Almost South

Kentucky has its own beauty. It is full of rolling hills and horse farms. The scenery is beautiful. However, I was painfully reminded of the reasons that I am not all too crazy about Kentucky, when, overtired and desperate, I stopped at the Super 8 of Dry Ridge, Kentucky. First off, the place was dingy and it was one of those hotels where everything smells like smoke. Secondly, when I inquired about taking pets into the room, the conversation with the woman at the desk became unpleasant, to say the least. I was not at all in the mood to be criticized for the number and size of the dogs that I was traveling with. At this point, I had already been thousands of miles with them and only hundreds from the end of the journey, and I responded with, something along the lines of “well, I suppose I should have shot one of them before I left…” I’m not usually that rude to total strangers, but it’s something that only a Kentuckian can bring out. I thought of adding, “Well, no one in Canada said anything about it,” but I bit my tongue on that one. I did, however, appreciate the reappearance of the Southern politeness, listening to a young man who was checking in before me, as he used “m’am” at the end of every sentence. I had at some point, taught Owen to refer to adults as “sir” and “m’am,” but then realized that since he was not growing up in the south where this was custom, it would probably have the effect of making him seem a little weird to his peers. And since weirdness is already a strong genetic trait in this family, I really feel like I should do my best to not add more to it and force him into a life of suffering. I’ve already doomed him by teaching him to use a pipet and play diffusion experiment. There are limits.

The next morning, as I left the hotel, the same woman checked me out and said “well, I hope things work out for you,” in a sort of pitying tone. Why this woman thought I needed pity, I am not sure. Well, I am, because I am sure she felt sorry for me as I was obviously moving 4000+ miles as a single mother with a car full of dogs. I know that it stems from the pervasive undercurrent of chauvinism that exists in the south, but it again reminded me that I should make sure that I don’t wear out my southern welcome, so to speak. I responded brightly to that comment, with “well, of course they will!” She gave me a bewildered look. I am sure she had no idea what to make of me.

At a coffee stand that morning, I was also told by the women who worked there, that “well, we just love your Sarah!” I thought she meant my friend Sarah, who had just made the journey with me, and was about to respond “well, of course, she’s awesome…,” but then I realized which Sarah they meant and forced my smile and my southern politeness that followed. “Oh, well, I’ll make sure to tell her about her fans in Kentucky when I see her next…”

The journey through West Virginia brought back plenty of good memories. I passed Hurricane, West Virginia (pronounced hurr-i-cun), where my friend Vickie grew up. I took a picture of the Hurricane exit in honor of her. And then, I also noticed, the appearance of the end-all-be-all of great breakfast places…YES….Tudor’s Biscuit World!!!! I have sweet, sweet memories of many breakfasts at Tudors before many, many New River and Gauley River whitewater rafting adventures. I even detoured the 5 minutes or so off the highway just to take a picture of the Tudor’s at Beckley, West Virginia. Now, at this point, there was some feeling of home coming back. And West Virginia, in stark contrast to so much of this journey, is NOTHING but topography. Steep river gorges and nothing anywhere that is at all flat. And absolutely non-existent cell phone coverage. So, some sense of space and freedom returns with that realization.