8-23 Missing trees, countryside roller coasters, Kentucky red-tide and identity crisis
Arrived at my new campsite at Eureka in the southwest corner of Kentucky only to find trees are missing so it was boiling under a heat-wave sun. Turns out the photo of the campsite when I made a reservation for it was quite old — where the photo showed trees there are now stumps.
Ooof (and another reason I dislike having to reserve campsites). At least I was able to switch to a different site further back where it’s shrouded by my beloved trees.
I love taking the less beaten road to wherever I’m going. Out here it’s akin to hopping on a lazy rollercoaster that meanders through countrysides and valleys and creeks, rivers, etc.
Those journeys induce a state of bliss as I take my sweet time rolling through green heaven.
Stopped by another Amish market. They’re always a delish delight to stumble upon. Bought some ground tumeric to try in my evening tea to sooth travel weary bones. Also had one of the best coffees I’ve had made by an Amish girl manning an old fashioned coffee machine.
Saw a solitary white Pelican floating by the water in front of camp, gulping dinner on the way. I haven’t seen one since I was last in Sarasota, Florida visiting mom.
Walking by the water I’m hit with a strong whiff of what smells like red-tide, bringing me back to Florida.
Looking around, there’s dead fish and jellyfish rotting on shore.
I ask the campground host about it. Her nose wrinkles and says its from all the dead fish dying from the extreme heat cooking the lake.
Wow. I certainly didn’t expect such a thing up here far from Florida.
This part of Kentucky (Grand Rivers, Lake City, etc) confuses me.
I can’t tell what it wants to be.
I see a mish-mash of industrial (quarries, coal trains, dams), vacation destination (a sprawling western themed restaurant that wants to be a mini-Dollywood, fancy resort state park), knock-off of Key West with a lighthouse, farms mixed in and lots of abandoned buildings/businesses with overgrown and neglected land scattered in between.
I’ve never seen such a bewildering mix of so many things in just a few miles. It’s as if the area is trying to find its identity and ends up being a jack of all trades.
Now that I’m writing more often, I find my fountain pen hand starting to ache and cramp a bit.
What an ancient-to-me dilemma to be in and one that I welcome.
There’s also the matter of typing all these notes in so it goes up on this here blog and I can’t seem to keep up with my furiously flowing pen.
Another wonderful problem to solve.
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