dirt lot of the only structure for miles with electricity. It seemed even more remote when we both noticed that we had no cell service.

We walked into a deathly quiet, dusty, cluttered space that was at once a general store, dining room, living room and former gas station with 15 foot ceilings. After a minute or so, a scraggly, hyper middle-aged man named Dale emerged from what appeared to be a kitchen, and welcomed us to Etta's Lunchbox Cafe. He promptly introduced us to his wife, Etta, and asked if we wanted something to eat. Surprised that the place had menus, we looked one over for a minute and ordered two sandwiches.

He said it might be a few minutes, and invited us to tour the lunchbox museum. "Now before we go in," he said, "I gotta ask - what was your first lunch box?" I didn't think I remembered, but then Peanuts just popped into my head. "I think it was a Snoopy box of some kind," I muttered. Dale looked at Chris, who knew the answer immediately. "I had a King Kong lunchbox first and later a Kung Fu one." "Well, if you'll follow me," Dale instructed, "we'll take a little trip down memory lane." We walked through the dusty shelves of the general store and followed Dale into a back room. Never before has the word "museum" been used so loosely.

Before us was a large, dark storeroom whose walls were lined with pegboards covered with row upon row of lunchboxes. "Over 800 lunchboxes in our museum at present," Dale informed us, and then he launched into a rapid-fire lecture on the history of lunch box production, marketing and legislation in the U.S. (I bet you didn't know that metal lunchboxes were considered weapons in many school districts in the 1980's and were therefore prohibited in many schools.) Dale lectured passionately for some time, maneuvering around the cramped room to use specific boxes to illustrate his points.

All of the lunchboxes were used, of course, and some had been loved more than others, and sure enough, Chris and I were both found the lunchboxes we carried fifteen years before we met. Chris's first was an ever-so-cool "Kung Fu" metal box, and mine was a much more innocent "Snoopy" box in bright yellow plastic. Standing in the middle of nowhere, in surroundings not at all familiar, and certainly not comfortable, I was overcome with nostalgia. There it was - my first lunchbox. I was sure this one was mine. And there was my sister's "Hollie Hobbie" box, and my best friend's "Scooby Doo" box (of which I'd been so envious.) As corny as it is, we were transported by this wonderfully odd little place.

Just then, Etta hollered from the kitchen that dinner was ready, and we returned to the present for open-faced sandwiches that turned out to be darn good. As we ate, seated at one of several mis-matched and well-worn formica top tables with the metal trim, the lecture continued. Dale stood table-side as we ate and continued to talk as if he hadn't seen a customer in years. We sat facing the front screen door, and as Dale turned to take our plates back to the kitchen, several chickens meandered across the front porch followed leisurely by a goat. Chris and I exchanged glances, thanked Glen for a great time, and purchased a dust-encrusted toothbrush (it was sealed and shelved next to a lady shaver from the early 90's). Before heading back to our cabin, we snapped a few quick shots that we can bore the kids with every time we tell the tale.