Wednesday, October 30, 2019

My month in Kentucky


My take on Kentucky

where I went this month

You can see I made a valiant effort to cover a lot of Kentucky, despite spending so much time fooling around with my broken heater.  I missed the small piece of Kentucky that borders the Mississippi River and the whole chunk north of Lexington.  But I managed to see probably the majority of the land.

Kentucky’s land
Kentucky has several large cities – Louisville and Lexington – and several much smaller cities – Frankfurt and Bowling Green.  It has a number of decent-sized towns, like Owensboro.  But mostly what it has is farmland and forests.  The western part of the state isn’t flat, but the hills aren’t particularly high; in contrast, the eastern part of the state gradually increases in elevation until you find yourself in the Appalachians.

Kentucky is a beautiful state.  It has rivers everywhere, huge forests, wonderful mountains, scenic views of one kind or another all over the state.  Even the farmlands are likely beautiful when they aren’t somewhere in the harvesting stage.  This month the farmland has been more like seeing a man who is usually clean-shaven with a chin full of stubble – not at its best.

Kentucky’s people
Kentuckians are proud of their state’s beauty.  They love it.  They’re happy to recommend their favorite beauty spots to visitors.

Unlike some states I’ve visited, Kentuckians don’t seem bothered by an urban vs. rural divide.  It feels more integrated here, in a way, as if all the parts made up the whole, rather than one part pulling against other parts.

Most of the people I talked to liked where they lived – and the usual reason I was given was that it was quiet and they liked their neighbors.  A few people said they like the beauty of where they live but that they can't find a lot to do for entertainment.

I didn’t myself see signs that Kentucky has a problem with unemployment, though I would expect they do because the coal industry has been such an important part of the economy.  Some coal towns are trying to reinvent themselves, with varying degrees of success.  Black lung disease is surfacing as a serious problem here.  I heard on the radio one day that Kentucky has the 8th highest rate of food insecurity in the US, which must make things difficult for the children.

Kentuckians seem to put a premium on education, based on the number and size of their universities and colleges.  There’s currently distress because the state funding mechanism for education has gotten messed up in some way and the education fund is significantly short of money.  I’m sorry I won’t be able to hear how that comes out.

On the flip side, I met almost nobody who was willing to give me even so much as a smile on their own – I had to initiate all contacts.  But when I did, I found Kentuckians to be very friendly and even chatty, once they got going.  This being part of the South, I guess I expected a more spontaneous welcome for strangers than I saw.  Still, they opened up just fine if I started it.

The vast majority of residents are white, and more than half of the black residents live in the Louisville area.  This sounds to me like there’s likely still racial problems here and there, which doesn’t seem right in a state that started the Civil War by voting to stay officially neutral.  But I know there are plenty of apologists for the Civil War heritage – as I found in the conversation I heard at the Jefferson Davis Museum – and that doubtless makes itself felt if you’re not a white person here.

As I’ve been driving through areas that are so very rural, and through Appalachia in particular, I’ve thought about the mental pictures and preconceptions I and millions of Americans have held about people who live here.  The reality I saw bears little resemblance to those ideas.

I’m sure here and there way back in the hills are little shacks – but then I’ve seen those in Texas, too.  I haven’t seen any here in Kentucky.  The houses I see in even very rural areas are all kinds: wood frame houses, red brick houses, parked trailers alone and in trailer courts, stone houses – some small and some fairly grand like those in nicer old parts of Austin.  All sizes of houses.  No shacks.

Most people I’ve talked to have very strong country Kentucky accents, but then I’m in the South again so the Southern accent is to be expected.  And rural areas all over the country show stronger versions of their regional accents than the urban areas do.

One big surprise for me was no horses.  I'll bet I didn't see many more than a dozen horses in the whole month I was here.  For a state that claims the title of Horse Capital of the World, that seems really odd.  And I don't know why.  Many days the weather was plenty mild enough for them to be out at pasture, but I saw nary a one.

Something else I didn't expect were the large numbers of people who smoked cigarettes.  Buildings open to the public appear to be smoke-free, because I never encountered indoor cigarette smoke.  But that made the smokers more obvious by being shunted outdoors.  I know tobacco is a major crop here, but I'm still surprised so many people use it, given the cancer-causing facts that are general knowledge these days.  But they sure do.

Kentucky drivers
Kentucky drivers are a lot like Texas drivers – fast.  They mostly don’t tailgate, but I've had them drive pretty close to me when I’m not going fast enough for them (which was often on these roads).  I heard a few honks, too, when I or another driver wasn’t fast enough to go on a green light, but most honks were for a wake-up-the-light’s-green sort of situation.

Kentucky’s roads are unlike any I’ve encountered so far.  In some ways they were much like West Virginia’s, because of being winding and going up and down on the hills and mountains.  And in general they’re well-maintained, as West Virginia’s roads are.   But the lanes just aren’t wide enough for my RV to fit comfortably on many roads, and many of them are so narrow they don’t even have a white stripe to mark the edge of the road.

Kentucky’s state roads go flying off in all directions – one will run for miles from southeast to northwest in a moderately straight line, then suddenly turn and go southwest for many more miles.  In any other state, that road would take on a different number when it made that turn, but not here.

And then there are the many roads that have several numbers - all state road numbers - any one of which might show up here and there on a signpost (if there are any signposts) without any system I could see.

State road numbers might have one digit or two digits or three digits or four digits – and they’d all be state roads, not county roads.  It appears there’s no order or system for numbering them.  I’m sure that’s fine for locals, but it’s disorienting for visitors.

Add to all that the problem of seriously inadequate signage, both in towns and on highways.  It all makes it really hard to navigate.

What I wanted to see that I missed:
Lots of things, besides those I mentioned in my daily posts.

I’m going to be missing the range of mountains along the Virginia border that include Kentucky’s tallest: Big Black Mountain, at 4,145’.

There’s a retirement home for thoroughbred horses just outside Lexington called Old Friends.  Some very celebrated horses have lived and still live there.  A tour is $15, though, and I wasn’t feeling well enough when I was in the area to take several hours out of my day walking a fairly long distance, as they warned us we would on the tour.  But next time.

And next time, of course, I’d want to see racing at Churchill Downs.  I think there was racing at Keeneland, near Lexington, when I was there, but it isn’t the same for me as Kentucky Derby territory.

Paducah has a River Heritage Museum that I'd likely find interesting, given its location on the Ohio River.

Henderson, a town I ended up being routed around, has the distinction of being called “the most beautiful town on the Mississippi” by Mark Twain.  Not likely to be looking quite the same now, but I’d want to take a look and see.

Louisville Stoneware, the oldest working pottery factory in the US, is in Louisville, which I didn’t know about when I was in the area.  They have factory tours.

I was a few days too late for the World Chicken Festival in London, held each year in the last weekend of September in honor of Col. Sanders’s first restaurant opened down the road in Corbin.  They pull out the World’s Largest Stainless Steel Frying Pan and serve chicken fried in it during the festival.  Sounds like a lot of fun.

When I skipped the Kentucky Music Hall of Fame I made a mistake.  I’d forgotten that the Everly Brothers were born and raised in east-central Kentucky, not to mention Rosemary Clooney, Lionel Hampton and Ricky Skaggs, to name but a few.  Next time I’m in Kentucky I won’t give it a miss.

Cumberland Falls State Park is the site of a nearly unique natural phenomenon: at the full moon, it’s possible to see a moonbow (like a rainbow) at the falls.  This feature is found nowhere else in the western half of the world, and in only a few places elsewhere in the world.  And it’s right here in Kentucky.  Sometime I’d like to see it.

Elizabethtown is home to Schmidt’s Coca-Cola Museum.

Apparently there’s a Creation Museum in Petersburg, at the National Headquarters of Answers in Genesis.  I think that might be an interesting place to visit.

I would have really liked to learn more about Kentucky history while I was here.  From my pre-trip research, it looks like this state has been up and down like a yo-yo in several areas: its industry and economy, its dealings between workers and management, its environmental protections, its education funding, its stance on slavery and civil rights.  I’d like to know more about how Kentucky sees itself, rather than how the history books have written it.  My next trip here, I’ll try to learn more.

My conclusion
I’m going away feeling ambivalent about Kentucky.  In some ways I liked it very much.  I think it’s a state of great beauty and great pride.  It’s a hard-working state.  It has pleasant people who like each other a lot.

What I didn’t like so much is that it feels almost clannish all over the state.  The way folks won’t talk to me first – almost nobody would – and that’s unusual in my experience; folks were fine once I got things started, but I had to work at it.  The way it’s hard to get from one place to another unless you already know where you’re going – which I rarely did – and even knowing where to go didn’t make it easy to get there on these narrow roads.

I guess I’d say that Kentucky has a lot I’d like to come back to – but only for a visit.  (Although absolutely no camping trips in the month of October, one of their busiest camping months.)  It's just that Kentucky doesn’t seem like a place where I’d want to live.  Just not friendly enough, I guess, though it certainly has a lot going for it otherwise.


Kentucky - Day 31

Carr Creek State Park
Thursday, 31 October 2019

I spent today in the campground.  No wifi signal so I’ve been finishing up the blog posts on my computer’s word processing program.  When I’m writing these posts, I spend the majority of my time just writing.  I spend most of the rest of the time looking things up, and most of my frustration on trying to make the photos appear as I want them to look.  I can’t do the looking-up part without wifi, and I can’t do much about placing the photos because this program isn’t at all like the blog program, but I can at least get the writing done, and that’s what I’ve been doing.

It’s been raining off and on all day.  Rain was forecast, but I thought it was supposed to end early.  If so, that isn’t happening.  In fact, as the day went on, we started getting some really strong winds that blew the rain in hard sheets.  But I’ve got my umbrella and rubber boots (“John had great big waterproof boots on.  John had a great big waterproof hat.  John had a great big waterproof mackintosh.  And that, said John, is that.”  A.A. Milne).  And towels to dry off the dogs.  And a heater that’s working (yea!) to help us all dry off.  The dogs would rather walk, even in the rain, than stay indoors.  And because we have choices, it’s cozy here.

This campground has, as a primary attraction, a public beach on Carr Creek, which looks exactly like a river to me and nothing at all like a creek, but oh well.  They don’t want dogs on the beach so I don’t take them down there, but the parking lot there gives us a little more walking area.  Needed because this is a tiny campground – only 39 sites.  But my site is paved and completely level (for a change) and very comfortable.  Just no wifi signal.  Can’t have everything.

What it does have, according to the park ranger, is lots of deer and wild turkeys.  I knew there was something here because of the way the dogs both alerted this morning when we were out on our early walk.  Of course, "early" in these days of waning Daylight Savings Time and a sunrise around 8:00 AM (absolutely absurd – this is southern Kentucky, not Alaska) is a relative term, but it was about 6:15 AM or so.  I’m thinking it was maybe a turkey, just because they were both excited without being frantic, as they often are with deer.  It was still more than I could handle before coffee.

When I was choosing a route to take tomorrow into Tennessee, I’d planned to go through the Cumberland Gap.  Hard to beat the history of that route.  A young woman I talked to early in the month told me she’d driven through it, only to turn around and drive right back through again, just for the sake of doing it.  Which made perfect sense to me.

Except I learned accidentally, from a brochure I picked up at a Visitor Center a few days ago, that the route I’d be taking isn’t through the original Cumberland Gap.  Instead in the 1990s Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia joined with the federal government to pay for and build the Cumberland Gap Tunnels (one southbound, one northbound) and remove the highway that had been built through the Gap and restore that area to approximately its late 1700s appearance.  More than 20 years since the Tunnels opened, people are now able to hike the Wilderness Road through the Cumberland Gap.  Of course, it’ll take a lot longer than 20 years for the forest to grow back to the density they’ve planned, but it has a lot more chance now that the road’s been removed than it did.

The Tunnels sound as if they’re a sort of series of tunnels, with cross passages for emergency access.  They have state-of-the-art ventilation, lighting and communication systems (their website claims) and closed-circuit cameras to keep an eye on things.  I’m guessing the reason they’ve got all this is that the Tunnels are 4,600’ long – quite a distance for an enclosed space like that.

As you know, I don’t do so well with tunnels, I think because they feel so confined with no elbow room for drivers.  The same problem I have with bridges.  I like to feel like I’ve got a little margin for error – especially in the large vehicle I’m driving.  So I don’t really want to drive for the best part of a mile in a tunnel – special lighting and air or not.  But I might do it anyway if it were really the original route for the Cumberland Gap.  Since it’s not, I can’t see forcing myself to do something quite uncomfortable.

Instead, I decided to go quite a few extra miles, but I’ll do most of it on wide, divided parkways and interstates.  Probably boring, but safer.


Kentucky - Day 30 - farther south in the Appalachians

Carr Creek State Park
Wednesday, 30 October 2019

today's route

I didn’t leave the previous campground until about 11:00 this morning, trying to get in as much work as I could while I still had a wifi signal.  The reason I had the luxury of waiting is that online directions put tonight’s campground at only about an hour away.  Even though that likely translates to 2 hours for me, it still means I have extra time.

I started the drive by trying to find a grocery store, and my online directions were immediately rendered useless by me having forgotten that when I came here 2 days ago I wasn’t on the roads Google said I’d be on.  So this morning I navigated mostly by, when having a choice between 2 roads, taking the one not labeled “north” and continuing to go in the general direction I thought would get me back on the AAA map (since I was obviously nowhere near the Google map).

Maybe people who get directions sent to their smart phones (I’ve been out of touch so long I’ve forgotten what that’s called - is it MapQuest?) have a different experience.  But even with my occasional times of near panic at being lost, I’d still choose doing it this way.  I’ve never much liked being dictated to and at least this way I feel like I’ve got choices.  And I always get found eventually.

Including this morning.  Thanks to the AAA map maker.

Meanwhile I was driving along roads through beautiful high hills, covered in beautiful trees with leaves turning colors.  Any given hill had at least 20 different shades of colors on it – multiple reds and oranges and yellows and greens – just gorgeous.  They’re mountains, really, just with rounded tops so I think of them as hills.  They seem almost as if the earth rose up and then folded itself vertically and folded itself again, so I’d pass a hill and behind it I’d see several more folded into a valley, all blazing with color – even on this dull drizzly day.  Even the clouds got into the act, getting themselves caught on the trees halfway up a hill, so there were layers of clouds interspersed among the trees and moving in down the valleys.

October is the treasurer of the year” is the beginning to a poem I found a lifetime ago and think of every year.  I looked it up just now and found it's from Paul Laurence Dunbar, one of my favorite poets.  And if you've never seen this, it's at this link, and far more wonderful than I remembered.  https://genius.com/Paul-laurence-dunbar-october  He's right.  Treasures everywhere I look.

I drove past a business called Kinzer Drilling Company that had a tower in front of their building, complete with a silvered pointed top like a drill.

Along this road I saw several signs saying, “Trucks use lower gear.”  They were way overreacting.  In Pennsylvania and West Virginia, when they post those signs they mean it.  In Kentucky, nobody needs to use a lower gear as far as I can tell.  I and the trucks I saw ahead of me all just tapped our brakes from time to time and we got down the hill just fine.

I decided tonight would be the night I’d celebrate Halloween my way.  Back in the ‘80s, I discovered my stepchildren had never carved pumpkins and decided that was a contribution I could make to their knowledge of life as it’s lived outside Alaska.  Each year we’d invite over a friend and her kids and we’d all carve pumpkins and order out for pizza and have prizes for most creative, scariest, etc.

In the ‘90s, when I had my own house in Olympia, a friend came over and we carved pumpkins and ordered out for pizza.  When she couldn’t come I’d play a movie, usually “Soapdish.”

In the ‘00s when I moved to Austin with my mom, I was trying at first to knock her out of her depression and included pumpkin-carving as an essential cheerful activity.  And we’d order out for pizza and I’d play “Soapdish.”  Momma pronounced this the dumbest movie she’d ever seen.

For those who haven’t found this movie, “Soapdish” is a send-up of soap operas, played to the hilt by a great cast, some of whom got their start in soap operas.  Starring Sally Field and Kevin Klein and Robert Downey Jr. and Elisabeth Shue and Carrie Fisher and Cathy Moriarity, with a cameo for Garry Marshall.  It is completely dopey and very funny.  No brains involved in the watching of this movie.  I love it.

I didn’t figure I’d be able to find a place that would deliver a pizza to me in the campground (without an enormous delivery charge), so I found a place online that was on the way to the campground – Hot Rod’s Pizza – and stopped off there to pick one up.  Been a long time since I’ve had a real pizza, and even though it was only lukewarm by the time I got to eat it, it was still really good.  And I watched “Soapdish.”  No pumpkins and no candy.  But when I have a house again I’ll carve pumpkins.  This is my way of keeping my traditions alive.  Life’s an adjustment.  Always.



Kentucky - Day 29

Jenny Wiley State Resort Park
Tuesday, 29 October 2019


I got lucky and was able to pick up a wifi signal in this campground.  So I spent much of the day today working on my blog, trying to catch up while I could.  The last time I had a signal I spent time working out driving routes for all travel until my first campground in Tennessee, in case subsequent campgrounds didn’t have internet connections.  So with logistics out of the way, I could focus on the blog today.

I decided to do as much as I could here and publish placeholder entries for the rest of the month so they’d appear in the blog’s list of October posts – just in case my next/last campground in Kentucky doesn’t have a signal.

I took time out during the day to do laundry and take a shower, because here I was close to the facilities whereas it’d be a bit of a hike at the next campground.  No point in carrying laundry any farther than I have to.

The dogs and I walked all over the parts of the campground that were open. It has 3 arms of campsites, and one arm had been closed off for their Halloween festivities and haunted house.  They had their big shindig this past weekend but were planning on redoing it this coming weekend, even though it would be November.  Probably figured kids’d be glad to get back in their costumes again.  They still had stuff up in the closed arm, so I figured the dogs and I should stay out of it.

I talked for a while to a nice couple from Nacogdoches, TX, about their travels and about how their son barely missed being a victim on 9/11 (he had a meeting in one of the Twin Towers that day but didn’t make it because the tragedy had already happened before he got there).

There are only maybe 8 or 9 campers that actually have people staying in them, as far as I can tell.  The others seem to be parked here during the week while their owners are back in their homes nearby until the weekend. Once again, easier to walk the dogs with less competition.

We were lucky with beautiful weather after heavy fog lifted around 10:30 or so this morning.  And this place is overrun with Ladybugs.  I’ve never thought of them as infesting a place, but I’m starting to think of them that way now.  There are so many of them, and they can – and do – climb through very tiny openings in my screens and door.  I’m having to put them outside so often it’s starting to be a nuisance.  Who knew?

Pleasant day and I got a lot done for a change.


Kentucky - Day 28 - Country Music Highway

Jenny Wiley State Resort Park
Monday, 28 October 2019

today's route

[Font change is due to the computer's word processing program.]

Carter County where last night's campground sits is the site of the greatest concentration of caves in Kentucky - which is saying something when you think about Mammoth Cave, though I guess that just counts as one.  Anyway, I thought I'd heard of Saltpetre Cave, which there's one of here, but as far as I can tell from online research, this Saltpetre Cave is not the same as the Great Saltpetre Cave, farther south, though still in Kentucky.  This one, nonetheless, has some interesting history.  This link tells you about the various caves accessible from this park.   parks.ky.gov/parks/carter-caves

We had heavy fog that lingered until nearly 11:00 in some places today, including along the road I was driving.  And the road I had to take to leave the campground is a winding road that goes downhill to stream level, then climbs back uphill to the interstate.  A very narrow road but very pretty, with overhanging branches of leaves that were changing colors.  When light filtered through it was beautiful and very peaceful.

Google absolutely insisted that somewhere between the campground and the bridge across Big Sandy River to West Virginia, the interstate was a toll road.  I finally decided I didn’t believe them.  I researched as much as I knew how to learn about toll roads in Kentucky but could find not a hint of a toll being charged along this stretch of the road.  So I took a chance and proved Google wrong, yet again.  But I enjoyed the beautiful scenery again along that road.  Funny – I’ve driven that road on the other side of the border and don’t remember it being anything like as scenic as this side.  Across the river is Huntington, WV, and I stayed at a campground just a few miles from there and drove that road several times last year.  It was beautiful over there but not like this.  Yet I’d think it would be the same mountains on either side of the river and the same general topography so have no idea why there’d be such a difference.  Makes me wish I’d studied geology or geography before I began my trip.

I left the interstate for Route 23, known as the Country Music Highway, because along or near it are the homes or birthplaces of some of country music’s luminaries.  I somehow managed to see none of it.  I understand there’s a Country Music Highway Museum that may be in Paintsville and, though I stopped there for groceries and lunch, I didn’t see any indication of a museum.  Just wasn’t looking in the right direction, I guess.

I did see the turnoff to go to Butcher Holler, Loretta Lynn’s home in the tiny town of Van Lear, but I didn’t go see the home of “the world’s most famous coal miner’s daughter,” as a brochure termed it.  I actually like the music of her daughter, Crystal Gayle, better, and she too was born there.  But I don’t go to many birthplaces for people that weren’t US presidents, and this wasn’t an exception.

I passed the road to Jenny Wiley’s grave.  Since I’m staying in a state park named for her I should maybe explain that she was “a pioneer heroine who was held captive by the Indians for 9 months.  She managed to escape, reunited with her husband, and raised a family” in this area.  The quote is from a tourist brochure.  The state park brochure calls her a “brave pioneer woman,” though it doesn’t say why.  I haven’t bothered to look her up to see why she’s called a heroine, or even brave.  I thought this sort of thing happened from time to time back then.  Nobody says the “Indians” (no idea what tribe) mistreated her, or even that they used her as a slave which, let’s face it, pioneer white people were doing more than their fair share of with captive black people.  But she’s important around here.

I passed what sure looked like a nuclear power plant.

The Morehead NPR station started playing classical music, but I prefer the news programs and hunted around until I picked up a signal from an Ohio NPR station.  I’d be listening and suddenly, I’d hear nothing; then I’d hear the program again and suddenly, nothing. I finally correlated it to the mountains I was passing south of and figured they were blocking the signal.  I finally ran out of an NPR station altogether.  Fortunately, I enjoy most country music.

Yet again I had trouble finding the campground because the roads Google promised existed weren’t there.  They show them on their online maps, but they aren’t there in real life, and neither is anything else there that’s just labeled differently.  I finally ended up guessing and stumbled on the back entrance to the campground.  But I found it.

Of course, there wasn’t a ranger on duty when I got there and many of the campers had left.  In fact, it looked like several of them were packing up to leave for the season.  Fine by me.  Easier to walk the dogs.  And my campsite was somewhat more level this time, so that’s an improvement.


Kentucky - Day 27 - Morehead

Carter Caves State Resort Park, northeast Kentucky
Sunday, 27 October 2019

[The font below is different than usual because it's from my word processing program.]

today's route
Morning in this campground was about as dreary, thanks to the overcast skies and drizzle, as the previous evening.  The good thing about it was that everyone slept late, including my next door neighbors who seemed to be companions of half the people in our part of the campground, and who had extra people arriving all evening to stay with them (I saw a large tent this morning beside their large camper, which explained where they put all those extra people).  They were only just starting to wake up when I got us on the road.

Natural Bridge and Red River Gorge
I was hit with a dose of reality this morning when I realized, according to park literature, that the fastest route to the Natural Bridge was a .75-mile trail, each way, with some steep climbs along the way.  And that pets were prohibited on the trails.

It was still drizzling off and on this morning, the ground was muddy and slick in places, and I honestly just didn’t want to make a 1½-mile round trip hike on uneven terrain if my dogs couldn’t even get the benefit of the exercise.

Natural Bridge (internet photo)
The Natural Bridge is something I’d really like to see though, and I’d like to come back sometime under different circumstances.  It’s a 900-ton natural sandstone arch suspended across a mountainside (per park literature).  It’s 65’ high and 78’ long.  And it’s by no means the only arch in the park.  Henson Arch is only a quarter-mile trek; there’re also Whistling Arch, Silvermine Arch, Hidden Arch, Whittleton Arch and dozens more.  There are also unusual rock formations – Balanced Rock being one of the better known.

Red River Gorge (internet photo)
Nearby is the Red River Gorge Geological Area, which can be reached by a roadway that winds around some spectacular gorge scenery, I’m told.  I planned to take that drive until I looked at a satellite photo and saw that it was a very narrow winding road.  I’m getting familiar with Kentucky’s roads by now and frankly didn’t trust that I’d ever be able to see any of the scenery, because of having to be so focused on driving safely where there would doubtless be other tourists (it’s a Sunday).

Sadly, I gave all that up and substituted instead a stop in the town of Morehead, along the road to my next campground.

The drive
I drove more than 100 miles today, most of it on the interstate.  And I have to say it’s the most beautiful interstate highway I’ve ever seen.  Rounded mountains covered to the tops with trees, all with leaves changing colors, occasional farms and small communities, occasional rock walls where the mountains have been blasted to make the roadway more level, black dirt where there’s no ground cover.  If we’d had full sun today, the beauty would have been staggering.

Morehead
I’m not sure what it was that drew my attention to Morehead, but when I looked into the notes I’d made doing research before this trip, I found a mention of a historical marker commemorating a feud war there so decided to take a look.

As so often happens, the online directions to the historical marker were sketchy (at best) and I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to find it.  We drove into town, which was connected to the interstate by a long winding mountain road that was fortunately well-built and 2 lanes wide each way.

We drove around a little bit, and I finally pulled over into a parking area near the local Visitor Center figuring, even though they were closed, they wouldn’t get too upset about me stopping, being a visitor and all.  The dogs wanted to walk and it was lunchtime anyway.

I saw a row of these beautiful bushes as tall as I am. I’ve seen them everywhere I've traveled and have no idea what they’re called, but that color is just gorgeous.



And just around the hedge of these bushes at the Visitor Center was the historical marker – not at all where the sketchy directions suggested, but I’d found it anyway!  Very interesting message.

side 1
side 2












marker at the foot of the historical marker
(Gracie's rear end is blocking it)
There’s a more thorough account of this oddball feud at this link -  en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rowan_County_War  - though I think even this account leaves out too many details for the chain of events to make much sense.  In fact, as written, it makes the feud even more absurd.  Other accounts, though, think the roots were in leftover feelings from the Civil War, when Kentuckians were nearly evenly split in their loyalties. 

Nearby I found something else interesting that I’d never heard about – a Moonlight School (see below).  This historical marker explains a little bit about them and there’s more at this link.  www.appalachianhistory.net/moonlight-schools

Cora Wilson Stewart Moonlight School
explains the school

Right across the street from all this is the Kentucky Center for Traditional Music, which made me wonder - "traditional" meaning what?  Mountain music?  Classical music?  Rock & roll (traditional to my generation, after all)?  It turns out to be part of Morehead State University and sounds very interesting.  www.moreheadstate.edu/kctm

Unsurprisingly, Morehead is the home of Morehead State University, which is much larger than I expected, with 10,000 enrolled in several campuses.  It also has its own NPR station which, on Sundays, plays a lot of good bluegrass music.  An especially great one they played was “Richard’s Rag,” written and performed by Fiddlin’ Billy Hurt, which you can hear for yourself at this link.  https://www.youtube.com

I passed Root-A-Bakers Bakery, specializing in desserts. It took me a minute to figure out the pun (my brain seems to be slowing down).

To the campground
Once again, the directions to the campground were sketchy.  For some reason, the state of Kentucky provides lots of nice campgrounds and then refuses to say how to get to them.  People still manage – I managed – but it was partly a matter of luck.  And online programs weren’t a lot of help either.  Google refuses to acknowledge that the campgrounds are often a long way away from the business office or the resort lodge and won’t tell me how to get where I need to go.

And again, the roads today weren’t labeled as Google said they’d be and signs for the state park were only occasional, not always where I was supposed to make a turn.  For being only about 4 miles from the interstate, this park was hard to find.

When I did find it, I found a nice wooded park that was rapidly emptying out – folks going home after a weekend of camping.  A lot of them had left behind leftover food they’d dumped on the ground rather than take it home, something I've not really seen before.  The parks prohibit this practice – it’s not the help to wildlife that people seem to believe – but the whole time I was there I didn’t see anyone in authority at all.

The site I’d chosen online was about as uneven and unlevel as possible, with mud on either side of the broken pavement.  I spent at least 5 minutes trying to find some way to position the RV that we could live with for the night, and finally settled for the least undesirable of the choices.  I’d have been glad to move to another site since so many were empty, but with no ranger, I couldn’t tell which ones weren’t already reserved.  People often come in late – even after dark – so I couldn’t just take any old one.  So there we were.

Plenty of wildlife, too.  We saw lots of deer while we were here.  Nice to see them even though they make walking the dogs a lot harder.  Still, it was a pleasant environment and it was nice to find an emptied-out campground for a change.

And I managed to cap off the day by losing both my contact lenses.  I took both of them out of my eyes and put them in their case, but hadn’t put the lids on because I still needed to add the soaking solution.  That’s when I made a sudden movement that caught the case and flipped it completely over, and both lenses went flying out.

All I knew was that they were most likely somewhere in the bathroom.  Knowing they could be on my clothes or on my feet or anywhere on the floor, I moved extremely slowly and carefully.  My goal was to get to the closet to get the little flashlight I keep in a pocket of the reflective vest I wear when I walk the dogs in the dark.  And it’s the flashlight that found them.  They were both on the floor in the 3” wide gap between the sink and the shower stall, about 5” apart.  My relief was bottomless.

Odd day.


Kentucky - Day 26 - Kentucky Artisans

Natural Bridge State Resort Park
Saturday, 26 October 2019




I woke up worrying that, with all the rain, our muddy spot had gotten even muddier and might be hard for me to get out of.  The RV had been listing to the side anyway, because of the uneven ground, and it seemed to be listing even more.  After I walked the dogs, I stayed outside with the flashlight to check, but the tires didn't seem to be particularly mired, so I stopped worrying so much.

Still, it was absolutely pouring while we were walking - Gracie's coat especially soaks up water so much I couldn't get her dry with a towel - and I decided we needed to leave relatively soon to avoid trouble.

Unfortunately, I'd found that when the next-door guys came home last night, they parked their truck half on the narrow road that was our way out of the camp.  And I found that the rain had created mud all through the campground.  Apparently this place doesn't bother with things like gravel very often.  So I was left to choose whether I wanted to try to wake them up (it's a Saturday!) to move their pickup or whether I wanted to try to go around them by going partly off the road into mud puddles.

I finally decided to try the mud puddles and made it through okay but I sure was glad to see the last of that campground.  And they'd charged me $32 for that miserable situation.

We went through Lancaster - "A Small Town with Great Pride."

We passed a Corgi breeder.

I saw a farmyard with 4 black cats lying around in various "we belong here" poses.

I passed fields with cows and their calves, and with sheep and goats.

I found yet again that the highway signs telling what roads are branching off didn't match the ones in the online directions - or on the AAA map, for that matter.  I drove back and forth for a bit, trying to find Rt. 25 and never did.  So I went on the interstate that took me up to Mt. Vernon.  On the way, I found the other end of Rt. 25, so I know it exists, but I have no idea where I could have picked it up farther south.

In Mt. Vernon, I went to the Kentucky Music Hall of Fame.  First I walked the dogs, and while we were out I decided not to go.  The signs I was seeing told me this establishment would be celebrating lots of people I'd never heard of.  People who were undoubtedly important in the development of Kentucky music and bluegrass music and Appalachian folk music and so forth.  But not people I wanted to pay $8 or whatever the entrance fee was.  Next time I'm in Kentucky, I'll want to make more time for things like this and develop my appreciation for what they've got.  Just not this trip.

I continued down the interstate about 15 miles to Berea (pronounced beh-REE-a), well known as a center for folk arts and crafts.  A pamphlet I had showed I could spend days wandering around town and visiting all the many different crafts shops they have there.  But with my time short (I still had quite a drive to my campground), I settled on the Kentucky Artisan Center, because it's a semi-official government entity (so I thought it would be representative).

I don't know how it's decided which artisans can display their works, but what I saw was an amazing variety.  I took photos of just a few.

beaded vessels

explains beaded vessels (left)














bird calls - that's a crow call, carved of dark wood, in the center


willow baskets

explains willow baskets (left)

quite a hand

about Berea crafts





















From Berea I went another 10 miles or so up the interstate and took a shortcut over to the Mountain Parkway.  Except I didn't get there.  Or, at least, not that way.

I had just passed by the town of Waco (and I thought the only Waco was in Texas), when all highway traffic came to a dead stop.  And we sat there and we sat there.  We moved a bit now and then, but it seemed we were moving because people ahead of me were pulling out of line and turning around.  Since I was only about 10 miles or so from the interstate, I turned around too and went back and took a more roundabout route to the Mountain Parkway.

I drove through some beautiful high hills, with trees all the way to the top, all with leaves changing colors.  Very pretty and Octoberish.

I passed an enormous bull in a pasture.  I don't know how much they usually weigh, but this guy looked like he weighed twice as much as an average cow.  Big and black all over and very imposing.

I passed a sign advertising Kentucky Hoop Barns.  I couldn't find any online photos that weren't copyright protected, but basically they seem to be Quonset-type buildings - half-circles that look just right to store today's round hay bales.

Just before the turnoff to the Natural Bridge State Park, I saw a very large homemade sign that said, "The Democrat Party is America's worst enemy of Christianity."

For something called a "state resort park," which several of the campgrounds I've stayed in are called, I keep expecting something fairly fancy - like a resort.  And presumably the lodge facilities, which I rarely see, are plenty comfortable.  But the campgrounds at these places are usually uncomfortable.  And this one was no exception.

It's a very small campground, for one thing.  My section had only 40 or so campsites, split by a stream running through the campground.  The road to get to the sites required a sharp turn at a very difficult angle (took me some back-and-forth) and then a very steep grade down.  At the bottom there was a sign saying, "Warning - During periods of heavy rain, area subject to Flash Floods."  Not something to made me sleep better, since it was drizzling when we arrived.

I don't know how they envisioned I'd get into my site, but I finally found a way to turn around and back up quite a distance.  Even though that put my electric outlet on the wrong side of my RV, I didn't want to put off the backing up until tomorrow morning, and I didn't want to have my rear end - aka the bed - pointed toward the rest of the campers.  So I decided this would be one night where I'd operate on 20 amps instead of 30, and hauled out my converter plug and my 20 amp extension cord, which was the only reason I was able to have any electricity at all.  My brother helped me buy both of those, and they sure do come in handy from time to time.

Like last night, we listed a bit but at least they'd used gravel on the pad.  Not a very comfortable night but it was shelter.