Photos: From Lakehouse Cabin to Green Tree Inn, Elsah, Illinois

Today we left regretfully left Lakehouse Cabin behind and headed home.

Damage from the December 19, 2022, tornado

When we got to Paducah, we made sure to cross the old truss bridge on Rte. 45 between Paducah and

Brookport.  This, because Joseph warned us not to cross it, as it’s high and narrow and has a grated steel deck and makes his hair stand up on end.  After that, we had to, of course.  😅

It’s called the Irvin S. Cobb Bridge, aka the Paducah KY Blue Bridge.  Irvin S. Cobb was an author and journalist who was born in Paducah on June 23, 1876.  He relocated to New York City in 1904, living there for the remainder of his life.  He wrote for the New York World, Joseph Pulitzer's newspaper, as the highest paid staff reporter in the United States.  He died on March 11, 1944.

The bridge was originally built by a private company and operated as a toll bridge until 1943.  The state of Kentucky subsequently purchased the bridge from its builders.

A $2 million construction contract was awarded in 1927 for this bridge over the Ohio between Paducah and Brookport, Illinois.  The ten-span crossing opened to traffic on May 8, 1929.  The tolled bridge consisted of three Warren pony trusses, one Parker through truss, nine Warren through trusses, and four deck trusses.

The bridge is 5,386 feet long and 19.7 feet wide.  Its vertical clearance is 14 feet.

Looking online, I couldn’t find any chain (or cheap) motels on Rte. 100, but I did see several Bed & Breakfast Inns.  Most of the time, the prices of Bed & Breakfasts are too steep to suit us; but I discovered from their webpage that the Green Tree Inn had a special price for May Day and May Day only, if we called their landline that very day:  it would be $148 instead of $185.

I told Larry where to turn, looked back down at my computer to pull up the page with the room choices, thinking he might like to choose (because if I do, he’s bound to think another one would’ve been better) – and he drove right past the corner.

Rte. 100 is built on the east bank of the Mississippi River, and there are tall cliffs rising immediately to the east of the highway.  We had to drive another mile before there was a place to make a U-turn.

We pulled into the little village of Elsah, drove around the Inn, then parked in a small graveled area across the street, and chose the room.  Having been given the choice, Larry told me to do it.  I chose the Hummingbird Room.  If we ever stay there again, though, I’ll choose one with a recliner; Larry would like that better than the wicker chairs that were in the Hummingbird Room.

I called the number.

A friendly man answered, then handed the phone to his wife.  She was delighted that I’d called.  “Are you the folks parked right out front?” she asked.  When I affirmed that we were, she said, “Stay put, and I’ll be right out!” 

Her name was Connie Davis, and her husband’s name was Gary.  I inquired about the special price. 

“Where did you see it?” she asked.

I showed her the price on the webpage.  I’m not sure she even knew about it, but she immediately said they would honor the price.

We were the only guests that night.  Connie told us where to park, then took us into the beautiful kitchen and dining/sitting room on the ground floor, telling us to make ourselves at home there at any time.  We could use the refrigerator, stove, oven, microwave, ... anything.

We then went upstairs, and Connie showed us our pretty room.

We set about unloading the Benz, taking foodstuffs into the kitchen and otherstuffs (should be a word) up the stairs to the room.

She asked if we’d had supper.  We said no, and she apologized for not having something ready for us to eat; but of course she hadn’t known we were coming – and we hadn’t known we were coming, either!

We assured her that we had food with us, and could eat that.

She showed us a room that her husband decorates with antiques that he picks up at sales here and there.  Nearly everything in that room was for sale.

After inquiring as to when we would like to eat breakfast, and

being relieved when we said 8:30 a.m. would be fine, she headed back to the other building just a few steps from the inn side.  It’s their home, and very lovely it is.  Last week she had a number of guests who needed breakfast at 7:30 every morning, which required her to get up at 5:00 a.m.

While Larry warmed up Campbell’s Sirloin Burger & Vegetable soup, I made grilled Pepper Jack cheese sandwiches.  We had potato salad, coleslaw, cottage cheese, yogurt, and orange juice, too.  ’Twas a yummy meal, and fun using that beautiful kitchen.

I looked at the cookbooks on one of the shelves, and found one that Connie herself had put together and had published.  The pages were in a three-ring binder, and it was divided into sections by heavy posterboard, and on each was printed a funny saying to go with that section.  She had added little anecdotes to many of her recipes.  I read about her daughter, back when she was three years old (she’s grown with two daughters of her own now) helping make Peanut Kiss cookies.  Connie turned around to find her licking each chocolate kiss before she added it to the cookie.

Laughing, I told Larry, “I sure hope I can purchase one of these cookbooks!”

As we were cleaning up the kitchen, Gary came in to make sure everything was shipshape.  He chatted with us for a bit, and I learned that the cookbooks were indeed for sale, for $20 apiece. 

“I would like to buy one,” I told him, and he promised to let Connie know.

Larry told Gary, “We should’ve mentioned to your wife that we are not real big eaters.”

Gary retorted without a pause, “She’ll get you over that.”  haha

Connie told me the next morning that her cookbook has been in print for less than two years, but she has sold over 300 of them!  We were no longer surprised, after eating three of her entrées.

I had my alarm set for 6:00 a.m. that morning, the better to go on the anticipated bike ride.  But, as is often the case, I was stiffer’n a tenpenny nail, and the only thing that sounded good was a nice, hot shower.

So that’s what I did.

We were ready for breakfast before 8:00; but, not wanting to rush the lady, we walked around the historic houses on the block before heading into the kitchen and dining area.

The Davises greeted us cheerfully, and we were promptly served coffee and shown where we could sit.  The table was already set.

Soon Connie brought us baked apples and granola with French cream in footed crystal parfait cups.  She showed me the recipe in her book:

 

6 large apples (sliced               1 cup heavy whipping cream

2 cups granola                          1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Butter                                        3 tablespoons sugar

 

Butter a shallow baking dish.  Place the apple slices in the prepared dish and sprinkle generously with granola.  Place dabs of butter on apples.  Bake at 350° F for 30 minutes or until apples are tender when forked.  While apples are baking, whip the cream, vanilla, and sugar until thick and creamy.  When the apples are finished baking, place apples in serving dish and spoon the cream on top.  Serve immediately.  

Serves 6-8.

Note:  Making sure the cream is cold will help it whip quicker and easier.

 

Mmmmm, it was scrumptious.  Why didn’t I take a picture of it?  It was as pretty as it was delicious.

Meanwhile, Gary poured cranberry juice for me and orange juice for Larry, and refilled our coffee cups.

After the baked apples, Connie brought us Ham and Swiss Quiches with two kinds of sauce to put on it, along with Sour Cream Blueberry Bread.  All of it tasted sooo good.

She told us that she had looked through her refrigerator and pantry to see what she had; her supplies were running low, as it was time for her to go grocery shopping.  But she found blueberries, diced ham, Swiss cheese, whipping cream, apples, and enough staples to make our breakfast. 

It really was one of the best breakfasts we’ve ever had.

Connie offered us seconds.  We took another cup of coffee, and no more.

“I don’t want anybody leaving hungry!” she said.

“You’ve accomplished your goal!” I informed her, and she laughed.

The next morning: