After our week at the Tiffin Factory in Red Bay, Alabama, we spent two nights on a lake in Mississippi which was delightful in spite of the heat. Our friend Mackie from La Grange, Tennessee joined us for our trip into the Midwest and she made our trek “Easterly” special. She has now abandoned us and returned to her home in La Grange but she will be with us in the many special memories that we were able to share with her on our travels together.
On Thursday, we departed the Southern perimeters and made our way East, exploring the Natchez Trace into Nashville and into the vicinity of Mammoth Caves in Kentucky for our last stop on the road prior to our Indiana sojourn. We made our reservations for a RV park supposedly 2 ½ miles off Highway 65 which seemed a reasonable distance from a main through fare. When I called the proprietor of the RV Park to confirm our reservations, he told us not to follow the GPS and changed the exit number. We followed his instructions for the exist number but resumed the GPS delivery for the details of the remainder of our route. WRONG.!! It was a traumatic drive through “cowpaths” that made our previous “cowpath” adventures seem like major highways. After approximately 16 miles of rolling hills on a one lane sometimes paved road, we returned to the interstate, found our RV Park and once connected to the amenities of a park, tried to relax, grateful to have avoided any major calamity that would have “ruined our day”.
Of course, the next day we arrived for our stay at the Crazy Horse Ranch in Southern Indiana and that, too, was a traumatic event for old age. My nephew had “warned” us to be alert to “an interesting” adventure and that it was. There were 2 miles of country road, approximately 1 mile was gravel and little more than a tractor path. In spite of my shouts and otherwise “active” vocabulary, Ken made it successfully and once we arrived, the “adventure” was worth it. It was a beautiful location. We had a very comfortable ten days in spite of the high mid western temperatures into or near the 100s most of our stay. . Beyond the trauma, drama and silence of the night, it was a wonderful return to my roots with nephews, nieces and friends exhibiting and practicing “unconditional” love and friendship that has long made me feel special when I visit my roots. It was a wonderful week of visiting, eating and wonderful fellowship capped off by a very special 4th of July sermon delivered by the husband of a friend from my early childhood in the church where Ken and I were married almost 59 years ago. Our Fourth of July with family and friends was indeed a very special celebration on this special birthday for our country.
My nephew provided a tour of the Pinnick Cemetery on old Log Creek Road outside of French Lick, where my Great Great Great ?? Grandfather James “Grandsire” Pinnick resides. My Grandfather fought in the American Revolution, a fact that I hope might help me in the event that I should ever seek residence in Arizona. Cemetery “hopping” is a favorite past time for we mid-western born citizens and I always look forward to including it in my brief period of “looking back” during my infrequent treks to my “old Indiana home”.
While I know that there is wisdom in the statement “you can’t go home again”, I also know that there are special memories, wonderful stories and many happy reminisces in returning to ones roots on the occasion of your 60th High School Reunion. Never mind that you might not recognize most of your fellow graduates, it is the adventure of looking to someone you have already identified and saying “who is that?”. The degree of stupidity that you can feel is, indeed, enough to keep you humble for the remainder of your life.
