Cailyn called us two nights ago
after we were in bed (so was she). She told us she had cried a few times because
she missed us. (I know … aww). Problem?
All of a sudden Chris was ready to go home. “At least by Wednesday or Thursday.” She even quoted our friend Diane: “I miss my
babies.” Oh, boy.
Oh, I forgot to mention that we were
mistaken for Civil War re-enactors when we stopped at the visitor’s center in
Elizabethtown the other day. Guess we
really look the part. Or perhaps in my
case, I look like I might have lived through it the first time.
Yesterday was Abe Lincoln day. Well, at least our day to visit his
birthplace. How’s this for a random
comment? On our way to see the
birthplace, Chris remarked, “So, wasn’t Abraham Lincoln quite the werewolf
slayer in his younger years? Maybe that
happened around here.” Werewolves,
zombies, in any case, we were indeed traveling through what was likely prime
territory for such creatures. I’m pretty
sure as awesome as he was, even Abe didn’t get to all of them. Best be on our toes. Maybe some garlic for lunch …
The focal point of the grounds was a
huge mausoleum … for a log cabin. Around
1911, when this thing was built, they thought it was the actual cabin Abe was
born in. Some guy had been hauling it
around with him all over the place claiming it was the actual one (How? No idea.
This was the early 1900’s). They
finally appropriated it from him in Buffalo, New York, and moved it back to
Hodgenville, Kentucky “where it all” began.
They discovered some years later that it wasn’t old enough to be the
actual cabin, but by then it was already enshrined. Honestly, it reminded me of the churches and
shrines built over the sites involving Jesus in the Holy Land.
Speaking of Jesus, our next stop was
the Abbe of Gethsemani, a home for Trappist monks. No speaking allowed. We didn’t stay long.
Next stop was one of the myriad of
distilleries in the area. Apparently
Kentucky is the hotbed for making bourbon.
This one was Maker’s Mark (Is that
supposed to be a good one? All of their
bottles have some kind of red wax covering up the top. They said every single bottle was hand-dipped
into the wax. Why? Quality control, I guess). As we shuffled around in an old house for the
tour to begin, the pictures on the wall started talking … to each other. And their eyes and mouths moved. Two of them even raised a glass of bourbon in
salute to each other. I think the saying
was, “May your horse always run almost
as good as mine.” Very strange. Felt like I was at Hogwarts. Never saw Nearly Headless Nick, though. Phew.
The tour was educational, if nothing else, since we knew absolutely
nothing about moonshine –making it or drinking it. Our tour guide would have hated that comment,
for instance. “Kentucky bourbon is not
like moonshine. The people you hear of
that die from drinking moonshine, it’s because of all the impurities. We take all of those out, and the result is a
fine, front of the palate sweetness that rolls across your tongue.” (Whatever
that means). We found out that the
buildings are painted black to hold in the heat (There were huge black buildings dotting the landscape all over the place
around there). And it works. The rooms inside were stifling. We had a chance to dip our finger into a huge
vat of what he called “the mash pit” for a taste. Nasty.
Tasted kind of like weak, sick beer smells. Chris said it smelled like yeast. She wouldn’t touch it. We also learned the “proper” way to sniff
bourbon. Shake the glass around a
little, twirling the stuff inside, turn the glass on a 45 degree angle, stick
your nose in the glass, and breathe in through your mouth. Weird.
From there we headed toward
Louisville. We had to pass by a
frightening little hill, though. It was out
in the middle of nowhere, and it was full of little angel statues. I’m pretty sure they were the kind that you
have to keep looking at or they will get closer and closer to you until … well,
needless to say, we took a few pictures and got out of there.
We stopped for lunch in
Bardstown. It is obviously someplace
special to Stephen Foster. They have a
whole park dedicated to “My Old Kentucky Home.”
Didn’t sing that one to Chris. I don’t
know it. We did eat some buffet at
Stephen Foster’s Buffet cafeteria. Local
fare. Not bad food, and by the time we
were leaving, lots of folks were piling in.
In between Bardsville and
Louisville, we were on a special mission: to discover and photograph as many
Barn Quilts as possible. Yep. People paint quilts on their barns. Seems like they have a lot of extra time on
their hands. Interesting patterns,
though. And so random as to be kind of
fun. Not quite as fun as seeing wacky
signs like “The Coon Hunters Club” just outside of Louisville, but fun.
Once we got checked in at the hotel
we made our way through rush hour traffic to check out Chris’ family burial plot
at the local cemetery. Seems Zachary
Taylor is buried at the National Cemetery here.
And so are a lot of folks named Taylor, some of which are undoubtedly
Chris’s relatives. Finally, a cemetery
with a personal touch. We also drove by
a place called Locust Grove. It’s a
local mansion that has been around for a few centuries. It was closed so we just took some
pictures.
And then it was time to head back to
the hotel. I was driving, so I pointed
out some alternate routes for Chris to navigate me through. Nope.
Not having that. She refused to
drive on the freeways, and she has come to trust Google Siri less and less. Those two just don’t get along. So that meant I was relegated to navigator
and she took over as driver. As she told
me, “I’m reading Psalms, and a daily scripture reading, and My Utmost for His
Highest every day. I still get
lost. Not spiritually. On the road, I mean.” I for one am glad she likes to drive. And I enjoy finding weird paths to simple
destinations. Perfect match, if you ask
me.
Hotel Rating: Now we’re
talking. We shot right past two starfish
just by walking into this room. King
bed. Big room. Front and back door. Indoor pool.
Free breakfast. Real soap. Definitely past three starfish. We’ll be here two nights, so the final tally
is still out. Gotta try the breakfast.
Psalms
33:6 says, “By the word of
the Lord were the heavens made, their
starry host by the breath of his mouth.”
Father, thank you for the way Chris
and I complement each other. That’s no
accident. You did some great work. Amen.
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