I will shine and sing my song

They call Louisville "Possibility City", and it's true that many things are possible.  You can possibly get a job and buy a house here (cost of living here is well below the national average).  You can possibly have a fantastic meal here (foodie culture is booming).  You can possibly fall in love here (the people are so unbelievably cute and friendly).  And you can possibly end up in Indiana.

Louisville is a pretty sleepy town on a 90 degree Tuesday morning, so I thought I'd take my coffee down to the waterfront park for a nice view of the bridges while I gave the city a chance to wake up.  Easy enough, right?  So far on this trip, my mode has been to simply study a map beforehand and use the GPS only as backup.  But I couldn't make heads or tails of Louisville, and my Waze navigator (who I call Lola), really couldn't either.  Which is how, in my attempt to enjoy the waterfront park, I found myself in Indiana... twice.  Lola was all in a directional kerfuffle and kept telling me I had arrived at my destination, when clearly, I had not arrived at my destination.  After many turnarounds and much confusion, I finally made it, and had a nice, hot walk along the wharf.

Add: KJ Grow, Aug 2013

Truth be told, all of this walking was really to get myself and my stomach ready for a day of gluttonous eating.  Louisville has a serious food reputation, and with only enough time for a couple of choice meals, I knew I had my work cut out for me.

My lunch stop was at the utterly charming Hillbilly Tea cafe in the NuLu district.  Like much of the rest of the city, this place was sunny and stylish, with a wholesome happy kind of vibe.  I started with the Summer Green iced tea, a citrusy blend that included some rose and lavender and was completely refreshing.  For lunch I had a cup of strawberry soup, made with coconut milk and topped with fresh blueberries, which surprised me with its depth of flavor.  And I had a watermelon salad with arugula, walnuts, radishes, whipped herbed goat cheese and cherry vinaigrette.  All sublimely delicious.

 

 


For my afternoon I explored more of NuLu, a growing, hip area with upscale galleries and boutiques, that seems to be bursting with creativity and style.  I picked up a few things to take home: a tin cup to plant flowers in, a green pig pot (use tbd), a horse-print t-shirt, and a skirt made from "upcycled" mens' shirts.

On one building this public art piece allows passersby to create a sort of collective bucket list.  I was amused by the range of mundane to strange to wildly aspirational ("eat bananas", "hug an alien"...), and it got me thinking about what I want to do before I die, bringing to mind the final line in the Mary Oliver poem, The Summer Day, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Then I hit Bardstown Road, the funkier, edgier shopping stretch, with tattoo parlors and vintage stores and dive bars.  But it was such a hot day that I soon tired of being on pavement and needed to retreat into some green.

I made my way to Cherokee Park, a lovely green space designed by Frederick Olmstead, the creator of Central Park and Prospect Park.  Though I'd never been to Cherokee Park before, there was something oddly familiar and comfortable about it, like I instinctively knew which way to go.

To cool off, I ran through a sprinkler fully clothed, and then found a shady spot beneath a tree.   I practiced my fiddle for a bit and then fell asleep on a picnic table, awakened 20 minutes later to the sounds of cardinals chirping around me.

At 5:30, I arrived at Shine studios for a Nia class.  One of the things I most love about Nia is the kind of people it attracts and the global community it builds.  I know that anywhere I travel, I can walk into a Nia class and be warmly welcomed.  It was such a treat to dance with Nia teacher Maria Whitley, who was fresh off her Brown Belt training, and to see the beautiful studio space she had created in downtown Louisville as a sanctuary for wellness and healing.

 


After a great workout and a shower back at the farmhouse, I went in search of southern food, preferably fried or smoked, and I found the holy grail.  Hammerheads might be one of my new favorite places on earth.  It's a tiny little no-frills basement hole-in-the-wall, with no sign but a massive hammerhead shark out front, and two giant smokers in the back.  This was the first time on my trip I was really wishing I had company, because I needed an extra stomach to fit in everything I wanted to order on the menu.  After much deliberation I settled on the fried mac and cheese balls, the roast duck sandwich on a pretzel bun, truffle fries and a Falls City Pale Ale.  It was mind-blowingly good.  I sat at the bar and evangelized to my neighbors about how good it was.  They enthusiastically agreed.

At the bar next to me was a business consultant from San Diego, a guy in his fifties who had recently self-published an economics book.  I told him about my wanderings and wonderings about life and my next steps, and he said to me, "Here's my advice: always assess the risk, but live your life with an open heart."  Yes, sir.  And then I openheartedly gave him my leftover truffle fries.

Determined that I should have at least one glass of bourbon before I left Kentucky, I asked the bartender for his local recommendation, and he sent me to Nachbar, a comfy divey local bar in the Germantown neighborhood, with a great jukebox, lots of wooden owls, and a friendly clientele.  I quickly made friends with a few local guys (who winningly described themselves as "doers"), and slowly sipped a Noah's Mill Kentucky Bourbon.  These guys didn't entirely know what they were doing with their wild and precious lives either, but they sure seemed to be having a good time.

As far as my one wild and precious life?  Here's my vow for now:

And...(my addition at the bottom):

I want the whole damn world to come and dance with me.

Sometimes, the best laid plans get diverted into better plans.

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.

Almost heaven, West Virginia

Ok, so I know that I said that I intend to take my waking slow on this trip, but so far I'm finding myself waking up before dawn and feeling incredibly well rested and eager to get going with my days.  I woke around 6am today, feeling gratifyingly sore from yesterday's hard hike, but ready to get moving again.  I put some coffee on and packed up my things in the treehouse.  Then I took my coffee, book, and breakfast outside to my little treehouse porch and resumed watching the spider.

Yesterday, I noticed two insects caught in her web, disrupting the shape of the web by tangling themselves in the silky sticky threads.  This morning those insects are gone and the web perfectly repaired.  A few months ago, I was seeing snakes everywhere I went.  This week, it's been spiders.  Little yellow spiders, long-legged brown spiders, fat-bottomed beige spiders.  Normally, if I were to spot one at home, I'd sweep the web into a dustpan and squish the spider in a kleenex, with a gruesome yet satisfying crunch.  But I've adopted a live and let be policy for these arachnids the last few days.  And I must say, as I've been noticing the geometric variations of each web I see glinting in the morning sun, I've developed a new appreciation for these eight-legged wonders.  Spiders are fascinating creatures.  Fascinating creatures that love to sink their fangs into me - my legs are covered in swollen bites - but fascinating nonetheless.

When I was seeing snakes, I took comfort in the symbology of them.  Snakes are often seen as symbols of rebirth.  It seems that the spider is my spirit guide for this trip, so I consulted the trusty website spiritanimal.info (what do I know?) on the significance of spiders.  They say:
The spider is a remarkable figure of feminine energy and creativity in the spirit animal kingdom. Spiders are characterized by the skilled weaving of intricate webs and patience in awaiting their prey. By affinity with the spider spirit animal, you may have qualities of high receptivity and creativity. Having the spider as a power animal or totem helps you tune into life’s ebbs and flows and ingeniously weave every step of your destiny.

Here's to honing my spidey sense.

After leaving the treehouse, I set out for a scenic drive on Shenandoah's popular Skyline Drive.  There are overlook turnouts every 1/3 mile or so, and each provides a stunning vista of the mountains and valley.  I wanted to get a short hike in this morning, so I made my way to Jones Run Falls, a 3.4 mile in-and-out hike that leads to a lovely waterfall.  The hike was densely wooded, and being early in the morning there were almost no other people on the trail, so I clapped my hands and sang to myself to make enough noise to potentially ward off any wildlife that might startle me.

Arriving at the falls, I had the place to myself, and sat reading and enjoyed a snack before turning around.

After the waterfall hike, it was time to head west toward my next stop.  After a stretch of interstate driving, I turned north on the Midland Trail, and wound my way through the mountains and small towns of West Virginia.  My iPod serendipitously lost battery power at this point, and I was able to get scratchy reception of a radio program called "The Blue Ridge Radio Hour", which was playing old time tunes like "Big Rock Candy Mountain" and "Sittin' On Top of the World", perfect accompaniment to my backcountry drive.

I have to say, while the Skyline Drive in Shenandoah is lovely, there's something "officially beautiful" and sanctioned about it, being that it is preserved in a national park setting.  But there's something about West Virginia that is unexpected and wild and takes my breath away.  I loved driving through tiny towns, seeing hillbilly kids riding their bikes, dogs in front yards, shuttered gas stations still advertising gas at $2.79 on their signs, all of this against the most beautiful backdrop.  I couldn't help but bring to mind the John Denver lyrics, "Life is old there, older than the trees.  Younger than the mountains, growin' like a breeze."

I arrived in Fayetteville, WV around 4pm and checked into my charming barn loft, and set right back out for another short hike.

My host recommended the Long Point trail, a moderate 3 mile in-and-out hike that leads to a rocky outcrop with an unbeatable view of the New River Gorge bridge.

Sunday selfie (that's a thing, right?)

With over six miles of hiking logged for the day, I was ready to feast.  Dirty Ernie's Rib Pit was my choice for the night.  With a sense of glee I drove up to this roadside shack, and plunked myself down in a huge wooden booth.

Now, you might be surprised to learn that Dirty Ernie's is not exactly a gourmet establishment.  This is the kind of place with wicker baskets of peanuts on each table, where you're expected to toss the shells on the floor.  There's wood paneling inside, and college jerseys hanging from the ceiling, and dollar bills stapled to the walls, signed by adoring patrons.  I ordered a half rack of baby back ribs which came slathered in sauce, along with sides of mac and cheese and baked beans.  I washed it all down with a Long Point Lager, brewed right here in Fayetteville and named after the trail I'd just been on, and it was the perfect match.  The playlist was on some random shuffle which surfaced Bette Midler's From a Distance followed by No Diggity.  And I tell you, I was in heaven, West Virginia.  I devoured those ribs and wouldn't change a thing.

And I left Dirty Ernie with a little something of myself.

Old Rag

Today's post comes with a multimedia bonus.  I encourage you to listen to the fingerpicking stylings of Virginia-based Daniel Bachman in the song, "Sun Over Old Rag" while you read.



This morning, I woke around 6am, brewed myself a to-go cup of coffee, packed a few snacks in my backpack and set out to hike Old Rag Mountain, one of the most popular and challenging hikes in Shenandoah National Park.  The rain had cleared, but left a hanging early morning fog as the sun rose over the valley, giving everything a naturally Instagram-ed appearance.

I drove through winding backcountry roads and arrived at the trailhead a little before 8am, with about a dozen other cars in the parking lot ahead of me.

After a full day of driving yesterday, it felt good to move my legs, and I hiked along at a good clip.  I don't know if it's the New Yorker in me that can't slow down, or a competitive streak that makes me want to beat everyone to the top, or if it's simply that I like a vigorous hike that gets my legs working and my heart pounding, but I tend to be pretty zippy.  I passed several hikers on the initial 2 miles, a steady climb that gently switchbacks upward.

The next section of the trail forced me to slow down, however, and proved to be a real test of strength.  For about a mile, the trail becomes less of a hike and more of a rock scramble up large boulders, through caves and narrow passageways.  I had read that this part of the trail required "significant upper body strength", and despite feeling not-so-significant in that area, I knew I could push myself to do it.

Here's a blaze on the trail that directs you to jump 8 feet down into a rock crevice.  Uh, ok.

Ahead of me on the rock scramble were about 15 high schoolers from the Shenandoah Cross Country team.  At one point near a high rocky ledge, I heard one of the kids say, "Coach, this is really hard!"  Their coach replied, "I know, it's gonna get you in great shape for track season."  The kid replied, "Well, I mean, I got the physical stuff, but mentally this is tough."  And the coach said, "Exactly, Denzel, that's what's gonna get you through this year."

Team Shenandoah at the top

After a brief rest at the summit, taking in the panorama of the rolling Shenandoahs, I parted from the crowds and quietly made my way down the mountain, first down a switchback trail and then along an old fire road.

While I stopped to watch a deer nibbling just off the trail, two guys from Richmond caught up to me and joined me for the last two miles of our nine mile loop.  They were cheerful and friendly, good company, and gave me recommendations on where to eat and what to do in the area.

Around 12:30, I arrived back at the parking lot with a good amount of hiker stink, a slightly blistered right heel, and a healthy appetite.  I made my way to the nearby town of Sperryville, where I heard that a joint called Rudy's Pizza makes a pie in homage to the hike I'd just completed.  It was called the Old Rag, and was topped with mozzarella, prosciutto, sun-dried tomatoes and basil.  I enjoyed it with a local IPA brewed in Charlottesville, VA, and the whole meal was heaven for a weary hiker.  In New York, this is the kind of place that would be fetishized by foodies and require at least an hour wait.  To walk right in and enjoy this pie within 10 minutes was absolute bliss.

Back at the treehouse, I'm too sun-soaked and worn out to venture out again for the evening, so I'll take my copy of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek down to the pond and read on the dock, hit the sauna a bit later, maybe practice my fiddle on this here porch swing.