The Blue Goose Carry Out sat along U.S. Route 36 near the small village of Nellie, just outside Warsaw, Ohio, in Coshocton County. For decades, it was a familiar stop for travelers cutting through the countryside, and for locals on their way to or from the nearby dam, river, or wooded hunting grounds. The store fit the mold of the classic Ohio roadside carry-out: part convenience store, part social hub, and part time capsule of a slower rural rhythm. Though records of its exact opening are scarce, the building appears to have dated back to the mid-to-late twentieth century, serving the area during the height of small-town general stores and mom-and-pop carry-outs that once dotted every state highway before larger chain gas stations and mini-marts began to dominate.

People who grew up in the area remember it as a place filled with warmth and familiarity. Many recall walking inside to find photos stapled across the ceiling, the faint hum of old refrigeration coolers, and the bright red-and-blue gleam of a Pepsi sign outside. Some who passed through in their youth still speak fondly of grabbing a soda and snack on summer drives or stopping in before fishing trips. For those who lived nearby, the Blue Goose wasn’t just a pit stop—it was part of the landscape of their everyday life, one of those small-town constants that seemed like it would always be there.

Stories shared by locals describe a community place with character. One man remembered a fellow named TJ who parked a smoker out front and sold barbecue so good that people would detour just to grab a plate. Others remember a man named Bill and his wife running the place. There have been tales shared of hunters stopping in at dawn, fishermen coming by after an early trip, and neighbors congregating by the counter to swap stories and gossip. Over the years, the Blue Goose became a touchpoint for people who lived between the small towns scattered across Coshocton County’s backroads.

By the early 2000s, the building had begun to fade. Some stopped in, unknowingly for the last time, only to find the shelves thinning and the charm of the place giving way to quiet decline. By 2013, the building had begin falling apart, its sign still visible, the building standing solitary near the roadside, a shell of its busier years. The decline followed a familiar pattern: as rural populations dropped and small independent stores struggled to compete with larger chains, places like this became harder to keep alive.

Locals say there were rumors that something tragic happened there before it closed—someone may have been shot—but no clear records back that up. What’s certain is that, at some point, the lights went off for good. The Pepsi sign rusted. The doors closed. The gravel parking lot grew weeds. Yet the Blue Goose never quite left people’s memories. It appears in conversation with affection and nostalgia, especially from those who remember the days of driving by it on Route 36, pulling over for a cold drink, or chatting with the regulars.

The building, like many rural carry-outs, marked more than a place to buy things. It represented a form of connection in the kind of community where distances are measured not in miles, but in memories shared at familiar corners. The Blue Goose was part of that old network of roadside stores that tied together small Ohio towns before they became quieter and more scattered. Even in disuse, it remains a small landmark—its faded sign and boarded windows hinting at the social life that once filled it. For those who remember, the Blue Goose is one of those places that stays vivid long after it’s gone, not because of its grandeur, but because it was part of their daily world, and part of an era when even the smallest roadside store could feel like the heart of a town.