Days 24 & 25 - Frankfort, Kentucky and Sweetwater, Tennessee
I’m writing this on the 25th since I was not able to get a signal last night. And though I was able to upload the 23rd on the proper day I couldn’t access Yahoo or Facebook to let anyone know. Some of you might have already popped over and have read it, but for those who didn’t, the 23rd is there, in all its glory.
But on the 24th I was ensconced in the lovely Elkhorn Campground which was, I was assured, on the beautiful Elkhorn Creek. Since I could see a creek from my rear window, and it was lovely from what I could see between raindrops, I was inclined to believe them. This campground was outside of Frankfort proper, which is the capital of Kentucky. For those of you who didn’t know this (and that probably means most of you, including me even though I lived here for five years), this is where Senator Mitch McConnell reigns over his conservative constituency. And does a pretty good job of taking care of his constituents, I have to admit.
I hopefully have only two more days on the road where I plan to stop near Knoxville, Tennessee (that would be Sweetwater, where I am now), and after that I should be able to make the drive to Blairsville, Georgia, in one day. It’s so lovely here in this area! Kentucky has been a beautiful state in my mind from the first time I moved here, and after being raised primarily in Tucson, was the second state to awaken me to the incredible beauty of the spring season. In Tucson, if we had enough rains, than we would see umpteen flowers in the wilderness around us come the spring season. And the desert was and always has been lovely to me, no matter what the season, but spring was always the best, at least in my mind.
However, spring also meant the coming of higher temperatures which is something I have always struggled with physically. But Kentucky and Salt Lake City, Utah, the first area, actually, were the areas that made me most aware that the spring season could be lovely, because both offered the flowering trees and shrubs in a display that reminded me anew each year that I could rejoice in the sun's rays and not hide from them in fear. I had not felt that before in my memory and how I grew to love spring after a winter of snow and ice.
Maine also added to my perspective of how the sun gave life instead of wilting everything in it. After a long winter of snow and ice and extreme cold temperatures, even the resulting 'mud season' and "black flies" which proclaimed the melting of the ice-clogged rivers, did not dampen my rejoicing in the increasing rays of the sun as its brightness gave life to the fields once again.
And now it’s autumn, which has always been my favorite season, because I have seen it as no less beautiful or necessary than spring. Because I have always been deeply introspective and because my soul has always gone 'within' to sort things out and to lay fallow for awhile until I've rested and healed and have then become fruitful once more and could share my joy and my love... Because this season has always reflected the natural cycles of the earth and of we, the inhabitants, who are the farmers and the protectors, and who have become as much the natural 'product' of the earth as much as the corn, the hay and the soybeans... This is the season that I have loved most of all.
On this journey, I’ve seen reddish-orange vines changing, and a multitude of trees shifting from dusky green to red/brown as they have entered the season of their change. But there has still been plenty of green around me, and lots of yellow still, especially in the ripening soybean fields and the odd tree that has only begun to change with the tips of its branches. Kentucky has always been a lovely state, in my mind, there has never a question about it. And Tennessee is just as lovely.
And now segue to a different subject. I stopped in Frankfort, KY at the Chamber of Commerce/Tourist Information site to get some information regarding local campsites, there being no KOA‘s in the area. The restored house in which this business was installed was an old Victorian with lots of scroll work and tall windows and tin ceilings. If you have a mind to admire such architectural oddities, than you would have loved this house!
Still known as the “Gooch House,” it was constructed during the 1890’s by merchant John T. Buckley. So where is the Gooch tie-in, you might ask (as I did). Well, George and Sarah Gooch purchased the building in 1919 and it remained in their family until 1978. George died shortly after purchasing the house but his wife continued to reside there and operated a boarding house called the ‘Green Hedges Tourist Home.’ This lasted well into the twentieth century and established the building as a local landmark.
The house, which I greatly admired, is a restored Queen Anne style with the “irregular massing and asymmetrical façade typical of the period.” I put these words in quotes because, even though I’ve taken art history and have studied architectural developments, I mean, really, do you think that I would talk this way? I don't think so!
It’s now painted in an overall color of colonial blue (at least as I perceived it) with a lighter blue and a dark burgundy highlighting the scroll work. There is a lovely wooden veranda which wraps around the front and sides of the house and there are bay windows and scrolled trim with brackets and elaborately decorated posts everywhere. It’s perfectly charming and the tall windows have long, lacey curtains drawn back with complementing tie-backs. Really lovely, if you like this particular period.
Whenever I see how small the rooms are from any time periods from the past, I have to remember just how small we as a people were at that time. I’m an Amazon when compared to the ladies of this time, who grew usually no more than 5 feet tall, perhaps a few inches taller, though there were actually some who grew quite tall when compared to their sisters. They were not the norm at that time, naturally. I would like to be able to equate height with extraordinary independence and individual thinking, and that of great creative minds, but that has not necessarily been the truth. Some of our female leaders in the past were very petite though their bodies housed personalities that were giant in nature. I’m speaking of Lucy Staton and Susan B. Anthony, as I write, both who were ladies with a huge involvement in our womens' rights development and who led the way to what we take for granted today. And they were both of average height with feet so much smaller than mine that I wonder where my height and foot size came from. Huh.
Anyway, back to the Gooch House. Inside you would find the original woodwork, which dropped my jaw with its ornate polished beauty, and included molded trim, chair-rail, wainscoting and lincrusta-treated walls. I had to look this last word up and I found one definition. By the way, we’re referring to wallpaper in this particular context - who knew? And this is from Wikipedia: “Lincrusta is made from totally natural materials, the primary ingredients being gelled linseed oil and wood flour.” Well, of course I had to go look up ’wood flour,’ never having heard of that before.
Likewise from Wikipedia: Wood flour is finely pulverized wood that has a consistency fairly equal to sand, but can vary considerably, with particles ranging in size from a fine powder to roughly the size of a grain of rice. Most wood flour manufacturers are able to create batches of wood flour that have the same consistency throughout. All high quality wood flour is made from hardwoods because of its durability and strength. Very low grade wood flour is occasionally made from sapless softwoods such as pine or fir. Wood flour is commonly used as a filler in thermosetting resins such as Polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride (you pronounce this first!), also known as Bakelite; and in Linoleum floor coverings. Wood flour is also the main ingredient in wood/plastic composite building products such as decks and roofs.
Well, I'll be darned. You learn something new every day!
To continue, lincrusta was originally manufactured in Sunbury-on-Thames until 1918 when it moved to Darwen, Lancashire. It is now produced in Morecambe, Lancashire using traditional methods and many of the original rollers, with the same care and attention to detail as when it was first produced.
Ok, so this is pretty useless information unless you want to restore your house to its pristine original, but at least here’s the source you should begin with.
Some of the gas light fixtures I saw were original to the house and there were, and still are, two double parlors located off of the entrance hall (both now being used to disseminate information). The second floor still contains four bedrooms and a bathroom but they have been changed to offices - well, all except for the bathroom.
The lady with whom I spoke told me that Rebecca Gooch, who founded the popular (?) Rebecca-Ruth Candies, did this in partnership with Ruth Hanly Booe. What they made was bourbon-based candies. The thought did not instill in me a wild desire to run out and taste one of these treats. I had rum balls when I was a child and I did not find them very palatable. In fact, they knocked me flat with their high concentration of rum. And they didn’t taste very good, either. However, these two lovely ladies apparently sold bourbon-balls (and you may assume the level of bourbon was VERY high), among other confections, and the lady with whom I spoke yesterday afternoon confided in me with a whisper that, oh my gawd, she didn’t like bourbon! I assured her this secret was safe with me (yeah, right) but I had to agree with her. The thought of bourbon-balls just did not make me salivate in anticipation. I mean, eew.
Anyway, she gave me information as to where I could find a reputable campground and so now I’m set up in Elkhorn Campground, not far outside of Frankfort. I think one more night on the road should get me to Knoxville, possibly Cleveland, Tennessee, and then I should be able to make it easily to Blairsville.
I had trouble, as usual, getting a signal for both wifi and phone, but I managed to get a connection with Sharon yesterday afternoon and we had our usual marathon phone call before my phone died from lack of a battery charge. The phone was then set to 'recharge" but at least she knows I will be there the day after tomorrow. Yaaaayyy!
I need a break, the kitties need a break, and Le Van Gogh requires a thorough scrubbing, inside and out. While at Sharon’s I need to see to minor repairs (the windshield and two upper windows have minor leaks somewhere and there are other tidbits to be attended to) and it needs to just dry out. And because I’ll be staying in it while everyone gathers at Sharon's, this won’t occur until after everyone has departed. Once everyone’s gone I can move EVERYthing out and let Sharon’s cleaning ladies take over and get it detailed, and possibly acquire a new paint job. At the least it requires a massive outer cleaning and a wax job and I’m quite willing to pay someone else to do this. My body needs a break, so I'm very happy to let someone else do it.
The kitties also need to dry out and their fur has been taking on a slight greenish tinge since we've entered humidity central. Fluffbutt has never experienced this level of water in the air before and she is presently flat out in the front passenger seat and panting, poor thing. Even though she will look a site, I’ve actually been thinking of having her, um, “trimmed’ during the summer months. She suffers so with her long fur, ya know. Then again, she does have her dignity and I will spend my summer months far, far north. We shall see on this subject...
Chopper, who has lived in Maine, Kentucky and now Washington, has been pretty tolerant to the changes in climate. That and her fur is much, much shorter than Fluffbutt’s so she has dealt with the changes a wee bit better. But neither kitties are comfortable, and neither am I, as far as that goes. I’ve never liked humid weather and although Washington was really mildly humid as compared to Kentucky, Maryland, Florida and Puerto Rico, but I could still feel it. And now that I’m back in the south I’m reminded all over again why I have never liked living in humid weather. Yuck.
Perhaps it's the necessity of having a washcloth in reach constantly so I can wipe my brow and neck. Or most likely it was because I was raised from age 4 to 23 such a very dry climate that my body has permanently decided that it's 'inner humidity scale' is set to that of a required dry climate. I can’t remember NOT suffering physical health problems whenever I've been stationed in humid areas. Just one more pointer for me to ultimately stay in the West. Not that I don’t appreciate the beauties of the areas that are more humid, it's just that I don't know that I can live there and make my body happy. And hence, with an unhappy body, I can’t be happy. So, Westward Ho!
Anyway, I have not taken any new photos since it was drizzling all day from Santa Claus, Indiana to Frankfort, Kentucky. And now I’m in Sweetwater, Tennessee and though it's not raining it’s so humid out that just stepping outside the van induces a flood of perspiration that threatens to drown me. I’ll see what I can find in the ‘free photo’ section of both states. If not, you’re stuck with the ones from Santa Claus, Indiana. Oh, well.
Lessons Learned:
That I keep forgetting how sensitive the steering wheel is to the slightest movement.
That if my head turns left, the van will likely follow.
That it’s that sensitive.
That when I combine the lightness of its weight, its height and its width along with the sensitivity of its steering wheel, it’s really a pain in the butt to drive.
Oh, well.
That when Chopper gets bored with lying around waiting for me to finally stop and park some place, she will come up to be cuddled by me.
That this generally poses a problem because it’s really hard to cuddle a cat in your lap when you can’t keep your legs together for her to get comfortable on and she ends up wandering around the front area and generally heads for the dashboard where she’s sure to get your attention. Namely, blocking your vision so you can’t see over her, which means I must take one hand from the steering wheel and lift her up and to the back. And then the cycle begins all over again.
Heavy sigh.
Observations:
I had missed breakfast and stopped at a Burger King to use their facilities and hopefully get a breakfast meal. Unfortunately, I had not moved my watch forward so I did not know that they were now serving lunch. Phooey. And when I ordered a combo meal, the young lady didn’t quite hear me and kept asking me if I wanted the “mill.” “Mill?” I asked, repeatedly, until finally I understood that she was referring to meal! Oooohhh! Yeah, that’s what I wanted!
Yep, I’m back in the south, fer shur!
And speaking of southern, everyone’s accent has shifted (no kidding, Lea). And that I have to remember this and reacquaint myself with the accent. And understand that they might not understand me as well. Interesting.
And déjà vu!
At the last campground in which I stayed, there were more ‘residents’ installed but one really drew my interest. This gentleman had a log cabin which had been raised on blocks (it was never meant to move around, I could see) and was now a definitely permanent resident. I think it was the large propane tank installed outside his cabin, and the permanent sewer connection that convinced me. Interesting.
I figured out where St. Meinrad Abbey is. It was just down the road from Santa Claus. I’ll go visit it when I come back.
That I’ve always had real problems keeping my ‘time’ sense correct when I write. Has that been because I have often shifted between past, present and future in what I have seen and have forgotten to catch myself up? Or has it just meant I'm a lousy writer. Whatever the reason, I no longer have a copy editor to help me, so when you see me shifting in time I hope you will have patience. I try to catch it but I just don’t always see it. Having a really strongly developed imagination makes it difficult sometimes to figure out which time sense I have been actually writing in. Heck, if I've been confused, how could you not be?
That I finally found the button that will shift the speakers from the back to the front. And, I blush to admit it, it was a button right under my nose but was hidden under different uses. I hope you’ll forgive me (blush blush). Larry, I thank you for your generous offer to install a new system for me but apparently it won’t be needed. But I do thank you with all of my heart!
And since I discovered this ‘hidden’ button after fiddling around with the danged radio for the umpteenth time, I have used this 'discovery' to listen to some of the cassette tapes given to me by my friend, Marilyn, and they have referred to development of the spirit, cultural creativity and Donna Eden’s methods of energy healing. What a gift to listen to these while I drive! Thank you, Marilyn!!!
As I think of what I wish to do with my life for the rest of my days, it always comes back to living a life of spirituality, simplicity and one that engages with others in a meaningful way. This mad dash to Sharon’s has been an example of exactly what I don’t want to experience. I don’t want to just stay one night in one place only to wave at the folks and engage them in a very short conversation of who they are and where they have been and where they believe they are going. I want to stay in one place so I can get to meet others, get to know them at a deeper level, whether of like mind or not, and to go on vision quests with them and of my own and explore the sociological and anthropological history and the heart of the people with whom I share a space for a time.
It has occurred to me that I’m something like a sociological anthropological mystical explorer. That I not only want to see the history of a place, I want to feel it. And I want to see and feel how it has impacted the people who still live in this area and I want to know how their culture and old traditions have transcended these times and helped them to adjust. Or not adjust. And I want to know what is not right about today and how we can learn to live in a right-mind thinking, if we put our hearts and our souls to it.
I want to experience on my own the feeling tones of the places I visit. I have been given the gift of sensitivity to the past and present and future, and I want to use this gift in a way that helps others in some kind of worthwhile way. Or not, as I can hear one teacher say. LOL! I have no idea at this time how this will play out - it is simply my intent. We shall see what, as many folks I’ve met describe it, that Spirit decides I shall encounter. And yet beneath it all, I remember that I still create my own reality and it is a joyful one regardless of the limited perspective which I sometimes inflict on it.
Although the journey has already begun, it took this introduction to help me carve out a direction for my own life. I have no desire to view the casinos, the schlock, the souvenirs, the tawdry, and yet I can’t forget that within these sites are people, my people, who are longing and yearning for something more than just the daily drudge. They want something beautiful in their lives and I can't help but agree. And though I know it is futile to seek for beauty in money, drugs, material goods or one-night stands, I sympathize with their journey. Because this has been my journey, and are we not all brethren under the skin?
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