Road Trip/Old Friend/Digging Kentucky
We sit out on a deck, David, Gwynn and I, in the dark by the river, drinking beer and talking. I know I am not in New England. The smells are thick, foreign, and I've not heard insects so loud and persistent---not just in the morning and evening but all day long, even in downtown Lexington. My head is full of images of bluegrass expanses of gentle rolling horse farms, the few working tobacco farms, flat muddied areas planted with Tupelo, abandoned breweries that appear wrapped in thick foliage along the river that was once vital to the commerce of the area. I am thinking that I have seen a Passion Flower for the first time, up close, and have a great photo; I have touched the incredibly white, smooth skin of a young Shaggy Sycamore, and I remember Gwynn jumping up and down when she spotted a vestige of true Savannah, a place of hummocks and very old Shaggy Sycamore, clover...a limestone base in the soil. Stone fences are made of flat stone, some topped with the same stone standing upright. Fences that mark out expanses for precious, leggy horses and enclose majestic stables are painted with creosote. That is a scent I recognize in the steamy air. Mostly, I am thinking that I am glad I took this trip, nearly on a whim, almost abandoned last minute to my inertia.
David and Gwynn are both archaeologists. In the lab, David places thousand-plus year old shards of pottery in my hands, I trace swirled and geometric designs with a finger tip. These were made by prehistoric hunter-gatherer-farmer people who also are responsible for the mounds, built over time for burial rituals, that remain scattered on the landscape; I would not recognize them as anything but unexpected, natural risings.
Gwynn and David and others work to save this record of the life and culture of an ancient race. When I ride in the car, I listen and see the scenes in a new way. Fragmented, a bit magical for me, I lack the knowledge and context but I hear them talk and look and interpret as archaeologists. We talk about the varied perspectives brought to understanding places by different disciplines---what an artist might see, a biologist, a (shudder) developer. They mourn the loss of land to McMansions and strip malls. I bring home material written by Gwynn to read. I already have a publication written by David.
The next day, deer graze lazily in the falling light, the town of Midway is lively in the dark, a dozen small storefronts, half of them restaurants; we sit outside again and listen to music coming from a nearby theatre. The train tracks spill out into the night, someplace I could go perhaps. I think of the spin through the capital and a day I spent in downtown Lexington photographing the architectural details and other things that intrigue me.
The best day was spent at Bernheim Arboretum and Research Forest, check it out on line. All in all, this trip was a wow. (an a nod to classmates.com; David was one of three people I contacted a few years ago)
Coming home, I detoured for a ride on the old NY Taconic Parkway, some wild places very near the city; and came into home territory at the fabulous rest area in Vermont on I-91; this place is built of natural wood, large, full of light, museum-like; exhibits, information (lots or really useful information!), all a weary traveller might need inside. Outside; gardens, a field walk strewn with iconic rusting farm equipment, a playground, swinging chairs, a gondola car from Stowe, the large field to walk, rest, run about; I knew it was really good when a bunch of small children walked in, looked up and "wow"ed with real reverence.
Glad to see my garden, my roommates, to eat a summer sandwich for dinner and settle down to checking on the cats, plants, home, I am. But my dreams are enriched, my curiosity piqued, my life lifted and expanded. Amazing what a few days can bring, I feel as if I have gained time, for this trip time inhaled and expanded for me. I must still be holding my breath.
