Blue ? or Gray ?

MARY TODD LINCOLN IN KENTUCKY


A Confederate or Union supporter?

When visiting the Frankfort Museum (Kentucky’s State Capitol), I was intrigued by one of the displays about Mary Todd, who was born in Lexington, Kentucky. Most of her family members supported the South during the Civil War; in fact, a couple of her brothers fought for the Confederacy. And yet, members of the Todd family who were Confederate sympathizers were hosted by Mary and Abraham Lincoln in the White House while the war was raging on.

As you can imagine, the press had a field day with the topic of allowing “Confederate spies” in the Nation’s capitol. Although Mary Todd Lincoln publically denounced slavery, the rumors continued and the newspapers spread suspicion.

So when we were in Lexington and had the opportunity to tour the house where Mary and her family lived before she met Abe Lincoln in Illinois, we grabbed the opportunity.

Lexington is in the heart of Kentucky’s Bluegrass country. Sprawling ranches with enormous houses are surrounded by the thick natural grass that gives the area its name. I was told that the grass takes on the bluish dark green because of the underground limestone formations that leach into the ground water. It’s beautiful there, and the town is very cosmopolitan—and by that, I mean that people from various parts of the world have moved here to go to the local university, open businesses, or to raise horses. There are abundant places to eat -- we found some of the best Middle Eastern food imaginable at a place called Oasis Restaurant!  We'll be going back next time we are in Lexington !

The docents at Todd house (see the photos) wouldn’t allow indoor pictures, so you’ll need to visit the house and have a look for yourself! The volunteers did a wonderful job of restoring the house back to its original state – the house had been used for various purposes for over 150 years and was rescued from the wrecker’s ball by a group of concerned citizens (thank heavens). There are many of Mary’s personal possessions inside the house, including samples of things like the china dinnerware she selected for the Lincolns’ years in the White House.

Mary Todd Lincoln house in Lexington, KY

But the big question mark about Mary will always be her mental health. Was she as nutty as she has been portrayed? A lot of people believe she was manic-depressive, and by all indications, she was! And there are still many questions about her loyalty to the North during the Civil War. I would LOVE to write a historical novel about her and do a bunch of research! While the subject of her sanity is common knowledge, not many of us know about her big family division over the slavery issue.

Back of Mary Todd Lincoln house.

For pictures of Mary Todd Lincoln & family, just Google her name in Images ... you will see thousands of pictures of her.


Tomorrow, we head to Ohio, so we need to clean up Shamu, do more laundry, and get ready for an early start.

KENTUCKY

Ghosts and Bourbon

Ghost Hunting

For years, Waverly Hills Sanitorium in Louisville, Kentucky has been reported to be one of the most haunted places in the country. The Ghost Hunters t.v. show has done a couple of shows investigating Waverly, capturing specters on camera and disembodied spirit voices on their tape recorders. We were determined to take one of Waverly Hills’ paranormal tours, a perfect experience considering that Halloween is quickly approaching.

Well, we weren’t the only ones thinking that wandering around in the huge, creepy edifice would be neat. Turns out that Waverly tours have been sold out for nearly a year! We’ll need to book tickets next month and come back to Kentucky next fall (darn the luck!!).

Very haunted mansion in Louisville

Our daughter-in-law, Marcella, and I were really, disappointed, though Gary and Rick didn’t really care. So, Marcella found a ghost walk tour in downtown Louisville, and we were back in “ghostly” business. After a lovely dinner at a downtown bistro, we met our tour guide and wandered the streets hearing tales of apparitions, like the Lady in Blue (a bride who was either pushed or jumped down an elevator shaft in an old hotel), a ghostly dog, and other spine chilling stories. Interesting, but we didn’t see a darned spooky thing.

One of the haunted places were visited was an Italian Renaissance style house built in the early 1800s. We’re posting a couple of photos of this very haunted mansion. The history of the place is very strange: It was owned by a family who never left! When one would die, the remaining siblings would simply close their bedroom door and leave their personal items in place. None of them ever married, so there were no descendents to care for the aging remaining family members. According to our tour guide, even though their physical bodies lie in the family plot at the local cemetery, their spirits continue to live in the beautiful old house. The city now owns the property, and the personal items remain intact. Hopefully, it will be preserved and opened for tours in the future.

Same ol' haunted mansion in Louisville

Bourbon Tasting

Kentucky is known for its delicious bourbon, and you can actually spend a couple of days driving along the “Bourbon Trail” visiting many of the distilleries in the region. Like wineries, there are tasting rooms where you can enjoy a shot of the amber liquid. On the other hand, the alcohol content in bourbon is much higher than wine, so you would be very wise to have a designated driver. Rick was ours. On the other hand, the bourbon at Buffalo Trace Distillery is so strong, it practically curls your toenails! Marcella, Rick and I all had a tiny sip, turned brilliant red, and gagged! That was the end of the Bourbon Trail for us!



Where burboun begins .... Corn !



Gary reaching into the huge fermenting tanks

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


Fillin' the barrels and hammering the bung.



  



Another barrel off to the aging warehouse.



KENTUCKY

Kentucky is a surprising blend of history, beautiful landscape, and more history. Okay, I’ll admit it. There are more pick-up trucks containing a dead deer here than other places. And it can be a little difficult understanding waitresses with twangs so thick, you’d swear they have a mouth full of grits. But the people are friendly, even to weird Californians, the food is great, and prices are reasonable.

Speaking of good food, we ate lunch at China Moon, one of the best Chinese restaurants I’ve ever eaten at. It’s in Louisville (pronounced here as “Lu-vul) and overlooks a wooded area. If you’re ever in that area, it’s well worth a visit. Try the sweet and sour chicken, the crab and goat cheese wontons, or the beef broccoli. De-licious!

This is the fall, and what would a trip to America’s heartland be without a visit to a pumpkin farm and apple orchard. We spent the day with our son, Gary, and daughter-in-law, Marcella, who moved from California to Kentucky seven years ago. Huber Farms is about a 30-minute drive into the Indiana countryside. The fields of corn have turned to gold. Tall brittle stalks make a clattering sound in the wind.

Gary & Cella at Huber Farms

I thought that corn was harvested in the summer, when the ears were picked. But around these parts, the kernels are allowed to dry naturally on the cob. Then they’re harvested and used to make products like cornmeal and cornflour, which are used to make everything from cornbread to corn fritters. Fields are demarked by black fences, rather than the white fences seen in most parts of the country. The barns are black, too, often displaying a decorative quilt on one of the outside walls.

Rick & Colleen at Huber Farms

Why black paint on the barns, instead of the familiar red color we’re all familiar with? While I couldn’t get a definitive answer about the black fences, I did find out that the barns are black to attract heat needed to properly dry the big tobacco leaves that hang in racks inside.

HUBER FARM

Donuts, fudge, apple cider, hand-dipped caramel apples, popcorn, and cases filled with baked goods awaited us visitors. The donuts were made with fresh cider and were hot from the deep fryer. Rick ordered a ½ dozen and consumed most of them on the spot! He bought another ½ dozen to take home. (Okay, I had two, but they were very small. Honest!) There were gift shops, piles of pumpkins, baskets of apples, hayrides, and just about everything else fall-related that you can imagine.

Fall is my favorite time of the year. Between the pumpkin fudge, pumpkin bread, apple cider, and hanging around all of the Halloween decorations and scarecrows, I’ve received my much-needed “fall-fix!”

Luck of the Irish !! ?

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME


Their loss was our gain????

Most of our trip has been winging it. We pull off the road for the night when going any further isn’t an option. There have always been places to stay without any problem, since most normal tourists are home this time of the year. The exception had been in the Fort Smith area, near the big motorcycle gathering, and even then, we were able to land a nice place for the RV.

What we didn’t know was that (in typical Rick and Colleen style), our timing was OFF in the area of Kentucky we needed to stay. That’s where our kids, Gary and Marcella, live in a rural suburb of Louisville. The closest RV park was in Kentucky’s capitol, Frankfort, a historic, cosmopolitan town where a university is located.

I began making phone calls looking for a place to spend the next several days and soon learned that virtually all of the hotels, campgrounds, and RV parks were booked solid. The World Equestrian Games were being held in nearby Lexington, a real coup for Kentucky, since this was the first time they had ever been held in America. The event occurs (usually in Europe) every four years, so it’s really the Olympics of horse-related competitions. Good news for Kentucky’s economy; bad news for the Fliedners and Shamu.

I finally called the Elkhorn RV park, and they had one empty place left, though it didn’t have the proper amperage and few hook-ups. Plus, because of the horse games, the price was nearly double what we had been paying elsewhere up to this point. “I’ll call you back after I talk it over with my husband,” I said, no sure what to do. But our chances of getting anything else were just about zero. I called back and the line was busy. I was sure it was someone else grabbing the last place, but continued to phone until I got through.

“You’re very lucky,” the reservation clerk said. “I just had a cancellation, and it’s everything you need.” I grabbed it!

Rick and I celebrated. What a lucky break. Someone was surely looking out for us….

The campground was lovely and had a slow-moving river skirting the property. It was quiet (hooray!), shady, and had tons of amenities. When I went into the office to check in, the clerk brought up the fact that we were lucky to find anywhere in the entire area. Then she said, “You know, the reason the folks cancelled their reservation was because the husband was killed in an auto accident yesterday.”

Elkhorn campground near Frankfort, KY

Shamu in Elkhorn

Shamu in Elkhorn



Pond / Stream next to Elkhorn



Waterfall on Stream in Elkhorn

Gulp. “You mean, the guy who booked the spot we’re renting is dead?” That was our lucky break? Oh no! How creepy is that!

“Afraid so. Good break for you, though.”

I felt so guilty. But whatcha gonna do? We stayed at the campground, surrounded by horse people, horse trailers, and bunches of families, for the next 5 days. Life can be so strange.

The Wild Goose Chase

KENTUCKY


LET’S GIVE ‘EM SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT

From the time I was a child, I heard stories about my grandfather, James Polk Salyer, a rough-and-tumble Kentuckian who played a mean fiddle and was half-Cherokee Indian. He was born in Salyersville in the 1880s and worked in a sawmill just outside of town, until there was an explosion that killed one or more of his family members. With the sawmill out of commission, he decided to leave Salyersville and head to Texas, where a building boom was underway and jobs were plentiful. That’s where he met my grandmother, a Texas belle of considerable wealth and education. Not many girls were college graduates, like my grandmother was. The family was prominent, and grandma used to talk about growing up with the Connelly children. I haven’t checked this out yet, but supposedly, she went to school with one of the Connellys who was related to the Texas governor, John Connelly, who was in the car with the Kennedys when both he and the president were shot by Lee Harvey Oswald.

The bottom line is that no one has ever done the family’s genealogy, though my late Aunt Maureen had visited Salyersville over a decade ago. She didn’t actually do any research, but was told at City Hall that most of the Salyer descendents live “up the canyon,” and that most were partially Cherokee Indians. Maureen never followed up, and I have been dying to know just how much Native blood my grandfather had coursing through his veins.

By the look of his portrait and few fading photos left from him taken in the 1930s and 40s, grandpa was definitely part Native American. The fact that my grandmother was disowned by her parents when she married him also fit into the story. After all, he was part Indian AND he was poor.

Grandpa died at a relatively young age – sometime in the late 1940s, I’m told. So, that was the sum total of what I knew about him. Surely, Rick and I reckoned, if we looked through the Census materials in Salyersville from the 1880s through about 1910, we would be able to find a reference to James Polk Salyer. We hit pay dirt at the Salyersville Historical Society in the tiny, aging town situated in the beautiful backcountry of Northeastern Kentucky. They have photocopies of the microfilmed Census Records and copies of miscellaneous records all the way back to the town’s founding in the early 1800s. There were Salyers there, all right, but (just as my Aunt Maureen had been told on her visit), most remaining Salyers lived outside of the immediate area in a place known as Royalton…further into the mountains in a canyon. Sometime in the mid-to-late 1800s, the Royal Bank of Canada bought up the forests in those Kentucky hills and opened a saw mill. Was that the SAME saw mill where grandpa had worked? Yes! There had been an explosion around the turn of the century, when a steam engine had blown up. The puzzle pieces began to fit together beautifully.

The historical research center ... lotsa history.

Magnificent Salyersville, Kentucky

We scoured through volumes of materials searching for James Polk Salyer and, much to our surprise, there was no mention of his birth. He wasn’t mentioned in the 1880 census, and together with all of the other town data, the 1890 census had been destroyed when the City Hall burned down in 1892. And then I found him! James Salyer, born 1885 in Royalton. And he was the only James Salyer in the entire census! We searched the death records, and his name wasn’t listed. Hooray! We had finally found him. His father, mother, and several other family members were interred in the Robert Salyer Cemetery located somewhere in the hills. We were given the GPS coordinates and headed for Royalton, about a 20-minute drive along narrow roads that wound through deep canyons and colorful deciduous forests. We followed the directions given by our car’s GPS deeper and deeper into the woods, until we dead-ended in someone’s front yard. There was no place to turn around—a steep cliff on one side of the skinny road, a garden on the other side.

The woman whose yard we had to turn around in was actually very nice and took time out from picking green tomatoes in her garden (as in, fried green tomatoes) to direct us to a burg called “Gypsy,” where she believed Robert Salyer and his wife and a couple of their children were buried. And yes, she was a Salyer! Rick inched the car between the sheer drop and the woman’s plants, finally managing to get turned around.

The crowded roads around Gypsy, Kentucky

Obviously, our GPS wasn’t working properly – as we discovered over and over again on our trip across country), so from here on, we would have to find our way around by stopping and asking directions. The people in the hills were actually very nice, albeit a bit curious about the small red car with California plates invading their very rural neighborhood in search of a Salyer burial ground. Amazingly, they waved at us!

We stopped several times to ask for help were directed to continue up a narrow road to a hillside, where we would park and walk another 1,000 feet uphill to the little cemetery. A man in a pick-up truck was soon following us, so we nervously turned around, thinking we had gone the wrong way. Turns out his name was Jerin Salyer, and when I told him what we were looking for, he said that Robert Salyer was an ancestor of his. “Me, too! I said, enthusiastically. “We could be distant cousins!” He was as excited as I was and offered to guide us the rest of the way.

About then, three men riding by in a small off-road vehicle stopped to see what was going on. We talked about the local history, the Salyers, and the Cherokee Indians who had lived in the area. They confirmed that most of the “folks in them hills” had Indian blood in them. They suspected they were all part Indian, though “back in them days, no one talked about them things.” Jerin told me about one of the Salyer family members, our great, great grandmother, who was buried in another area. The four of them decided to give Rick and I ride to all of the gravesites.

They told us to park nearby, and then Jerin asked, “Which one of Robert’s children are you related to?”

“James,” I answered. “How about you?

“James,” he said, obviously puzzled.

Huh? How could that be? If my grandfather and his grandfather were the same man, was James married to a woman BEFORE he left Kentucky? I was confused.

“Is YOUR grandfather, James, buried here in Kentucky?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And he was the best damned stone mason in these parts.”

Rick and I exchanged glances. “Oh no,” I whispered. After getting all of these nice people involved in this hunt for what I thought was my great grandfather’s grave, we realized that there must have been two different James Salyers. Both had been born in Salyersville around the same year, in the same town. But my James is buried in California! What are the odds of that?

Rick and I apologized, thanked them, and slinked back to our car, tails between our legs, embarrassed beyond words. They had made such a big fuss over us, thinking we were all relatives. If there had been a hole to escape into, we would have gladly crawled inside.

I still don’t understand why there’s no record of my grandfather in the genealogical records in Salyersville. Rick came up with a possible solution – if he was born after 1880, he wouldn’t be included in the 1880 census. And if he had left Kentucky before 1900, he wouldn’t be in that census, either.

Our departure from the Gypsy area was very uncomfortable, and no one knew quite what to say. (Er, thanks anyway…. Er, sorry about that….) As we drove away, we noted the four men shaking their heads, puzzled no doubt by the crazy Californians who came to the hills on a fools’ errand.

With little else going on in that remote area, at least we gave them something to talk about!

Jackson, Tennessee ... lunch !

CASEY JONES


JACKSON, TENNESSEE

You never know what you’ll find along the highway, and Casey Jones Village was one of those fun surprises where you have to stop. Remember the old musical Disney cartoon about Casey Jones, whose actual name was John Luther Jones, the famous railroad engineer who died in a train wreck in the late 1800s. I didn’t realize he was real person, did you?

Colleen in front of Casey Jones house.

The village is located just off of Highway 40 in Jackson, Tennessee. There’s a railroad museum, Jones’ house, several shops and one of best restaurants and country stores I’ve ever visited.

A Real country store !

Jackson was once a bustling railroad town, and the “Old Country Store” was (and still is) a place you can pick up just about anything you want. Today, the merchandise is more about tourism, and less about things like pickle barrels and yardage.

We ate lunch in the restaurant, which was an unusual experience. This was the “real deal,” about as country as it gets! Lunch was a massive buffet of biscuits, gravy, greens, all sorts of beans, fried chicken, corncakes, cobblers, and just about every fried sort of thing imaginable. The fun part was that because it was a buffet, we were able to taste bits of the various dishes, without having to guess at what we would like and not like. Surprisingly, the food was delicious, though I suspect much of it was made in the old fashioned way – using lard (ugh).

REAL Country Cookin'

We bought a few jars of locally made jams, and I found a dynamite necklace for $9.00!! Most of the candies were made by the Amish and looked delicious (though we actually used our nearly non-existent will power and resisted buying more sweets).

Back on the road this afternoon, heading to Kentucky.

Nashville .... not so much !

NASHVILLE


Leaving Memphis – More Calamities!

Did I mention that we stayed in a lovely, very quiet RV park on the edge of the Mississippi River? Okay, then did I mention the name of it was Tom Sawyer RV Park? That’s really a laugh, as Mark Twain (Sam Clemens) lived in Hannibal, Missouri, and I doubt that his book’s character would have had much to do with the Memphis area!

Never mind that. We settled in quiet night of t.v. and munching. No traffic noise, no airplanes overhead. And then, out of nowhere, came the roar of a dozen deep-throated car engines. It began about 8:00 p.m. and continued until close to midnight. Little did we know that there was an auto race track less than a mile from the RV park. It was on the other side of a large stand of trees on the other side of the levee. It sounded like it was two feet away! ARGH!!!

Time to Hit the Road Again

Just about the time you think you’ve worked out all of the bugs in getting Shamu ready for the road, something else happens. Yesterday, Rick had to fix some sort of wire thingy connecting the car to the RV. Then, this morning, I really screwed up when pulling in one of the slide-outs. We had been leaning a little to one side while parked in Memphis, and I didn’t notice that the bathroom door had swung open while I was pulling in the bedroom side slide. I heard a kind of crunching noise, but didn’t see anything from where I was standing. So, I continued, until I heard a really big crunch. I stopped, stepped into the bathroom, and saw that the door jamb and door were hanging loose from the wall. The open door had caught on a kitchen cupboard knob, and the force of the motor that pulls in the pop-outs had forced the door jam out, nails and all!

Now, my first thought was how was I going to tell Rick that I broke the RV! Maybe I could fix it, and he would never have to know. He was outside hooking up the car, so I threw my hip into the door jam, pushed and pounded it back into place. I had to confess my goof, however, because the accident left a gash in the wood bathroom door. Plus, the door was out of whack and wouldn’t close properly. He took the news better than I thought he would….

When leaving Memphis, I thought I had pushed the right sequence of buttons to pull up the jacks, but, alas, I messed that up, too. Thankfully, the RV has an alarm light that lets the driver know before putting the beast into gear.

Then, while we were on the highway heading towards Nashville, we head a flapping noise. It was a bit windy, and the last time we hit wind, the canopy that covers one of the pop-outs had become partially “unfurled.” This time, however, Rick discovered that the door that covers the gas tank was opening and closing in the wind. Worse, the entire lock mechanism was simply gone! Good grief! Did it fly off into some poor driver’s windshield? We’ll never know. Rick used his ever-ready duct tape to close the door, and we still don’t have a replacement lock and will have to order one from the manufacturer.

When we arrived in camp, he discovered that the wires on the Honda CRV (our towed car) were crossed, so that when we turned right, it blinked left! We tested the wiring configuration before leaving home and still can’t figure out what happened. 

Fun & games in Nashville !  

Of course, Rick had to make another trip to Camping World and some other stores looking for parts. Then, more time for him to make the necessary repairs.

No complaints about the campground in Nashville. Little did we know that we were staying in the area that had recently been flooded. The clerk at the counter said that the area had been under more than 6 feet of water. The Grand Old Opry was down the street. It had reopened the day before we arrived. The mall surrounding the Opry, all of the souvenir shops, the restaurants, and the magnificent Gaylord Opryland Hotel were all still closed because of the damage caused by the wall of water that washed through the entire valley.

So, there was little left to do in Nashville. Because I’m not really a country music fan, we decided to skip touring the Country Music Hall of Fame. Instead, we drove around Nashville in search of something else to do and wound up running shopping errands. Wish we had stayed another day so we could have toured a couple of the plantations.

At least we got a good night’s rest. Off to Kentucky tomorrow.

Graceland .. what the... ?!

MEMPHIS


There’s a lot of history in this old city on the Mississippi. Cotton was once king in this part of the country, and the plantation system was the basis of the local economy. Issues surrounding slavery are evident in the number of museums that house exhibits on the subject, including one that we toured late one afternoon. The “Slavery Museum” is inside of an old, unimpressive house that dates back to the early 1800s. There are secret tunnels leading into the basement, where escaped slaves hid until passage for them could be arranged by the white man who lived in the house. It’s impossible to tour the house, with its displays and photos depicting what a slave’s life was like on a plantation. They even had the reminents of an old blood-stained, braided leather whip, a disturbing artifact to be sure. One of the docents showed us advertisements from a man named Nathan Bedford Forrest, who owned a company that traded in slaves. That same man fought hard for the Confederacy, becoming something of a hero in several battles because of his prowess on horseback. After the war, however, Forrest lost his thriving business and turned to a new venture. According to the docents, Forrest was one of the founders of the Ku Klux Klan. The Klan was brutal, doing everything possible to keep the African-American population from achieving true freedom. No one knows how many lynchings the KKK was responsible for. Here’s the thing that shocked Rick and I the most: Tennessee still honors this man’s birthday each year with a state holiday, not mentioning anything about his Klan affiliation. We were told that a large statue of Nathan Forrest was erected near Nashville, where Forrest and his wife were buried. And each year, members of the Klan (yes, they still exist) gather around his statue in Nashville to pay him tribute. The state has continued to ignore the protests by people who don’t want to see Forrest deified. It has done no good at all, and the tradition continues. Of course, we haven’t had time to research these claims made by the Slavery Museum, but if it’s true, it’s a good thing I don’t live in Tennessee, or I would be one of the protesting folks arrested at next year’s big Forrest rally!!

The Civil Rights Museum is located inside the motel where Martin Luther King was assassinated. The motel’s exterior remains the same as it was that terrible day in 1968, and a permanent wreath marks the spot where the Civil Rights leader was shot on the walkway just outside of his room. Yes, there were people touring the museum, taking photos, and contemplating what a great loss had occurred at this very spot.

The infamous Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King was killed.

                  

The wreath marks the spot where MLK was shot and died.

Window from which James Earl Ray shot MLK

                                   

But it was nothing compared to the zoo over at Graceland, where Elvis Presley lived and died. Graceland has become something of a theme-park, with its own mimi-mall where you can buy anything imaginable, as long as it relates to Elvis. His two airplanes, his cars, his house – you can see all of it, for a price. Don’t hate me for thinking that Graceland is over-the-top; a shrine to a roll-and-roll singer who died of a drug overdose. There must have been a dozen Grayline buses lined up in the big parking lot…which, incidentally, costs $14 for an auto to park in. A tour of the house is another $30 each. Does Lisa Marie really need all of that money? On the other hand, as long as the tens of thousands of visitors continue to flock to Graceland to immortalize the singer, the entire area will continue to grow and add more attractions. BTW, there weren’t any big buses at the Civil Rights Museum, let alone countless shopping opportunities to pick up a souvenir or four to take home.

The highlight of our time in Memphis was visiting Beale Street, a sort of Tennessee version of New Orleans’ Bourbon Street. Restaurants blare live music onto the street to attract visitors inside. Eclectic souvenir shops are interspersed with famous eateries, like B.B. Kings famous Barbeque Restaurant. We ate at two different restaurants along Beale Street on different days, and the sauces and deep fried foods were delicious. Ever tasted a fried pickle? Neither had we, so we ordered a plate as an appetizer. They weren’t bad, but we still can’t figure out why they’re such a popular dish in this part of the country. The fried green tomatoes were much tastier, and Rick swears that the batter used in the fried chicken is the best anywhere. Oh, and we shared a fried peach pie, something like a small turnover that is cooked in butter and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. It was so, so good! Glad I brought my elastic waist pants!

A look up the famous Beale Street

Typical scene along Beale Street

Unique toilet seats offered along Beale Street

                                                                                 
The weather has cooled considerably, dipping to “frost” levels at night. The RV is warm and comfortable, and we’re definitely getting used to the pace and lifestyle. Off to Nashville tomorrow.

Get your ducks in a row.

Oops. I’m sitting here in the RV dining booth next to the big window…with the shade UP. Was trying to get comfortable, so I could get some writing done. Pulled up my top and unhooked my bra, just about the same moment as a big blue truck trailer pulled along side. Gulp. Did he see anything? I keep forgetting that we’re eye-level with the big trucks!


Oh well, there’s not THAT much to see! At least I’m now more comfortable and ready to share another story with you. In our ongoing search for a quiet RV park, we decided to stop trying the KoA campgrounds and go further off the I-40. We were in Oklahoma City and settled on a small RV park off the beaten path. There were trees, and it was relatively clean, except for the greenish swimming pool, that was closed for the season. The highway noise was doable, and all was well.

After popping out our slides (which I now call, spreading our wings), we laid down for a little rest. Toot, toot! The train tracks were on the other side of the high hedge about a block from the park. We began to laugh, and stopped when a 747 swooped down overhead, so close I could have tickled its underbelly! Yep. We were under the landing path for Will Rogers’ Airport, the main airport for that area. All night long, planes roared overhead, and trains blasted their horns. Even the earplugs couldn’t keep out the noise.

Weary, but anxious to get on the road, Rick did his final outside check, while I secured everything inside Shamu. Thankfully, he noticed that our tires looked low. I say, “thankfully,” since if he hadn’t seen it while we were still in civilization, we would been in real trouble. Again, the beast had to go into a nearby RV shop to have the wheelcovers taken off, and all six wheels pumped up. Supposedly, the air pressure had been taken care of by the dealer before we left So. Calif. Obviously, they didn’t do their job!

Now, a couple of hours behind schedule, we were back on the road, determined to get a good night’s rest. I went to work doing research and found a rural campground situated in the pines in Fort Smith/Alma, Arkansas. The road to the RV park was lush with trees, and the campground had its own lake! Hooray! Maybe we could finally dust off our new canvas chairs, set up the picnic table, and spend some time outside in the pines. We were really excited…until we were led to our treeless drive-through camp site that was located between two paved roads. Even worse, there was a motorcycle rally (we were told by the clerk) in nearby Fayetteville, and we were warned that some of the people in the campground might be returning from the big festival late that night.

The temperatures were the 90s, much too hot for the Fliedners. Instead, Rick enjoyed a Shiner Bock beer and turned on the t.v. INSIDE the R.V. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something moving on a nearby roadway. It was a long line of about 50 ducks, waddling beak to butt through the forest! It was the strangest thing you’ve ever seen. There were assorted colors and types of ducks – solid white, black and white, mallards, some with white tuffs on their black heads, and a few that could only be described as strawberry blondes. They quacked and walked and kept a perfect pace, following the leader to…where were they going? They were heading AWAY from the pond! It made no sense. Rick grabbed the camera and took some shots, but by then, a car had driven down the road, and the ducks had to break rank to keep from getting hit. About 15 or 20 had already disappeared in the distance, but the rest once again regrouped in a line, and continued their march. Rick the camera guy sneaked up behind them and got a couple of good shots.

 

Ever see a Duck Parade ???!!  Very strange.

A hour later, they were back at the pond and segregated into duck groups. Before dusk, they were back in formation heading from the lake towards our RV. This time, not all of them participated. We watched as they approached, wondering what they were doing. We finally figured it out! A minute later, they had gathered around our steps, making as much noise as they possibly could…begging for food. We broke up some hamburger buns and tossed out the chunks. When the bread was gone, the group turned on webbed foot and formed a new line, heading towards another RV. 

The duck brigade demanding dinner !

The next morning, I spoke with the woman who runs the RV park. She said that the ducks make about three trips a day up the hill to where a permanent camp resident puts out a big pan of fresh water for them to drink. Obviously, they prefer it to the lake water! Then they make the rounds through the large campground to hit up the RVers for a free hand-out. She didn’t find it unusual at all! For us, though, it was the highlight of that stop.

Sometimes you like Almond Joy; Sometimes you like Mounds !

LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS

First of all, let me say that I don’t understand why you pronounce Kansas with the “s” on the end (KAN-ZAS), and Arkansas as if it has a “w” on the end (AR-KANSAW). Go figure….

Secondly, while I know many people who sing the praises of Little Rock, I never had much desire to go there. But the I-40 Highway passes through that area, and it made sense to spend the night. We wound up spending two! What happened was that we found a number of places we wanted to visit, including the Toltec Mounds Archaeological State Park. Why? Well, we were curious about the mounds that had been built by ancient, pre-historic people living in this area, especially because we’re heading to Ohio to check out the mounds in Newark. We actually unhooked the car and drove to the site. Then we WALKED for over a mile. After so much sitting in the RV, it felt good to get out into the fresh air and move our chubby bodies.

This is a big mound ... about 5o feet tall.  

You may be asking why they are called “Toltec Mounds.” So was I! The Toltecs were in Mexico. Obviously, they never made it to this part of the U. S. (that’s an understatement!), so the local folks that named the ancient ceremonial center about a century ago were wrong about who built them. Very impressive site.

A view of 3 of the mounds at Toltec.

After that, it was time for lunch, and we accidentally wound up in the Hillcrest area, a lovely area filled with historic mansions set far back from the street, with beautifully manicured lawns, flowers, and old growth trees. There was a small Brazilian bistro (Café Bossa Nova) with some really unusual dishes, like Salpicao, a sort of salad that consisted of finely shredded veggies and chicken tossed with a light flavorful sauce piled on top of rice. Delicious food.

Then we drove around town, walked by the river, and did some shopping. The RV park was better than many of the others, and we actually got some rest. Off to Memphis in the morning.