The thing I most wanted for my second day in West Virginia was to be on Summersville Lake. I had tried for days to get a reservation for a stand-up paddleboarding rental/instruction, but the outfitting company required a minimum of two participants for the trip, and I was just me. Alternatively, I found that I could potentially rent a kayak for a few hours down at the marina, which I thought would suit me just fine. My gracious barn loft hostess, Holly, had given me a gift certificate to Cathedral Cafe, a coffee shop set up in an old church, with stained-glass windows still in tact, so I went to grab coffee and set out for my kayaking adventure.
While at Cathedral Cafe, I saw Holly and we got a learn a bit more about each other. She told me about a statewide initiative that she just launched to educate companies and employees about the viability of telework. Her motivation to drive this program is that she sees the small towns of West Virginia gutted out as talented and resourceful people move to more urban areas for job opportunities. So for her, getting people used to the idea of telework means having more people around to patronize local businesses and keep places like Fayetteville vibrant.
After our chat, I drove out to the marina. The lake was still and quiet, and to my disappointment, I saw a sign that they had shifted and reduced their hours the week prior, due to back to school. Fayetteville employs a lot of college kids as rafting guides on a seasonal business, and when they go home, the tourists go home, and things get very quiet.
Though my paddling plan didn't work out, I was determined to get some time in the water. I recalled a place Holly had told me about yesterday, a rafting embarkation point under the New River Gorge bridge called Fayette Station. I drove down the mountain in a series of hairpin turns, on a road just barely wide enough for my car, and arrived at a sunny bend in the river, where I was completely alone. This was the place I didn't even know I wanted to be.
I had my bathing suit on and waded out for a swim in the river eddy and then dried by sunning myself on a rock while I read a chapter of my book.
Ready to get on the road, I made my way back into town to grab sustenance for the 4.5 hour drive to Louisville. I stopped in at the Secret Sandwich Society, which names all of their sandwiches after presidents. I chose the Truman: roasted turkey, peach jam, blue cheese spread, and crispy onions on a baguette. And holy god, you guys, that was a great sandwich.
I had a good stretch of West Virginia driving still before me, and I listened to podcasts of Mountain Stage, which is recorded locally. In this one, Wanda Jackson tells stories about dating Elvis, opening for Adele, working with Jack White. Then she tries to yodel and chokes on a cough drop. Oh, Wanda.
West Virginia is just breathtaking to me, and reminds me a bit of Montana in parts. You can see evidence of mountaintop removal mining, a controversial practice on par with the hydrofracking being done back in Montana & North Dakota where much of my family lives. I love the steel trestle bridges over the rivers, and the trailer park mining towns, and the bigness of the mountains. It's a humble place, an often forgotten one, and a true gem.
As I drove westward into Kentucky, the land got flatter and the temperature got hotter, and I'm pretty sure my A/C gave out in my car. I arrived in Louisville hot and sweaty, and stopped at the Dairy Kastle for a butterscotch dipped vanilla cone, which dripped down my arm faster than I could lick it.
I checked into my room at the urban farmhouse, greeting the cats in the house, and the chickens, bees, and butternut squash in the backyard.
I dropped my stuff, took a quick shower and headed right back out. I had tickets to see Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes at the Iriquois Amphitheater tonight.
The amphitheater was built as a WPA project under FDR and it was a totally comfortable and civilized place to see a show, and proved to be a great people-watching venue for me. The people of Louisville are unbearably adorable. They're stylish and cheery and rootsy all at once. It's kind of impossible not to love this city.
Though Edward Sharpe was admittedly exhausted ("I left my banter in Cincinnati, guys..."), he and the band have this kind of energetic exuberance that even on their tired days is pretty profound and contagious. They have the effect of making the entire audience feel as if they are part of the family, enjoying some kind of down-home hootenanny jamboree. They're the kind of band that makes you want to bang on a can, do cartwheels in the grass, twirl your skirt, and put your arms around everyone next to you. Seeing them live is a singular experience. And seeing them covered by Jorge and Alexandra is a video I could watch (and have watched) over and over.
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