Amish Country - Pennsylvania

We rose early, hurried to break camp and headed out for Pennsylvania and Amish Country.  The first 45 minutes or so of the trip took us through the winding, narrow roads and finally to the interstate highway.  We both gave a sigh of relief to be on the four lane highway even though it was still going through the mountains.  Once we crossed the border into Pennsylvania much of the steep climbing was behind us, replaced by tunnels.  I am a bit claustrophobic so going underground did not make me happy, but it was better than climbing up and down and around which would take much longer than going through.

For once the gps did not take us on a wild goose chase.  We passed through Lancaster and Strasbourg and on to our campground without a hitch.  Our new camp is very large and hilly.  When we arrived at our site, my first thought was oh my gosh how on earth will we get this rig into that spot!  The sites are very close together and are arranged at odd angles to each other.  It took us a try or two or three but in the end got the rig into the spot in a good place.  In short order we were set up and having a beer to relax.  While relaxing, we selected a tour for tomorrow.  It will take us through Amish country and give us a good understanding of their culture.

We were up early, dressed and out the door heading to meet our tour van.  We spent several hours learning all about the Amish way of life, seeing how they live and make a living.  A bit of background:  The Amish came to Pennsylvania from Europe during the Reformation to escape persecution because of their Anabaptist beliefs; the believe that a person must make a conscious choice to accept God and thus, only adults can be baptized.  This is one of the basic beliefs that brought them into conflict with the Catholic Church and even some Protestants as well.  They came to Lancaster, PA in the 1720s or 1730s and today they number about 30,000 and are the largest group in the US.  There is more to it than that but that is a bit of their history.

The Pennsylvania Amish believe that community harmony is threatened by secular values such as individualism and pride, which permeates the modern world.  They accept some modern conveniences in order to provide for their families but for the most part they live apart.  For them family is paramount and the family works together in all things.  Everything from how they dress to how their children are educated is influenced by their faith.  What blows my mind more than anything else is how the community at large accepts them and respects their ways.  It is amazing how the roads accommodate their buggies and businesses even provide areas for their horse and buggies to be tethered while they shop or visit the bank or whatever they may need.  It is such a stark difference in how they live their lives while the world around them rushes about chasing after the golden ring.

Okay, okay enough philosophizing.  Our tour took us to a number of farms.  The most common crops are field corn and alfalfa to feed their horses and cattle.  They also raise cash crops of tobacco and soybeans.  None of their tobacco is sold in PA or even in the US for that matter.  It is exported to make cigars and cigarettes.  Of course they raise vegetables and beautiful flowers.  We stopped at several stands where they sold them.  Oh my gosh, the tomatoes were so red and luscious they beg for white bread and mayonnaise for the perfect summer sandwich - mmmmm, good.

The Amish are very resourceful.  They find a way to use everything that the “English” (anyone who is not Amish) would discard.  For exam
ple, they turn used horse shoes into works of art.  We saw hand made quilts and placemats and other things that are amazing.  Everything is done by hand, even the quilting.  I would have loved to have one but $650 wasn’t in my vacation budget.

Beautiful Quilt

No visit to the area would be complete without eating Amish food.  We stopped for lunch at a place that served buffet style.  We knew we were in trouble, self control flies out the window when food is concerned.  There were all sorts of vegetables, fruits and meats and well anything you could want.  For me the most unusual thing was ham balls.  So I tried one and bless my soul, it was delicious!  Ground ham made into balls and cooked in a pineapple sauce; we are not in the South any longer for sure!  Sometimes good things are bad for us.  The food proved to be too rice for my system but it was worth suffering to try.

We enjoyed driving out into the country side.  The vistas are amazing with fields of corn and tobacco surrounding a lovely home and barns etc.  Keep in mind, the Amish do not have electricity in their homes.  They do not have cars but travel in several types of wagons/buggies or scooters, a type of pedal-less bicycle.  There are several types of buggies used.  There is a covered one large enough for a four.

There is a “convertible” or spring wagon and finally a work wagon.  The first two are pulled by elegant, well-trained horses.  The wagons are pulled either by draft horses or mules.  One must take care driving as you may encounter them around any curve or over any hill that will make your heart stop as well as your vehicle.  We wanted to see some of the smaller towns like Intercourse, Bird in Hand, Blue Ball, Fertility and Paradise.  Seeing such names causes one to giggle, but the history of all these names are examples of how our language changes.  For example, the word “intercourse” meant fellowship and social interaction, which was an integral part of early settlers lives.

As our visit came to an end, we came away very glad that we made this area a stop.  In the crazy world we live in and how self-centered we tend to be, it renewed my belief that people can be both kind and accepting of those who are different from us.

What You May Never See on the Road

Monday morning dawned and it was time for us to hit the road once again.  Our next stop, Little Orleans, MD.  Why there you may ask?  Ultimately, our destination is Pennsylvania Amish country.  The route takes us through a small portion of Maryland.  Since we have never camped in MD and would like to fill our map decal with that state, we decided what the heck, why not “stop and smell the roses.”

Remember the wind turbines we saw on the road to Blackwater Falls?  As we zipped along the mountain roads, we suddenly encountered a backup of stopped traffic.  Up ahead, we could see a wide load of some sort crossing the roadway to the entrance to a state highway.  To say the wide load was huge is an understatement.  Looking at the long, white item we suddenly identified what it was, one of the blades of a wind turbine!  Now we could really appreciate just how large these turbines really are!  There was a lead vehicle with the flags and sign saying “wide load”.  Then came the truck that pulled the load.  Near the middle of the blade was another support that moved independently from the truck helping to guide the back portion in turns etc.  In camping lingo it is called the “swing”.  As you turn, the back end of the RV swings and can take out trees, fences or mailboxes if you are not mindful of it.  The end of the blade had the required red flags and was followed by another vehicle saying wide load.

Once the load cleared the roadway, traffic started moving slowly following it to the entrance of the highway.  At the turn into the highway, things got dicey.  Apparently, the traffic exiting the highway was too close for the truck to make the turn.  At this point, the blade completely  blocked all three points of the T intersection.  Nothing to do but to sit and wait and watch all the commotion.  All in all, it took about 30 minutes for the blade to clear and gain access to the highway.  Traffic followed along as it slowly made its way.  It is hard to describe just what it looked like inching its way along.  To Jim, it looked like a headless fish.  To me, it looked like a Salmon Shark that we saw on Shark Week. 

By then, the novelty had worn off and we were just anxious to get going as our 2.5 hour drive was starting to extend beyond the easy day we anticipated.  In the end, the blade made it to its destination and pulled into a side drive and stopped.  As vehicles passed, we all gave the driver the thumbs up or V sign to say, well done!  Now that was something you do not see every day.

After another series of ever shrinking roads, we came to the intersection that the gps said was the turn to the camp.  Minus a sign, we decided once burned, twice shy we would stop and change the gps destination from a street address to one of just the campground.  Ah Ha, no turn, just straight ahead and finally we arrived.  The campground is very much like the Cedar Creek Campground.  Nestled on 200 acres of heavily forested land, it is a quiet, peaceful place.  Our site sits back in the trees and our nearest neighbor quite a distance from us.  The camp has a number of seasonal rigs that do not move and our neighbors on each side are seasonal and they are not here.  So, we can let the girls be off leash a bit and enjoy the freedom of exploring, under supervision of course.  The site is not level.  It is the first time with the new rig we have encountered this situation.  But, experience kicked in and we added the necessary levelers and voila, it was done.  Wonderful!  A wonderful way to end an interesting day of travel. 

Blackwater Falls West VA

After another day of driving over winding, steep roads, we arrived at Parsons, WV.  Our new camp is Five Rivers Campground.  It sits on the banks of the river and is a peaceful place.  It is quite large with the sites scattered higgledy-piggledy across the grassy property.  On the hill right beside the river there are lots of tent sites and they were full to capacity over the weekend.  The river is crystal clear and the shallow water gurgles over flat rocks making it a great place for kids to swim and enjoy the water.  There are lots of Canadian Geese about.  Their droppings dot the grass like land mines just waiting for someone to step on them.  The atmosphere is lively and folks are very friendly.

After getting set-up and the girls settled in the new environment, we headed out for a long walk.  We strolled down to the rivers edge and then ambled downtown.  The village center is dominated by a large federal building. It sits side-by-side with the Golden Arches, sort of the past meets the present.  There were a couple of small places to eat like Subway and a Pizza place but for the most part just quaint little shops that were closed.  Guess I will be cooking all our meals while we are here!

Parsons sits close to the entrance of the Monongahela Forest.  Located within the Forest are the Blackwater Falls, one of the sites we wanted to visit.  Of course, the drive took us over rolling, curving and narrow roads but the views were amazing.  All along the way, Mountain Laurel in pale pinks and white bloomed in profusion. At one overlook, the valley below was sitting under heavy rain clouds.  In places, the rain was washing the land and creating a misty highway sky-to-land.  All along the top of the Appalachian Mountains are wind turbines.  We have seen them in many places but this was the first time our route took us so close to them.  The size of the turbines makes one feel insignificant as an ant in comparison.  Our route took us through Thomas, WV, a place we wanted to stay but could not find a camp site.  It is such a cute village.  It clings to the side of the mountain.  The Main Street splits creating a strip of shops and eateries that reminded us of Natchez Under the Hill.  It was very crowded so we decided we just wanted the peace of nature instead of commercial attractions.  Further down the road, we passed farmers with stands selling fresh eggs, honey and just picked vegetables.  Of course I had to stop.  I came away with red, juicy tomatoes, fresh brown eggs and other veggies that would make a nice meal.

We arrived at the Black Forest State Park just as those rain clouds reach us.  Disappointed, we headed back to Parsons vowing to return the next day, which we did.  While the clouds threatened rain, they passed over us without so much as a sprinkle.  The hike down to the falls winds through thick stands of trees and Mountain Laurels.  It was quite steep in places but gave way to more gentle stairs that led down to the falls.  From above, we could hear the roar of the water and the mist was in the air giving me a mini moisture facial as we went.

There are never adequate words to describe natural wonders.  Accounts of native Americans regarding the falls go back to 1736 but the first written account of the wonders of the Blackwater area was in 1853 when stories of adventures into the area appeared in Harpers.  Written under the pen name of Porte Crayon.  His colorful descriptions and wonderful illustrations give us a view of the area before settlement and removal of the virgin forests.  The foundation of the river and falls are formed by Connoquenessing, sandstone, hard rock.  That’s a mouthful for sure.  The Delaware Indians gave the rock this word and it means “for a long way straight”.  This rock is quite hard and formed millions of years ago.  Beneath this rock, is a softer sedimentary rock.  Over time, the constant flow of water eroded the rock and caused sheets to give way eventually forming these lovely falls.

On the trip down, we passed an artist quietly painting, capturing his interpretation of the falls on canvas.  I tried to give justice to it with my camera, but nothing can compare with standing in front of it listening to the roar of the water.  As they say, “what goes down, must come up” and so we turned and headed back to the top.  We are not in the best of shape, however we took it slowly and made it back just fine.  We headed back to Parsons and the laundry, my least favorite chore!

A Rhythm to the Day

When we are at home, there is a rhythm, a schedule that we follow each day.  It gives our lives a sort of normal schedule to follow day by day and week by week.  Here in this lovely camp in West Virginia, we are completely off the grid.  We were expecting spotty cell service as the camp is a hollow, in the mountains of West Virginia.  But spotty it is not.  We are completely without a single bar of cell service and no TV service or radio either for that matter.

My first thoughts were, oh dear how will I communicate?  How will I post to my Blog?  This lack of connection to family and the news of the world forces us to slow down and look around us.  Yesterday, we saw several sets of fawns.  They were most likely born in the spring or not so long ago. They still have the distinctive white spots that help camouflage them from predators.  One set was accompanied by their mother.  They were right in the midst of the camp, peacefully grazing.  They seem to have no fear of the campers but they do keep a watchful eye out in any case.  Last evening after our dinner, we sat at the kitchen table playing Jenga.  As we started to put the game back into its box, I looked out the window and there just steps from our camper was a doe.  She was enjoying the young, tender shoots of plants that cover the ground.  Around here with all the shade and rain, the ground is covered with moss and other ground cover types of vegetation with a small amount of grass mixed in.  We watched her as she worked her way across the yard, up the hill and finally disappeared into the trees.  Somehow watching her brought with it a peaceful relaxation for us and a great deal of pleasure too.  One small pay back for not having connectivity.

So today, we will drive down to the village where there is cell service.  We will find a spot to sit for a while and catch up on texts, messages and post to my blog.  Since we did not warn family of the upcoming “off the grid” state we would enjoy, we don’t want anyone to be concerned at our silence.  Afterwards, we will return to this peaceful retreat and enjoy two more days of whatever Mother Nature reveals to us.

It Could Be Heaven or It Could Be Hell

The day dawned with grey clouds threatening rain.  We hurried to break camp but of course we got caught in a shower.  I am sure I looked ridiculous holding an umbrella over us as we moved from chore to chore, however starting the drive soaking wet seemed even more ridiculous.  Our next stop is Cedar Creek State Park Campground in Glenville, West Virginia; a 3.5 hour drive according to the GPS and Google Maps.  We headed out.  In just a short period of time, we drove out of the shower and zipped along enjoying an easy drive and lots of pretty scenery.  We passed through Horse Country with its lovely green pastures surrounded by white fences and of course beautiful horses of all colors and sizes.  The homes were large and set back with a view of the pastures that would make anyone happy to wake up each morning and look out at the landscape.

Slowly, we began to enter the mountainous terrain of West Virginia.  The highway went through dense forest and upward to breathtaking views.  Well, for the most part anyway.  I have become extremely nervous whenever we go through any sort of mountain road — small rolling or steep climbing — it does not matter.  My heart starts to race and at every turn I have a death grip on the door handle.  Jim is so amazing.  When he piloted our Cessna 172 airplane, he was always a very calm pilot no matter what we may encounter.  He is the same way when he drives, calm and cool, steady as he goes.  He is the sort of person you want around in an emergency.  Me, heck no!  I completely lose my cool and panic.  Just another reason we are a good team.

But I digress, gradually we moved from Interstate to State highways.  Four lanes became two and good wide lanes narrowed to little more than driveways.  The roads twisted and turned like a snake and at the same time went up and down.  Our truck performed perfectly, pulling the heavy fifth without “breaking a sweat” but no matter, I was still nervous.  As I usually do, I ask about fuel from time to time so when the need does come, I can help find a station with diesel fuel.  When I asked, Jim replied we were at a quarter of a tank.  One lesson we learned a long time ago is when your tank gets to a quarter, get fuel.  We passed several exits with signs for fuel but Jim rejected each as being too small for us.  Finally, we exited the highway and made a turn toward two lane country.  There were two stations there but no need Jim said, we have enough to get to camp and then we can fill the truck without the fifth attached.  Remember that statement.

As scary as the road had been before this turn, it got worse.  The landscape was dotted with tiny hamlets, mere dots on the road.  Often in movies and books the Appalachians are described as a land of poor, struggling families.  The hollows are home to all sorts of homes that struggle under the weight of hardship and near poverty.  There are lots of mobile homes of all descriptions and shacks that have given up the struggle to stand and have fallen in a sad heap.  Even so, it is beautiful county.  However, not a fuel station in sight!  Up and down, around and back we went our pace slowing to 45 miles an hour or less.  As time ticked past, the red fuel light illuminated and I started to panic.  Jim, however keep reassuring me that all was well and we had enough to reach camp.  Yea, Right I thought!

As we crawled along, panic in the truck was palpable.  Finally, as we rounded a sharp curve a station came into view.  Fuel I shouted!  The diesel pump sat off to one side and Jim had to jockey the rig a bit to get close enough to reach.  He filled the tank and we made preparations to leave.  Once back on the road, he admitted that he was getting “concerned” that we might not make camp or find a station when we got there.  Well, duh I thought.

When we arrived at Glenville, we both gave a sigh of relief that our long drive was nearly over.  The gps indicated we turn right on Cedar Creek Road, so we did.  Immediately we went over a tiny, rusty old skinny bridge; not a good start.  A short distance later, the one lane road changed from paved to gravel, mmmmm not a good sign.  We crept along trying not to scramble everything inside the fifth as we dodged pot holes filled with muddy water.  Finally the gps announced we were at our destination.  What?  We were in the middle of no where and no camp in sight.  Oh golly, now what.  Up ahead there was a farm house so Jim left me with the truck and walked up to hopefully get directions.  No one was home, of course.  He again entered the campground in the gps and it indicated that we continue forward five more miles where we would once again join the highway we just left and backtrack to Glenville.  Oh geez, technology got us again. 

As we crept along my anxiety and by this time Jim’s as well was increasing by the minute.  I have to say that the views were amazing.  We were deep in a hollow where cattle grazed peacefully and the occasional house dotted the roadside.  At last, we passed a house where a man was in the front yard.  He was round in the belly, sported red hair and a bushy red beard and a warm friendly smile.  Actually when we stopped, he began to chuckle.  Jim hopped out and asked about where the campground was located.  The man told us that lots of people follow the gps and end up on this road but not top panic; it did indeed come back out at the highway.  There we should turn right and when we pass the church turn left and that would take us there.  So, on we went thinking in about 15 minutes we would finally arrive.  When we reached the highway, Jim looked at the gps indicating to turn left but the man told us to go right.  Mmmmm, we went left.  We arrived in Glenville at the road where the gps indicated but no way we would go down it!  Good grief!  Once again, we asked for directions; yep go back the way the man had indicated and it would take us to the camp.  Oh my goodness!

Off we went and sure enough, after the church was a large sign indicating that we had arrived at Cedar Creek State Park.  We traveled quite a distance and began to think we had somehow missed a turn but thankfully no, we soon spotted a sign to turn and we made our way to the campground.  By now we were both exhausted.  Our three and a half hour trip had turned into a six hour, grueling trip.  This better be a pretty place!  It is.  Our site is nestled within the trees; a hollow within the hollow of the camp.  It is level and peaceful and muddy, but no matter.  In no time, we were set up and having a beer.

While the trip from Kentucky to West Virginia was hell, it was worth the effort.  We are completely off the grid with no cell service and no tv either.  After a fierce storm during the night, we woke to blue skies above.  The dappled sun light giving splashes of light green color on the grass.  As I write, a deer crossed our site.  It flicked up its white tail as it disappeared into the forest.  This is heaven on earth after all.

Bourbon Capital of the World

Yesterday, we left Mississippi behind and headed north.  It was a pretty easy day of driving until we hit rush hour in Nashville.  Geez, bumper to bumper traffic, not our cup of tea for sure.  We spent the night just outside of Nashville in a KOA that left us unimpressed.  KOAs tend to be more expensive and this one was no exception.  The sites were very small and packed together like sardines in a can.  But hey, it was just an overnight stop so never mind.

Morning came and we headed out for a short three hour drive to Bardsville, Kentucky, the Bourbon Capital of the World.  We stopped at the Welcome Center at the border of Kentucky and I collected the requisite flyers, leaflets and magazines listing all the things of interest we could enjoy.  Did I say Bourbon Capital of the World, well there are nine distilleries, a number of wineries and two craft beer breweries for good measure.  Oh boy, this could be very interesting.  The town is also very historic dating back to the 1700s.  As we drove through heading to our new campground, we enjoyed looking at the beautiful homes and old buildings that make up the historic city center.  We immediately fell in love with the place.

Our new home away from home is Lil’ Piece of Heaven Campground just outside the town.  It is located on a small lake.  It is a pretty large camp but including us, only eight of the sites were taken.  I guess as the weekend comes that will change as the tourists come in.  We managed to get set up just as a rain storm rolled into the area.  It afforded us time to relax and rest a bit.

After a shower and a change of clothes, we checked the listing of places to eat and selected the Talbotts Tavern for dinner.  The tavern is located just outside the historic town center.  Parking was hard to find with lots of folks looking to have dinner too, and we require a big spot for the BAT (big a— truck).  We finally found a spot on a side street.  Oh dear, parallel parking the beast might be a dicey operation.  But no, Jim handled it with ease and we headed off walking.  The Tavern has a long and interesting history.  It was built in 1779 and has been called the oldest western stage coach stop in America.  In the 1700s, Kentucky and all of the South was referred to as western.  From its rough beginnings, the tavern has mellowed over the years, typifying the gracious living that was the Old South. Here at the crossroads of the young west, Post roads for all points of the compass met causing every stagecoach to stop at the Inn’s door.  Grateful passengers found warmth and a good meal while horses were changed for the long trip ahead.  Visitors included Andrew Jackson, Abraham Lincoln, General George Clark of the American Revolution and General George S. Patton of WWII fame.  Other important names include Jesse James, who left behind bullet holes in the walls, Anton Heinrich, a concert violinist, Daniel Boone and Washington Irving of Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow fame.  Quite a list of who’s who.

Inside the building the thick Flemish stone walls, deep window casings, heavy ceiling timber’s and built-in cupboards reminded me of Inns in England.  Back in the day, the cooking was done in two fireplaces in the rear of the original Inn.  Overnight guests had to climb the staircase to the loft where men were housed in one of the two rooms and the women the other.  The practice of having individual rooms for guests was not introduced until about 1805.  Yikes, it would not have been my cup of tea for sure.  

A building of this age has to have ghosts, of course.  There have always been ghostly stories told by the locals and guests alike.  The most famous of the ghostly visitors is Jesse James.  Employees of the inn have reported encounters with this ghostly spirit walking the halls.  Another is the lady in white that appears in some of the rooms.  Other stories include round balls of light moving around in rooms in the middle of the night. Objects move about in the rooms and clocks chime during the late hours.  There are all sorts of stories to make one pause before staying a night.

There is both a restaurant and a Bourbon Bar.  While we waited the estimated 45 minutes for a table, we went into the bar, of course!  As you can see, there is a long bar that dominates the room.  All the bottles you see in the picture are bourbon and only bourbon.  They did have a few beers on tap and a couple of wine offerings but this is a true bourbon bar!  After looking over the overwhelming menu, we each made a selection.  I am not much of a bourbon drinker myself, however Jim’s drink of choice is bourbon.  Just as we had a couple of sips, our table became available.  The menu had lots of offerings with all sorts of bourbon sauces added to the dishes.  We selected Meatballs in Bourbon Sauce as an app along with a cup of Burgoo soup, a Kentucky favorite.  The soup has beef, chicken and pork in a tomato base with carrots and corn.  Jim found it tasty but me, not so much.  Oh well, not everyone has the same palate.  We both ordered fried catfish as our main dish.  The food was quite good.  They even had Chess Pie for desert, well I had to try that!  It was just as I remembered from my childhood, sweet and tasty.

After dinner, we walked around the town center just to start our food digesting.  The center is dominated
by a large building that houses the Visitor Center.  On one side, on the sidewalk there is a map of KY with all the bourbon distilleries listed.  After making the round, we collected the truck and headed back.  First a walk for the girls, then Jim and I headed down to the lake for a stroll.  The sun was sinking and the reflection off the water just lovely.  All around, fire flies winked on and off; tiny beacons of light in the deepening darkness.  It was a lovely ending to a perfect day.

Our time in Bardstown is winding down.  We have had lots of rain during our stay.  Last evening, a thunder storm rolled in accompanied by lightning and a heavy downpour.  Both our girls are very freighted by storms.  They join us in our bed seeking comfort and in the process our sleep is broken and restless.  Fortunately, we missed all the serious storms that brought tornadoes and damage to property.  Tomorrow our visit ends and we will head off to the mountains of West Virginia where we hope to see waterfalls, natural bridges and other sights of nature.

Red’s Juke Joint

Our last evening in Clarksdale before we head off to my home town arrived.  Jim declared that he wanted to take me to Red’s to hear more Blues.  Red’s is a true Juke Joint.  Not unlike Ground Zero, the outside of
the place did not encourage me to want to venture inside.  The overhanging front awning looked like a comb that had seen better days.  We sat outside in the truck for a few minutes debating whether to go in or go home.  Finally, Jim took my hand and led me to the door.

Inside, we were greeted by a woman, who turned out to be the singer’s wife and she collected the $7 cover charge.  The inside of this small place was bathed in red light.  Scattered about were unmatched tables and chairs and a row of chairs that backed up to the bar.  The ceiling was covered in drooping burlap and the walls in posters and other memorabilia.  In the middle of the floor, the “band” was playing.  The band consisted of a keyboard player and a singer/guitar player.  The singer sang about love gone wrong in most of his songs.  He had a whiskey voice that fit the surroundings.  We enjoyed the music actually.  It was more local and original, down home Blues.

Even though there was a bar, the only libations on sale was beer that was pulled from a ice chest that had seen better days.  If you wanted wine or spirits, you could bring your own.  Red, the owner was in the house.  As reported, he sat in the corner in his recliner watching a big screen TV with the sound muted.  He was watching a baseball game and drinking a brew.  He was a big man that filled that chair and then some.

We stayed for a set and then when the singer took a break decided to head back to the RV.  As we walked away, he and others were outside smoking ….. and drinking.  They called out to us to be careful and not do anything they would not do, hehehe.  A cheerful bunch for sure who left us laughing and glad we had visited Red’s.  Tomorrow we move on.

Ground Zero Blues Club

After the museum, we headed for Ground Zero.  Ground Zero is a Blues Club that is owned by Morgan Freeman and two other men.  It is the hub of the Blues featuring both local and national and even international talent.  From the outside, it looks much like a derelict, old building.  And it is.  The building stood 30 years or so vacant.  As Ground Zero began life, the building was left mainly as it stood.  The outside is covered in all sorts of car tags, stickers and other things, a hodgepodge reflection of life.  Once inside, it was sensory overload!  Every square inch of the building is covered in graffiti, even the tables and chairs!  Christmas lights hung from the ceiling along with flags and even a couple of pairs of old shoes.  There was a long bar on one side, a small kitchen on the other and at the far end a stage for performers.  Holy cow, what a place.  On the second floor of the building are several rooms that a person can rent for a night or two.  My niece and her husband stayed in one of them a few years back and reported that well into the night, the music seeped into their room from below serenading them into slumber.  Wow, what a night that must have been.

We settled in at a table with another couple and ordered beer and a nosh.  Of course, Jim had to have their wings that turned out to be spicy and good.  I had their version of nachos, smoked, pulled pork that is made on the premises served with chips, cheese, bbq sauce and jalapeños on top, interesting and quite good.  We asked questions about the evening music offering and when we would need to arrive to ensure a good table.  Stomachs satisfied, we headed back to the RV to feed the girls and freshen up a bit.

We returned around 7:30 and took seats at a table in the center and close to the stage, but not too close.  The tables seat ten and it is a share and share alike affair.  During the course of the evening a number of folks joined us and then drifted away.  The band is called Stone Gas Blues  Band.  If you want to hear them play, check them out on YouTube.  The leader of the band played bass guitar.  Bless him, he has what looked like curvature of the spine.  He walked with his posture curved toward the floor and struggled just to take steps.  When he played, he sat on a stool most of the time mostly looking downward but it did not matter a bit, he could “deal that thang son”.  There was a drummer and a lead guitarist and a harp (harmonica) player; each of them played and sang.  Funny how so many of these bands are mostly black with a token white — I do not mean that in anyway racist.  The harp player was a tall, lanky white guy with long hair pulled into a pony tail and sectioned with bands.  Finally the band began to play filling the room with the sounds of Mississippi Blues, ah what a joy.  Jim has trouble hearing music and understanding the words of the songs.  I kept watching him out of the corner of my eye and could tell he was enjoying the music, thank goodness.  Lee Tibbetts is our idea of what a harp player should sound like — full of emotion and talent galore; he can make a harp “talk”.  Billy is definitely talented and could make his harp “talk” but it lacked emotion somehow.  When the first set was done, we could not have enjoyed it more.

We headed back to the RV knowing that it was an evening we are not likely to forget anytime soon.  We sat beneath a huge picture of Morgan Freeman that hung from the ceiling and soaked up music that resonates in your bones.

Delta Blues Museum

Saturday dawned and we headed out, filled with a sense of excitement.  We have been talking about going to Clarksdale to hear some Mississippi Blues for some time now and today is the day.  The sky was filled with dark, grey clouds promising rain.  And it did.  As we drove past field after field stretching as far as the eye can see, the rain poured down.  Fortunately we drove into and out of the showers as we made our way to Clarksdale.

Our campground destination was the county fairgrounds.  We have stayed at fairgrounds before so knew generally what to expect.  There are lots of sites, some with full hookups and some with electric and water only and some just a place to park.  Since it is first come, first serve, we were lucky to get the last site with hookup even if the electric was 30 amps instead of the 50 amps we normally need.  In this muggy heat, it would be nice to be able to run both the front and rear air conditioners, however we can manage with only one.  The overall arrangement is a mix of full timers and transients.  We were set up in no time and hurried to get the girls settled before we headed out to explore the town.

Part of the city is more modern with fast food joints and other businesses.  The historic downtown, however was not unlike the other Delta towns we have visited.  That said, it also is home to a number of juke joints and clubs that on Saturday nights will be jumping with activity.  We started with a visit to the Delta Blues Museum.  It houses the largest collection of the history of the Blues from its start here in the Delta to the evolution of modern day music.  The Blues is a reflection of the joys and sorrows, dreams and realities, loves and loves lost and a host of emotions that reflect the times.  It was born out of the African American experience to bloom and spread to a much wider audience.  Names like Muddy Waters, Ike Turner and BB King and many others were honored.  There were a collection of Caricatures that I found very interesting.  I was taking pictures of them when Jim pointed to a sign that said no photos.  Oh well, I got a few.

The Blues is not a static genre but rather it has given birth to other forms up to and including Rock & Roll.  The museum is very large and it took us nearly two hours to completely go though it.  We came away in awe of all the musicians who brought Blues into mainstream.

Leland, MS

We spent early afternoon Friday searching the area for a place to eat.  I am sure that sounds odd, but out here in the rural Delta, communities are strewn across the landscape. Some are tiny and some just small but all of them are the embodiment of pictures one sees of the poor South.  We had several names of cafes whose menus listed all the Southern favorites that were candidates for our lunch.  Our first stop was Big Fellas just down the road a piece from our camp site.  Opening time was not for several hours later so with growling stomachs we moved on to the next stop.  At first we thought that the GPS was malfunctioning.  Over and over it directed us to places that were boarded up or non existent.  Covid has hit this area pretty hard leaving business after business closed.  But some of the closures are a result of the young folks moving out of the Delta searching for a better life in a larger town.  The result leaves what remains a sad, rundown neglected shell of what once was a lively community.  It is an agricultural society out here with field after field growing corn and soybeans.

We finally ended up at Leland.  Leland once was a hub of activity.  It’s train station and bus station brought musicians and others into the growing community.  There is a placard on one corner highlighting how the meeting place for so many was the Leland Cafe.  As we walked through the dusty streets, we were delighted to find that the cafe was still in business.  At last, we could get some food.  Inside the air was cool and filled with smells that made my stomach growl loudly.  Jim had circled back to the truck to get his mask while I went inside and got us a table.  I was greeted by a large, rotund woman who could have stepped out of the pages of a Tennessee Williams book.  Her skin was midnight black and glistened with beads of sweat.  Her hair was piled high on her head and covered with two colorful scarves.  She wore black athletic shoes whose soles had collapsed from miles of walking under her heavy girth.  Her mask dangled from one ear revealing a smile that lit up the room and her smooth, alto voice greeted me with a welcoming hellooooooo.  Her assistant, if you could call him that was just the opposite.  Tall and skinny as a rail, he spoke so softly from behind his mask that I could scarcely make out what he was saying.  It was a Peter Piper and his Wife moment.

I settled in with the menu expecting to see fried chicken and other fixin’s.  The Friday specials boasted local, fried catfish with a host of sides like fried okra and collard greens.  Hooray, my kind of food.  When the plates arrived, they were piled high with fried fish, quite generously I may add.  It was in a word, delicious.  The sweet iced tea that accompanied the meal was ice cold and gently sweetened, not cloyingly sweet.  Yummy.  We ask the woman about where in the area we might catch some Blues.  She dropped her mask and began to give us a history lesson of times gone past and what we might find in Leland that day.  Her smile widened as she spoke of a Blues Festival that is held each fall.  She shared that in her younger years, she sang with a band.  I could only imagine what her voice must have sounded like.  She shared that the vacant buildings were an indication not only of commerce now gone but also juke joints no longer in operation.  

Even so, the Blues lives on if you know where to go.  In the midst of what to us was a sad, poor area, we found that Southern hospitality and kindness is alive and doing quite well.  We might not find Blues today, but tomorrow we will be in Clarksdale and there we know we will.

A Farewell Brew for Two

As our time in Natchez winds down, there were two stops we could not miss, or should I say Jim could not miss.  Everyone who knows Jim knows he is addicted to chicken wings.  Natchez Under the Hill is home to several eateries that have great food.  Champs is one of them so we made our way there so Jim could sample the wings.  A picture tells the tale, they were tender, juicy and very flavorful.  They use a rub on the wings and then smoke them.  They were a winner.

The second must was the Natchez Brewery.  We arrived just as they were opening the doors for the day.  It is housed in an old building that was renovated to become the brewery.  The Tap Room displayed all their offerings mmmm, which one should we choose?  A sample flight seemed to be the best option.  They had sours, ale and lagers just to name a few.  Since I am a stout lover, I wanted to taste the Sticky Slicter Stout.  Just my luck, it was the most heavy with 8.3% abv!  Oh, well we added it to the flight.

In the end, the stout was the winner and we shared a glass — did not want to drink and drive!  It was a nice way to end our time in Natchez.  We experienced good foods, drink and the history for this remarkable Southern Beauty.

If the Dead Could Speak, The Natchez City Cemetery

We often hear people say, “if only the dead could talk, what tales would they tell”?  We took a tour of Natchez that was focused on history, culture and people more than the 1,000+ historic buildings of Natchez.  Our guide, Rev as he was called, included a visit to the Natchez City Cemetery.  I am not a big lover of visiting cemeteries however, this one was quite different.  The history of this place dates back to the 1700s even though the placard at the gates state it was established in 1822.  Those that are pre 1822 were originally buried in church cemeteries and other family plots.  They were disinterred and moved to what is now the City Cemetery thus graves dating to the 1700s.  The original land area was 10 acres.  Today, it covers 140 acres!  And the dead certainly do talk.

The most famous statue in the Natchez City Cemetery is “The Turning Angel” that seems to watch people as they pass by the cemetery at night.  When cars pass by on the main road outside of the cemetery's gates at night, the headlight shine on the angel who seems to turn to watch the passersby.

On March 14, 1908, an explosion at the Natchez Drug Company killed twelve employees and destroyed the business. The owner purchased this lot to bury his employees and erected this beautiful angel statue in their memory.

There are many sections in the cemetery that represent how the people of Natchez saw themselves.  One of the largest is filled with monuments of the upper class, the wealthy part of society.  For the most part, the cemetery is no longer a place of burial.  However, the plots that represent the wealthy families to this day remain a place of rest for the remaining descendants of the once insanely wealthy elite.  In its heyday, Natchez was home to more millionaires than any other place in our country.  Cotton was King.  Plantation owners had wealth that is hard for me to even imagine.  They had huge plantations and a home in Natchez.  It is said that the wife of such a man had only two purposes, to provide him with an heir and to spend as much of his money as possible!  The homes in Natchez were a display of wealth.  The sky was the limit and she pushed that limit at every turn.  So it is not surprising that the monuments they left behind are equally lavish.

There are sections dedicated to the Jewish population, the Irish Catholics, Italian merchants as well.  These people represent the “middle class”.  They were prosperous but not ridiculously rich.  The tombstones tell their stories.  One especially sweet one tells of a Southern Lady who went abroad.  While there she met a man and fell in love.  When time came for her to leave, he had to remain behind but told her “I will come to you my love”.  Every letter he wrote ended with those words.  Finally he boarded a ship bound for America.  When he arrived, he booked passage on two different river boats that would bring him to Natchez.  His letters still ended with “I will come to you my love”.  During his trip, he caught dysentery and died.  She had his body shipped to Natchez where he is buried.  The head stone has these words, “You could not come to me but I will come to you my love”.  She was later buried beside him.

There are many stories but one of the most mysterious is the headstone that reads “Louise, The Unfortunate”. No one know for sure who she was but it is told that she came to Natchez to meet her fiancé and marry.  When she arrived, he either jilted her or was married already.  Too ashamed to return home or without enough money to return home, she ended up at Natchez Under the Hill working in a house of ill repute.  Over the years, a doctor befriended her and gave her medical attention.  When she died, he paid to have her buried and put this enigmatic inscription on the stone.

In all of the cemetery, there are only two people of color buried within its ornate gates.  A true reflection of the times.  It is said that we die twice.  Once when our life expires and once when our name is no longer spoken.  Here the dead speak and they are remembered long after they left this world.

Natchez, On the Banks of the Mighty Mississippi

Our campground lies just below the levy nestled against the Mighty Mississippi River.  As I sit here having coffee, it is interesting to watch the activity on the river.  The Mississippi invokes images of Huckleberry Fin and his adventures.  Here at Natchez, the river is about an ⅛ of a mile wide.  Other places along her length, the river is a good mile wide and the muddy waters flow lazily along.  But here, it is a different story.  When you watch the river, you notice the lack of recreation vessels of any sort.  The reason is clear when you look closely at the water.  It churns and swirls and rolls creating an environment that is too dangerous for swimmers or jet skis or any sort of small vessels to navigate. But there are those who still make their living plying these muddy waters.

Barges are the lynch pin of the commerce trade on the river.  These small, powerful vessels push huge barges loaded with railroad cars and truck trailers filled with goods.  The hardy men and women who captain these vessels are highly trained and fearless.  They know all the twists and turns, rocks and whirlpools that may lie in their path and most importantly how to navigate around them.  As I watch, a tug is slowly moving up stream pushing a block of barges that are four wide and six deep lashed together by strong cables.  I won’t bore you with details but these tug or “tow” boats as they are referred to on the river are the tackles of the football field  - strong, low to the water and powerful.  Control is the name of the game as once these barges start to move they can easily lose control and accidents are costly and deadly.

Behind the barge configuration came a paddle wheel cruise vessel.  She moved faster than the barges but not by much.  I counted five decks with cabins facing the river for a good view of the world sliding slowly past.  There were no passengers visible, a result of Covid I suspect.  Back in the day, it would have been a lively affair with gambling and drinking and all sorts of chicanery going on.  Oh, wait I think that is what we have to look forward to when we board one of these vessels in November!

Whether it is moving goods or moving people, the Mighty Mississippi is still one of the most economical modes of commerce transportation.  She may look lazy but like the story of the Tortoise and the Hare, slow and steady wins the race.