Journal: Excursion to Paducah, Kentucky

 

Last Tuesday, we headed first to Omaha to see Loren, and then on to Paducah, Kentucky, where the big AQS quilt show would be.

The public relations manager (or some such title as that), Don, from the nursing home called just as we were leaving to tell us that Loren has been moved to a semi-private room (he will share the bathroom with another man) closer to the front desk.  He was locking the other man out of his room, some of the ladies were following him into his room and helping themselves to this and that... etc.  It’ll cost a little more, but that’s okay.  We sort of would’ve liked him to have his own room all along, but there wasn’t one available at first. 

He also told us that one of the other men had scratched Loren’s face with a comb.  “We are changing the other man’s medication dosage to calm him and make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he assured us.

As we walked into the lobby, we saw Don in the conference room off to the side, so we stopped and talked with him.  He said Loren has been no trouble; he is always sweet and kind and gets along well with residents and staff alike.  The altercation that had occurred, he said, was entirely the other person, not Loren, and he neither provoked it nor fought back.  (His medication must be working well!  ha)

We found Loren in one of the sitting rooms with a few others looking at a video on endangered animals.  The woman Roslyn was loudly reading the silent film’s captions to everyone.  She did quite well, though she didn’t know how to pronounce ‘Komodo’ (dragon).  She even laughed at herself for not knowing.

We sat down in a back corner with Loren, gave him a new Reader’s Digest, a Reminisce magazine, and a couple of Messenger newspapers, and visited with him.

When the film was over, a nurse began helping the others in the room prepare to play a game.  She doled out the game pieces – and one of the menfolk promptly tried to eat the piece he was issued.  🤣

“No, don’t eat it,” said the nurse, pulling the man’s hand down from his mouth.  “That’s your game piece!  It’s not food!”

“Oh, it’s not?” said the man, looking the piece over in surprise.

Loren, Larry, and I vacated our spot in the corner and went to find Loren’s new room.  He finally has a room that smells nice.

He’s doing all right, though his face had gotten raked quite badly with that comb, leaving a nasty-looking scratch down the side of his face.  But he was glad to see us, and didn’t remember the injury while we were there.  We didn’t mention it, either.  

I suspect that when they told Loren they were moving him to another room, they mentioned the price of the room (probably because he asked; he would do that), or maybe they just told him it was a little bit more money, because he told us he thought he’d drive home the next morning.  “I’m not accustomed to staying at a place like this,” he explained, pointing around here and there, “where they want to keep adding stuff to your bill.”  (or ‘in the book’, as he put it – they probably were writing in their paper file as they spoke with him).  🥴 

Oops

Perhaps I should have told them that it would be best to never let him know how much it costs there.  Hopefully he’ll forget (though that’s likely one of the things he’ll remember).

“This is not how I’ve ever lived my life,” he said, “just staying in one place like this!”

I tried the ‘ohlooktheresasquirrel’ routine, peering out the window and remarking on all the birds singing away out there.  An English sparrow obligingly sang a few loud notes right as Loren looked out the window.  He has a pretty view of the courtyard now, whereas before he had the front side of a large apartment building to look at.

It sure made me feel bad to see Loren’s face all scratched up, but I’m thankful the doctors and nurses there are willing and able to do what needs to be done.

I had sent text messages to the kids, reminding them of where we were going.

“I hope you have a good trip!!” replied Hester.  “I’m sure you’re looking forward to it; it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered, “we haven’t been able to go anywhere since Job was a small boy in 1440 BC.”

She wrote back, “😅😅  Well, I’m glad you get a vacation!  Are you going to be close to the Smoky Mountains?  (My phone tried to say ‘skinny mountains’ lolz)”

Haha, ‘skinny mountains’.  I sent her the link to our cabin, and wrote, “We have our bikes on a new bike carrier.  Reckon I can still ride?  And will I look good in helmet hair afterwards?”

She responded, “😄😄  On vacation does it really matter?  You probably will never see any of the same people again.  You’ll just have to get a cart for behind Daddy’s bike if it turns out you can’t ride.  😎”

Larry added his two bits:  “An enclosed one, so it doesn’t mess up your hair.”

We finally crossed the Missouri River and headed south at 3:30 p.m.  The delay was because Larry decided to drive north past Eppley Airfield before heading back south on I29.  It took almost exactly an hour to get back to South Omaha.

I tell Larry, “The reason you’re late everywhere you go is because Cause and Effect escapes you:  You have never understood that a minute wasted right now makes you a minute late later.  In this case, whatever time we waste now makes our journey tomorrow that much longer.”

Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, though; so mostly I just sit back, camera at the ready, and (try to) enjoy the ride, whilst offering a few well-placed strategic hints to hurry, hurry!

Everywhere we looked, signs and roofs have been destroyed from the relentless wind we have had throughout the last several months.  Trees have broken branches.  There was smoke out in a field, some distance south of Omaha.  I sure hope the fire was put out quickly; the entire state had been issued a Fire Danger Warning, and burning anything was extremely discouraged.  The skies were hazy from smoke and dust.  But the winds were only at 10-18 mph, a welcome reprieve.

Near Langdon and Rock Port, Missouri, we saw a sprayer plane circling and flying low over the fields.

There were bushes and trees blooming in white and lavender blossoms all alongside the road.  There’s a profusion of Eastern Redbuds; that’s one of my favorites.  I think the big white-blooming bushes are perhaps blackhaw viburnum.

It was a pretty day, and 69°.  We had the Old Fashioned Revival Hour Quartet singing on the car’s CD player.   As I typed a few notes into my journal, they were going at The Solid Ground with hammer and tongs, really singing with all their might and main.  Just my style! 

We ate supper at the Hill Top Restaurant in Stewartsville, Missouri.  I had the best taco pizza (homemade right there in the restaurant) I’ve ever had, followed by a scrumptious slice of cherry pie.  Larry had spaghetti and meatballs with breadsticks – all homemade, with green beans, and a slice of apple pie à la mode.  Total:  $28.

Well, mah woid.  I looked at the place on Google Street View upon leaving, and upon zooming in I discovered that when the last Google picture was taken in July of 2013, the place was up for sale – but it wasn’t a restaurant.  It was ‘Country Expressions Quilt Shoppe’!

That’s too bad, that it’s closed.  But the parking lot is now paved, and the people in the open kitchen are indeed excellent cooks.  A young boy served our table.  The name plate at the cash register read, ‘Boss Mom’.  The way they all acted, I’m pretty sure they were all family.

Anyway, I can’t be overly sad about the lost quilt shop, because while I didn’t want to go fabric shopping, I most certainly did want to eat!

That evening, I booked a room at the Best Western in Brookfield, Missouri, through BookingBargains – and once again, it was a website that didn’t automatically give me a calendar, and I never saw one, so it didn’t occur to me that I was reserving a room for anything other than that very night. 

Turns out, I booked a room for May 1^st.  So when Larry went into the office, he was informed that they had no reservation for the likes of us that night.

Will I ever learn?!  I’ve done this – reserving for the wrong night – at least three times now. 

Answer:  How can I learn, if we don’t do more traveling?!  Gotta do more traveling.  Yep, that’s the answer.  More traveling.

I found a number to call to cancel the reservation, and was informed by the Indian-sounding person that this motel had no rooms for that night.  But the parking lot was practically empty!  Larry went back in and inquired.  Yes, they did in fact have a number of rooms to choose from. 

He chose one.  However, it was the ‘regular’ price, rather than the bargain I’d found on BookingBargains.  BookingBargainsWithNoCalendar, as it were.

We have learned that those websites are often mistaken when they say ‘no openings’ for the night.  Their data must not be instantaneously updated.  Or even sluggishly updated.

We have found Best Western to have very nice beds, sheets, blankets, comforters, and, especially, pillows – four to a bed.

Super 8, by comparison, has nice rooms, large, pretty photographic prints on the walls, good breakfasts, – and really bad comforters, almost all of which look like these:  

They are polyester, and when I touch them, I am affected exactly like many people are affected by scraping their fingernails down a chalkboard.  Aaarrrggghhh.

Since we have not owned good pillows for a while, and every time I decided to buy some nice ones, the price made my hair stand up on end, I pulled one of Best Western’s pillows from its case. 

Larry raised his eyebrows.  “What are you doing??”

“I’m going to find out what brand these are, and get some,” I informed him.

I turned the pillow around and looked at the tag.  Guess what brand it was?

‘Best Western Hotel Bedding’, that’s what it was.

“Rats,” I said, disappointed.

A little while later, Larry found the little sign in the bathroom:  “If you take our towels, comforters, pillows, etc., we will assume you want to buy them, and charge your card accordingly.”  Prices – rather high – are listed.  And then! – the last line read, “However, if you wish to purchase new pillows at the desk, the price is $25 apiece.”

Only $25!  That’s less than half the price of most of the pillows I had looked at online.

The next morning, we bought two new king-sized pillows.  The desk clerk told us that they were a hot-selling item.  She further said that they had been unable to get those pillows for a year and a half because of Covid, and had only recently gotten a large supply of them.

Later, we stopped at Wal-Mart and bought some soft, flowered, high-thread-count pillowcases, so we wouldn’t get our new pillows mixed up with any hotel pillows.

That morning, we saw a truck that had crashed immediately on the other side of a 14’ 9” bridge.  It didn’t appear to have hit the underside of the bridge, though; Larry suggested he fell asleep (probably because Larry himself was already yawning hugely), side-swiped the left side, and spun around to the right side, totally removing trailer axles, etc.

 We got to Hannibal, Missouri, Mark Twain’s boyhood home, at 12:15 p.m.  We drove through the historic part of town and parked on a little road overlooking the Mississippi River.  We listened as a train rumbled through far below, almost directly under us.  We couldn’t see it, on account of the steep cliffs and the trees.  Its whistle echoed all across the river, so that for a little while we couldn’t tell where it was.  Upon looking at Google Maps, I found the track next to the river, seemingly right beside us.  Google Maps doesn’t show altitude and elevation.  😏

By 1:30 p.m., we were in Louisiana.  The town, that is.  Louisiana, Missouri, population 3,364.

By 2:00, we had caught up with the train that we’d heard in Hannibal, rattling along beside Rte. 79, The Great River Road of Missouri.  There were engines on both ends of it.

3:00 p.m. found us in Florrisant, Missouri, at a convenience store beside a mossy pond.  I grabbed my camera and walked down to the water’s edge.

PLUNK!  I heard a big frog jump into the water from the bank when I approached.  I knew, Big frog! – so I stood silently until he surfaced for air. 

I posted pictures of the frog on Facebook, and got the usual. 

“Maybe he is a toad.”

At least she was polite.  I’ve had a few people who did everything but call me an ignorant ignoramus for thinking such a thing as a tree frog was a tree frog.  Toads don’t stick to the glass on our front door with the suction cups on their feet, though.

“It’s an American bullfrog,” I wrote back.  “You should have heard him ‘singing’!  He was at least 8” long.  The various toads in that part of the country only grow to 2 or 3 inches.”

“oh i thought it was the other way around! thanks!” she responded.  “So a Bull frog is a big one with two eyes on the surface.”  Then, “8” long - hmm - big frog.”  After another minute of skeptical deliberation, “just so big!”

A big bullfrog can easily jump six feet, though they normally go popping along with three-foot jumps or so.  And those huge Goliath frogs can jump – get this – ten feet!!  Eeeek.

There was a blue dasher dragonfly flitting about over the moss and weeds, too.

Overhead, turkey vultures soared.  We saw hundreds of them.

It was midnight before we got to the Lakehouse Cabin.  We carried our things in – and of course I had to immediately take pictures of the pretty little place.  

But we were soon asleep; it had been a long day.  We would be glad some of those nights that there were extra quilts in a wicker trunk on the balcony!

Thursday morning when we awoke, the birds were singing like everything.  Many, I did not recognize, and the forest along the lake was so dense, I could not see them.  I heard a very strong, fast woodpecker, and just bet anything it was a pileated woodpecker.  I saw a red-belled woodpecker, but I was never able to get a photo of it.

There were little Eastern Gray squirrels all over the place.  They range in size from just over 9” to not quite 12”.  Our fox squirrels, by comparison, are 10-15 inches.  (Those sizes do not include their bushy plumes of tails.)

Larry headed down the steps to Lake Barkley to do some fishing.

A little after 1:00, we drove into the little town of Cadiz (pronounced KAY-deez), population 2,639, to get some groceries.  Over the next four days, we would have apple-cinnamon oatmeal or blueberry bagels or peanut butter and jelly on 12-grain bread for breakfast.  For supper, we would have such things as broccoli/egg quiche, Campbell’s Chicken & Dumpling soup, potato salad, coleslaw, cottage cheese, strawberries, watermelon, mixed berry yogurt on fresh raspberries, applesauce, peaches, and blueberry pie with frozen whipped cream.  There were Scoops corn chips and Tostitos Salsa con Queso dip, mozzarella cheese, Pretzel Flip crackers, and Wheat Thins for snacks.  What else?  I seem to have totally forgotten two of our suppers.

Anyway, we made it back to the cabin before the groceries thawed out; Cadiz was not far from the cabin, just six miles.  It was a ten-minute drive, as the roads were hilly and winding through thick forests.

After putting the groceries away, we went to the Elk and Bison Prairies in the central part of Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area.  On our way there, I was snapping pictures right and left, not paying attention to Larry’s driving, and he missed the road I told him to take, and we wound up in the backroads on the east side of Lake Barkley, instead of crossing the bridge and going into the Land Between the Lakes. 

“We need to turn around,” I said, upon realizing the error. 

My phone had lost the signal (a common occurrence out there in the sticks), but I could clearly see which direction we were headed from the Mercedes’ on-dash map, and I knew which direction we needed to go.

After driving a bit farther on that dead-end lane (just to prove he could, you know), Larry pulled into a driveway, planning to back out and retrace his track.  He sat waiting for a pickup to go past.  It didn’t go past.  The man stopped and waited for us to get out of the way – because we were in his driveway.

Larry, who never asks for directions if he can help it, decided he needed to explain himself, so the man didn’t think we were thieves set on stealing him blind, perhaps.  He backed out, and when the pickup pulled forward and was then beside us in the road, Larry rolled his window down.  “Which way are the buffalo?” he asked.

The man laughed.  He probably wanted to roll his eyes.  “Oh, you’re a long ways out in the boonies,” he told Larry.  “The buffalo are over in the Park!”  He gestured in a vague westerly direction.

He then proceeded to give those ‘local countrified directions’ that include no road names or numbers, and generally give ‘lefts and rights’, as opposed to ‘easts and wests’.  It sounded a lot like that ticket man in the Airport Game on our very first computer, way back in 1999:  “You go two miles, turn right, go two miles, turn right, go two miles, turn right, go two miles...”   A wave of the hand.  “Somewhere around there.”

Larry thanked him and drove off, acting for all the world like he now knew exactly where to go.  Because Hank Rural’s directions were so much better than mine, right?

“Hurry,” I admonished, “Before he calls the Health and Human Services Department to do a welfare check on us poor, befuddled souls.”

Part of the problem is that Larry is hard of hearing.  His hearing aids don’t seem to be a whole lot of help.  And quite often, he thinks he hears someone, but actually heard them wrong.

This makes life varied and interesting.

There were several young buffalo calves.  It was so funny to watch them bounding about, quite as if they had been filled with helium. 

After leaving the Elk and Bison Prairies, we did a bit of exploring in the Park.  We wound up on some little two-bit trail that looked like a perfectly decent road on the GPS map.  Upon coming to a big puddle, Larry hit the button that raises the Mercedes a good six inches.  When we came down a steep hill, he pressed the button that engages brakes the moment one lets one’s foot off the accelerator.  This expensive vehicle that looks more like a short limousine than an off-roading vehicle nevertheless goes really, really well on steep, winding, rocky, muddy tracks.  We were very careful with it, and planned to back our way out if it looked too sketchy.  

We made it out the other side, though, and got back on the main road, about smack-dab in the center of Land Between the Lakes.

We headed back to the cabin, Larry to his fishing, and me to fix some supper and take pictures from the deck.  A small lizard went scurrying under the deck table, and I grabbed my camera – but he was long gone by the time I stepped back over to the doorway.

A big ol’ Army Chinook flew right over our cabin then.  I sent Joseph a text to tell him about it.  He did his Army training not too far from Land Between the Lakes.

He soon replied, “You will probably see a lot of them.  160^th SOAR does water training at Land Between the Lakes.”

Larry came up from the shore, and we had a supper of chicken dumpling soup and wheat thins, potato salad, coleslaw, and grape juice.  Then he went back down to check his fishing lines while I pulled the blueberry pie from the oven.  We put frozen whipped cream on it while it was still piping hot.  Mmmmm.

Friday morning, I had blueberry pie with frozen whipped cream for breakfast.  Because, after all, we had to eat it before we departed on Sunday morning, right?  And there were eight pieces, right?  Right.

Larry cheated and put two servings of whipped cream on his piece.  I even had it divided into eight sections, just as I divided the pie, so he wouldn’t do that!  He promised to make up for it by putting blueberry yogurt on the next piece.  😜

He uses yogurt like some people use ketchup.

Ah, well.  It’s his party.  Er, food.

Here’s a pretty little creek we forded in the Park.  There’s a post with measurement markings on it, so one knows precisely how deep it will be before driving in.

All around Cadiz and especially in downtown Cadiz, there are all types and sizes of pigs decorated and painted in various colors and designs.  This, because the town is famous for the annual Ham Festival, but there is a steadily growing population of pigs lining its streets throughout the rest of the year.

From an online article:  More than 50 pigs can be spotted all around town, and their numbers are growing.  They aren’t in pens and they aren’t tied up.  Lucky for city officials though, these pigs don’t make a big mess. As a matter of fact, they don’t really do much of anything except sit around – because they’re statues.

Businesses order the statues through City Hall in two sizes:  small ones that weigh 350 pounds cost $100, and larger 1,205-pound pigs cost $225.  Painting the pigs then can cost hundreds of dollars.  Many artists then give their pay to local charities.

 Most pig owners in town have cameras vigilantly keeping eyes on their pigs, as history has proven that the pigs aren’t as safe as one might think.  There was a pig heist this spring and several of the 350 pound pigs went missing.  All of the stolen pigs were found later in a field, except for Bessie, the cow pig.  Bessie, painted to look like a cow, was stolen from in front of the Impressions Hair Salon on Main Street and is still missing – all but her tail, which they still have.

Flyers line the windows of shops advertising a $100 reward for the safe return of the bovine swine.

My pictures of the pigs are almost all blurry, partly because it was dark and a bit rainy when we went through town, and partly because the pigs were near the sides of the roads, and pictures are blurry when I take them from the side window as we go flashing past.

At the Cadiz Baptist Church, they were having a graduation ceremony for a group of small children, maybe kindergartners.  There were 13 children all decked out in bright blue caps and gowns, perched atop a short brick wall in front of the church and academy.  Larry went around the block so I could get a better picture.

There were also eight very young children, probably preschoolers, sitting on the steps with a black lady.  I was a bit concerned about taking pictures, as I know people sometimes frown on this, thinking a photographer of unknown children is doubtless up to no good.

I need not have worried.  I have learned long ago that I evidently look entirely harmless, except to that crabby old lady at the State Fair a few years ago, who wanted to know why and exactly who I was taking pictures of, when I was getting shots of that big, pretty merry-go-round in action. 

“Are those your grandchildren?” she asked in an accusatory, belligerent tone.

“Not yet,” I replied, which of course didn’t help my cause in the slightest. 

Couldn’t help it.  The devil made me do it.  I could’ve said, “Yes, all of them,” and indeed I thought of it, but chose the other answer.  Anyway, it’s good to say things that make old ladies ponder.  Helps ward off Alzheimer’s, you know.

But here in Cadiz, like I said, I need not have worried.  The three young ladies who were arranging the children and taking photos all gave me big, friendly smiles, and the black lady grinned, waved, and called in a big, jolly voice to the children, “EVERYBODY SMILE FOR THE LADY WITH THE CAMERA!”

They smiled, a number of them waved, and several called out something.  We were several blocks away before I realized what they’d said.  They were saying, “Cheeeeeese!!!”  haha  Funny little kiddos.

Following are some statistics that sometimes make my fellow quilting friends and dyed-in-the-wool (or cotton) quilt-show enthusiasts scratch their heads, if not horrifying them: 

11:05 a.m.:  Arrived at the Bill and Meredith Schroeder Expo Center in Paducah.

11:25 a.m.:  Took first picture of a quilt.

12:07 p.m.:  Took last picture of a quilt.

Yeah, that was only 42 minutes.  And there were supposedly quilts upstairs.  Where were the stairs?  Or elevators, for that matter?

Sigh; I was heartily tired of making my way through the labyrinth of people, and fighting to keep my eyes from closing and staying closed.  Ugh, Benign Essential Blepharospasm is not much fun.

But I did see and talk to Julia Quiltoff!  She is a young quilter who is extremely skilled at it.  She teaches classes, and designs and sells quilting rulers (to use with longarms), too.  She’s Russian, and she and her husband and two sons live in Kansas City, Missouri.  She is horrified and saddened over  Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and on her Facebook page she asks people to pray for Ukraine.

We were walking down an aisle when I happened to spot a video showing a longarm in action, quilting away.  I thought, That looks like Julia Quiltoff’s quilting, and then looked up at the sign just over the screen:  ‘Quiltoff’.  It was!  I looked around that booth, then, and there she was.  No one was talking to her right then, so I went over and asked, “Are you Julia?”  She nodded, smiling, and I told her I follow her on Facebook, and just love her quilting, and get much inspiration from it. 

She was just as gracious in person as she is online.

One of these days, I want to purchase a ruler set from her.

We escaped from the crush at the quilt show, sat in the Merc, and guzzled down water.  Thirsty!

We watched a couple of ladies getting rides back to their vehicle in a cart pulled by a bicycler.

We were planning to meet an online quilting friend and her husband, Darlene and John Rogers, at 2:00, but there was just enough time to go to the National Quilt Museum.

At least in there, I think I got pictures of most all the quilts, for the place wasn’t quite so full of humanity as the Expo Center was.  However, they don’t let you use flash on cameras (too many flashes could be damaging to fabrics, especially older fabrics), so my pictures won’t be quite as good.  I’ll bump up the sharpness, contrast, and saturation a bit, to compensate.

Then back we went to the convention center, aka the Paducah-McCracken County Convention & Expo Center.  There were a number of food vendors set up in front of the building.  We found a picnic table in the lawn under some tall trees, and gladly sat down to rest our feet and backs and hips and knees.

I sent Darlene a note:  We are at a picnic table in the lawn under the trees near the strawberry shortcake stand.  🍰

I followed that with another note:  (Sounds like I'm playing a game of Clue.)  😅

John and Darlene soon found us there.  Darlene and I have been online friends for many years, but this is the first time we’ve ever met in person.  She is every bit and more as nice in person as she is online.

John and Larry went to the nearby Boy Scouts of America dairy stand and got us strawberry shortcakes.  Mmmmm, yummy.

We had a lovely visit for about an hour, and then went our separate ways, Larry and I to Lowe’s, Home Depot, and Menards looking for a few things for the cabin:  a light cover for the coverless light in the hallway, and a couple of handles, one for a drawer, and one for a cupboard.  We like to leave pretty little cabins like that one a little bit nicer than they were when we arrived.

There were no light covers, so we got an entire fixture at Lowe’s, using the rest of the in-store merchandise card we received when we returned a couple of things we’d purchased for Loren’s house to the Lowe’s in Omaha.

There were few drawer or cupboard pulls to choose from, and most are ultra modern-looking.  And none fit.  Today’s common size is 3”.  We needed 2 ½”.  Menards had the greatest variety, but none were the right size.  I found a similar one online at build.com for $4.56 and free shipping.  If I order it, though, I need to know where to send it, as there is no mail delivery to the cabin.  Maybe I won’t worry about it.

We went back to the cabin via the route that goes south through the center of Land Between the Lakes.  Not too far in, we started seeing piles of dead trees.  At first I just thought people were making a mess of things, but then we noticed large trees that had been snapped in half, way up high.  I looked online and discovered that a tornado had come through on December 19^th, four days after the tornado that went through Columbus.

That explained the pine trees we saw farther south that were all bent over, as though they were trying to impersonate weeping willows.

Not far from our cabin, we came upon a couple of turkey vultures in the road.  They reluctantly flew as we approached.  We slowed to see what they were feasting on.  It was a big snake! – but I do believe they scarfed down its head; that particular part of its anatomy seemed to be missing.  😝😜  It was a black rat snake, non-venomous.

Meanwhile, back in Columbus, it had been pouring rain for two or three days in a row.  There was flooding, and Highway 81 was closed from Rte. 22 almost all the way to Norfolk.  A lot of low-lying county roads were impassable, too.

And, after mentioning it shortly before we left home last Tuesday morning, we had totally forgotten to scoot the table out and cover it with a plastic in case it rained and the roof leaked while we were gone.  The hope chest Kurt made for Victoria that still sits in our living room is covered, but I had put a stack of songbooks on it and forgotten to move those, too.  I sure hoped nothing was being ruined.

That afternoon, I talked with Victoria on the phone for a bit.  She was painting her kitchen and hallway, and I asked for pictures.

She sent them (though some wouldn’t arrive until we got home early Tuesday morning, probably because I didn’t have cell phone service a good deal of the time) – and she also sent a picture of baby Willie, sound asleep.

This was followed shortly by more pictures of Carolyn, Violet, and Willie, and the most adorable video of Carolyn and Willie, wherein Willie is cooing and squealing at his big sister, and Carolyn is laughing.  Then she turned to Victoria, smiled in her sweet way, and said, “He’s talking so funny!  I think he’s telling me that he loves me.”

Before I knew it, it was midnight.  I typed up my Saturday Skim for my Quilt Talk group, with links to websites with free patterns and tutorials, etc.

Larry was still down at the lake fishing.  I was really tired, but didn’t want to go to bed before I knew for sure he hadn’t fallen in and drowned.  So embarrassing, when one has to call the police and the dive team and the undertaker and the morgue whilst clad in one’s nightgown.

I sent him a text:  “When are you coming?”

He responded in under a minute, “20 minutes.”

It was 45 minutes.

Larry caught several large fish during our time at the cabin.  The first few were lost because the line he was using was old and brittle.  He’d brought it along because it was extra heavy, and I’d been telling him the size of fish in the lakes.  But heavyweight line is no better than lightweight line – and probably worse – if it’s brittle. 

Once, he pulled in a big fish that something had been eating on.  The next night, he snagged a big turtle – bigger than a dinner plate – and the turtle had eaten half of another big fish on his line before getting snagged on the hook itself.  It tried diving under the covered boat slips, and got itself tangled.  Larry slowly coaxed it out, pulled it up on the dock, and released it.  The turtle was a large Eastern River Cooter.

Here are a couple of videos I took at the cabin:  Around the Cabin

Heading Down to the Shores of Lake Barkley

Saturday morning after a shower and blow-dry, I went down to the lake to see if Larry had caught any fish, and to take pictures.  

Larry had forgotten his worms in the refrigerator, so I trotted back up and got them.  Those steps down the cliff to the water’s edge are equivalent of five stories, counting the rock ‘steps’ in the back yard of the cabin below its attached deck.  And, just so you know, down is a whale of a lot easier than up, especially when one is in a hurry.  See Larry on that upper deck?

It was so pretty there, and the birds were singing their hearts out – but some people had arrived at the house to the northeast, either owners or renters; and they were not happy.  I couldn’t tell if they were all yelling at each other, or in unison and agreement at something else.  The dog yapped now and then, and then the people all yelled at him.  Ugh, I’m glad we didn’t have to put up with that the whole time we were there.

A friend wrote to ask, “Did you get a ribbon on your quilt?”

“Yeah!” I responded.  “I got a turquoise one that says ‘Paducah 2022 CONTESTANT’ in gold letters!  🤣  And that’s all.  LOL”  Then I added, “That’s okay.  I don’t need condolences, or nuttin’.”

I finally remembered to take a few pictures using my crystal photo ball that morning.  It’s a nifty little photographic accessory; I should use it more often.

That afternoon, we went to Paducah to pick up my quilt and to see the Wall-to-Wall Floodwall Murals.  Several blocks of the Floodwall have been painted with murals that capture Paducah’s history.  This project began in the spring of 1996.  The first twenty-panel timeline was completed in 2001 and the last painting in the three block section in 2010.

I took a picture of every mural.  It was a bit rainy that day, but it quit long enough for us to walk those several blocks along the Ohio River.  

By 7:00, we were back at the cabin.  That excursion to Paducah took five hours, with over two hours spent driving.

Teddy called to say that he’d had several pigs butchered, and wondered if we had any room in our freezer where he could store some of the meat. 

“Sure!” I told him.  “Neither of our freezers is very full.  You can probably fit everything that’s in the chest freezer downstairs in the upstairs side-by-side refrigerator/freezer, and then you could use the entire chest freezer to put meat into.”

We’d hoped to go on a bike ride, but the rain started in earnest that evening, and kept up through a good part of the night, with periodic loud crashes of thunder.  The rain on that metal roof was loud.  But... it didn’t leak, and we stayed warm and dry.

Larry installed the light in the hallway while I washed the dishes.  It’s so bright!  I hope no low-flying planes mistake the hall for a landing strip.

Sunday was May 1.  It was Mayday!  MAYDAY!  I loved May Day when I was in grade school, because we planted flowers... skipped around a Maypole holding colorful crepe paper... though I didn’t like it when we had to hold hands, because I somehow always wound up having to hold John Evans’ hand – and he picked his nose.  Aauugghh.

For many years, my friends and I would pick violets and sweet clover, tuck them in little bottles and jars, tie a ribbon around the bottles’ necks, and leave them at friends’ doors.

Later, when some of us got old enough to drive, we made cookies, then got together and divvied them up into boxes and bags, which we then delivered to homes of our church members.  Here’s a recently-scanned picture from one of those excursions.  This is my late friend Helen, grandmother of Jeremy and Maria.

Sunday morning, we reluctantly packed up and prepared to head home.  I should’ve fixed the bags of frozen Chicken Alfredo and the mixed vegetables (which I planned to put into macaroni and cheese, along with a can of tuna) for supper one of the nights we were there.  We had no way of transporting frozen bags of food without spoiling, so we left them behind.  The canned soup would’ve traveled home with us, but not the frozen food.  That’s what comes from feeling lazy.  😏

After we left, I emailed the owner to thank her for the use of the cabin and to tell her about the frozen food, and she said she would tell the housekeeper. 

Oh, well.  Neither the Chicken Alfredo nor the mixed vegetables were very expensive.  And since people recommend you tip the housekeeper...  well, there.  We tipped her.

We crossed Lake Barkley and turned north to drive between the lakes.  

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.

By 5:30 p.m., we were at Ina, Illinois, and Larry was trying to fix the electrical plugs/outlets/inverter so it would power this big, honkin, power-using laptop of mine.  It was down to 55% remaining battery.  When the inverter tried to work, it shrieked and screamed, because it couldn’t make continuous contact.  There was something about the outlet or on the plug that seemed to force the plug back out just enough for it to lose connection.  Sooo aggravating and annoying.  Doubly so, because Larry could hardly hear it, and therefore was unconcerned!  I made sure he could hear me shrieking and screaming, though.  🤣

I use Google Maps on my computer as we travel, and I like to type in my journal and read emails, too, if there’s nothing spectacular for me to be photographing at the moment.  If the sun isn’t too bright, I edit pictures.

Larry rewired the inverter directly to the vehicle, and after that there was no more problem.  We must remember to shut it off when we turn off the Mercedes, though, so the battery doesn’t run down.

7:40 p.m. found us heading straight into the setting sun as we approached St. Louis.  It was mighty hard to see!  But I had chosen routes that would take us north beside the Mississippi River on the east side – Highways 3, 143, and 100.

Ten minutes later, we had turned north, and the sun was no longer in our faces.

Because we thought we might get up early and ride our bikes, we looked for a place to stay before it got too late.  So far, only Larry had ridden his bike.  Sometimes I was fixing supper while he rode... sometimes he rode before I got up in the morning... and sometimes it was too cold.  I get earaches when it’s cold and windy.  Earaches can turn into all-day headaches. 

And a couple of times when I was about ready to put on my shoes and head out to ride, the rain had come pouring down.

Larry was kinda of the notion that the hills in the area around our cabin would be too steep for me.  I’m kinda of the notion that I coulda done it.  Maybe.  Providing my gears would shift into low first gear.  I hadn’t ridden the bike for so long, they weren’t wanting to shift very well.  And the breaks squall.  Plumb embarrassin’.

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.

Gary told us of the floods in 2019 – the same year Nebraska had such devastating floods.  There was five feet of water in the basement of the Inn.

By the time I was done working my way around all that food, I decided I really needed to take a bike ride.  Larry had gotten our bikes off the carrier the night before, so all we needed to do was to pull on gloves and helmets, hop on, and go pedaling off.  Well, uh, that is... I didn’t wear a helmet, because I’d just gotten my lovely tresses all dolled up cute, and they were well sprayed with nicely-scented hairspray, and I certainly couldn’t be a-smushing it, now could I?  That hairdo was every bit as good as a helmet!

I know, I know; you’re thinking, You’ll mess up your hair a whole lot worse when you fall down.

Well, I have the perfect solution for that:  I shan’t fall down.

Nor did I, so there, pfffft.

And my hair stayed all cutesy-like.  So there again.

Quit fussing.  I rode bikes for years and years and years without anyone even mentioning my need for a helmet.  I had babies in bike carriers on the back of my bike, and they didn’t have helmets, either!  I had never even seen a bike helmet for a baby.  Had I seen one, I would’ve gotten one for the baby in the bike carrier.  But I never fell, and no baby got hurt.

We rode through the entire village, admiring all the enchanting and quaint old homes.

We didn’t keep at it for long, though, because it was cold, and barely 30 minutes into the ride, my ears were hurting.

Unbeknownst to me, Larry was recording a video as we pedaled around the village.  I said all sorts of things I would not have said, had I known!  😅

Ah, well.  I didn’t say anything incriminating, so there’s that.

We returned to the Inn and loaded our things into the Benz, and Larry put the bikes back into the rack. 

He got a new rack before we left Columbus.  This one cups the tires and holds the bikes snugly, so the handlebars can’t turn, and no part of one bike rubs on another.  Much better than our old one. 

When we were in St. Louis on our way south, I took note of a few unsavory individuals and asked Larry, “Do you have padlocks on those bikes?”

He did not.  So we stopped at the first Wal-Mart we came to, and purchased one with a long enough cable to go around both bike frames plus the carrier.  If anyone stole anything at all now, they’d have to remove the entire carrier from the hitch and make off with the whole kit and caboodle.  I wonder how far they’d get before some cop coasting past would notice the oddity and bring their game to a halt?

North we went then, crossing the Mississippi at Hannibal, continuing north all the way to Wayland, Missouri, following the west side of the river most of the way.

Oh, haha, I was just hunting on Google Maps for a bridge I took photos of as we crossed.  I didn’t find that exact bridge, but I did find another bridge, the St. Francisville Bridge, with this comment in the Reviews:  “Such a great alternative to swimming across the border between Iowa and Missouri.  It’s like you’re a bird in flight, soaring over troubled waters.  Highly recommended.”  hee hee

Oh, here it is:  The Joe Page Bridge in Hardin, Illinois, carries Rtes. 16 and 100 across the Illinois River linking Calhoun and Green Counties.  The bridge is the southernmost on the river.  Its lift span is 308 feet and 9 inches long, the largest span of this type in the world.  The bridge was built in 1930, dedicated July 23, 1931, and rehabilitated in 2003-04.  It serves as the vital connection for nearby farming communities and river town locals, especially considering that the closest alternate crossing is by ferry boat nearly 10 miles upstream or 17 miles downstream.

In La Grange, Missouri, we crossed the railroad tracks and drove right down onto the rocky shores of the Mississippi River, where I walked out onto that point there that sticks out into the river and took pictures and a few videos.

I put my hand into the water, and found it to be cold, cold.  Hmmm... I wonder what the temperature of the Mississippi is this time of year?  >>looking it up<< ...  Here we go:  It’s 49°. 

Brrrrr!  That’s colder than our well water, which is a steady 55°, both in the dead of winter and in the heat of summer.  It’s a perfectly good temperature to drink.

Yesirree, I thought that river water was extra cold.

I took the last pictures of our trip in Unionville, Missouri.  It was already dark and cloudy enough that most of my shots were blurry.

We ate at the Barnyard Restaurant in Decatur City, Iowa, population 175.

I had a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, orange juice, and coffee.  Larry had roast beef and mashed potatoes and gravy on bread, and coffee. 

9:45 p.m. found us still in southeast Iowa about three hours from home, and it was raining hard, with hail every now and then.  I watched the storm on AccuWeather’s radar on my laptop. 

We managed to stay a bit south of the worst of the storm by heading toward Lincoln rather going north to Omaha.  I drove from Seward the rest of the way home, arriving at about 2:00 a.m.  We put everything away (I really dislike awakening to a ‘vacation mess’), and went to bed at 3:00 a.m.  Larry should’ve let me do it, because he had to get back up at 6:00 a.m. and go to work, and I worry, as he drives a big boom truck and operates the crane with heavy things... but he slept that last hour while I drove, and once he woke up, he was, uh,...  awake! 

For the first time since shortly after we were married almost 43 years ago, no kitty came meowing to greet us when we got home; we had Tiger put to sleep a few days before we left for Kentucky.  I’m missing that big, sweet-tempered, purry cat today.

But the roof didn’t leak while we were gone!  Our roof needs to be replaced, especially after all the bad winds we’ve had ever since February.  We have the material (dark green metal panels, insulation, metal roofing nails); now for Larry to find the time to do it.  There are old shingles all over the yard that have been blown off the roof.  The roof sometimes leaks in a couple of places if the wind is from a particular direction during a rainstorm.  I had just put those new wooden organizers on the table, and when I saw the torrential rains Columbus was getting while we were gone, I feared those nifty organizers – and everything I’d put in and on them – would be soaked and ruined.  But I don’t think a single drop of rain got on them, thankfully.

That same storm dropped more than a foot of snow on Kimball, out in the south Panhandle of Nebraska, leading to Interstate 80 being shut down for several hours.

Larry got home at 6:00 p.m., took a nap, and then, after disturbing his sleep multitudes of times with his snooze alarm, headed outside to get the bikes off the Mercedes and his fishing gear and coats out of it.  He was in a hurry to go to Loren’s house and get more things out of the garage; but 45 minutes later, I heard a crash in our garage, pulled open the door to see what all the commotion was, and was surprised to find him still here.  He’d knocked something over while putting his fishing gear away.

The barn swallows had come swooping in when Larry opened the big door, and they were twittering and scolding away like anything.  Since Tiger is gone, we’ve had the doors closed, preventing them from getting in, as they make terrible messes of the place.  I’m pretty sure they were bawling us out something fierce for preventing them from nesting where they’ve been accustomed to for several years now.

Larry didn’t see any new nests, so he made a lot of loud noise in order to chase them out, then shut the door again.  Hopefully, we won’t have swallows’ nests in the garage to contend with this year.

And hopefully they’ll figure out that they can nest in the rafters of Larry’s big garage, which is not yet totally enclosed.  They are pretty little birds, and they do eat a whole lot of insects.  They especially like flies (including houseflies and horseflies), beetles, wasps, wild bees, winged ants, and true bugs.  They also eat some moths, damselflies, grasshoppers, and a few spiders and snails.

We had macaroni and cheese with tuna and fire-roasted vegetables and potatoes for supper tonight, along with more of that potato salad and coleslaw we got at the Cadiz grocery store.  For dessert we had big, soft pretzels straight out of the oven.

And now I’d better git meseff in gear and toss the last load of clothes into the dryer.

,,,>^..^<,,,          Sarah Lynn          ,,,>^..^<,,,