On the Road to Kentucky

On the Road to Kentucky

Last week I drove to Ewing, KY to visit family with my aunt and daughter. It is a drive of about 700 miles. Now that I’m back, I would like to state for the record that we did not get a speeding ticket, did not wreck and did not get lost. Well, except for that accidental detour through the heart of downtown Lexington.

Before we embarked on our adventure, there was some debate over whether to take the interstate or travel the scenic byways. My husband insisted we stick to the safety and efficiency of the interstate. My aunt recalled fond memories of driving in full view of the lush countryside and the local markets boasting fresh corn and peanuts. Both my aunt and husband reminded me of how often I have managed to get lost on even familiar roadways. I secretly gave them a very special driver’s salute and tried to memorize the map.

We compromised. We hit the interstate until the overpowering presence of eighteen-wheelers induced a desire to exit six lanes of roaring traffic and ease onto quieter, more scenic routes. We lasted about 30 minutes. Where Mom-and-Pop cafés and fruit stands once offered periodic invitations to stop and browse, national retail stores and outlet malls stretched from one town to the next. Traffic clogged the narrow arteries where tired, solitary pickups once chugged alongside the fertile farmland. The stop-and-go of multiple signals and speed zones set at “crawl” had us trudging back to the rush and relief of the 70 mph limit on I-65.

I could tell Aunt Ora, or “Wee Wee” as we call her, trusted my driving implicitly. She stomped her right foot on the floorboard frequently, obviously in agreement with my flawless braking capabilities. She signaled feverishly, clearly filled with enthusiasm for my ability to careen across numerous lanes of swerving traffic, just in time to make the exit ramp. She seemed completely captivated with our van’s speedometer and cruise control capabilities. The sight of a highway patrol car nestled in the median elicited the kind of explosive excitement I’ve witnessed only at births and beauty pageants.

Just before the trip, we purchased a portable DVD player so my daughter could watch movies on the road. It is undoubtedly the best $149 we have ever spent. While she watched the first three seasons of “The Andy Griffith Show,” my aunt and I enjoyed a peace I never thought possible with a pre-teen girl in tow.

During those hours on the road, I found the view to be deeply moving. The rocky terraces and green foothills of Tennessee were beautiful, as were the long, sloping pastures and horse farms of northeast Kentucky. Even more than the expansive pastoral scenes of Mississippi and Alabama, the view I enjoyed most was from the mental images gleaned from the stories Wee Wee told as we sailed toward Kentucky.

She shared childhood tales of dressing a calf in a black raincoat and bell that left her mom and Aunt Katie certain it was the devil himself who galloped crazily across the back forty. She described the time her friend Tommie shot a raccoon and prepared it with vegetables for their dinner. After waiting several starving hours for the meat to stew, Wee Wee announced, “I don’t believe I care for coon.” Neither of them ventured a bite.

When we finally arrived in Ewing, my Aunt Eddie Lee announced that they wore the window out looking for us. Through that window is an enticing view of the signature green of picturesque Kentucky, a vibrant vision of the comforting cycle of bountiful growth and harvest.

I looked at my daughter, her eyes wide with an earnest attempt to file away memories of family we rarely get to see. My Aunt Eddie Lee, Uncle Brownie and cousin Iris gave the window a rest, and we all enjoyed the view of familiar faces over a home-cooked meal. It is in those moments, however few and far between, that distance matters little and minutes matter a lot. Regardless of how you get there, the embrace of loved ones seldom seen always makes the trip more than worthwhile.