Where we were
March 10th, 2010The weather in Missouri was just about perfect last weekend for walking in the woods. We didn’t. Instead we drove to Kentucky to help my mother celebrate her birthday. I took the day off of work on Friday so we could have a longer weekend, and we were on the road by 6:30 a.m. Good thing, too, since we had a nine-hour drive ahead of us.
A sensible person might have taken the seven-hour route from Kansas City to Paducah, but I think I’ve proven here sufficiently that I am not always a sensible person. The “sensible” route is to go directly east on I-70 for four hours to St. Louis and then along a succession of highways down southern Illinois for three hours. But I’ve driven that St. Louis run far too many times, and it bores me every time. Plus about half of the Illinois miles are nothing but tedious, flat farmland from horizon to horizon.
Instead we took the route across southern Missouri, driving three hours south to Springfield, passing, it must be noted, within six miles of Roundrock but not stopping since we had many hours ahead of us and a scheduled appointment to surprise my mother that evening. From Springfield we headed more or less east on Highway 60, which took us all the way to Paducah. This took us through the heart of the Missouri Ozarks, but we only diverted one time (resulting in the photo above, which I’ll tell you more about — with video — on Saturday) since we had that whole appointment thing looming before us. We crossed the Mississippi River, spent about twenty seconds in Illinois (at the very southernmost tip), and then crossed the Ohio River and entered Kentucky, land of my idyllic boyhood summers. From there it was only about a half hour’s trek to Paducah, to find our bed and breakfast closed.
I don’t know if the whole town takes a nap, but just about everything was closed from 3:00 to 5:00 in the afternoon. Siesta? The B&B was in the two floors above a Mexican restaurant in the historic downtown. You can see a link to it here. (We had the entire second floor.) The restaurant was closed, and we couldn’t find any wifi for me to get online to get the number to call. We could have poked around (the mostly closed) downtown for another hour, but we decided instead to call my aunt and get the surprise underway.
At her condo my mother was sitting at her computer, sorting out some insurance business. I was able to walk up behind her and gently suggest some solutions to her onscreen difficulties. She leapt from her chair and gave me a big hug and kiss. She was quite surprise and pleased. We sat and visited for a while, and then my aunt announced that a friend of theirs was having an art opening at a gallery in the old downtown area. She said that usually these things had free food, so we might be able to snag some free dinner that way. By happy coincidence, the gallery was in the side room of the very Mexican restaurant where our B&B was.
We went there, did, indeed, snag some free food, ordered some drinks (Margarita’s for them, brandy for me — won’t do that again!), admired the art, and eventually got around to checking in to our nice weekend apartment. What a sumptuous place it was! We had two bedrooms, a large sitting room, a very up-to-date bathroom, a huge kitchen (the first B&B I’ve been to that stocked Jim Beam for its guests), and even our own steaming hot tub on the second floor deck. The group of us sat around in this lovely space (everything was top of the line) and marveled at what we were getting for such a low price. (It really was astonishingly cheap compared to every other B&B we’ve ever stayed in, which numbers close to twenty. An anonymous room in a chain hotel by the freeway would not have been less expensive.)
The next day, after a sensible breakfast of oatmeal, yogurt, and dry toast, we visited the National Quilt Museum for which the town is gaining international recognition. Quilting, I’ve come to learn, is an art form, calling for as much craft and skill as every other type of creative expression. Let me just say this, if you ever find yourself within 100 miles of Paducah, Kentucky, change your plans and steer yourself to see this museum. The work is astonishing.
It was also handy for keeping my mother distracted while part two of her surprise weekend was organized. My brother, his wife, and their two boys, arrived from rural Missouri to surprise her as well as she walked out of the museum. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, there were smiles all around, and I was handing out gold dollars to my nephews.
The boys, being boys, needed to be fed, so we jumped into our cars and drove to a Thai/Asian restaurant. My two little nephews (ages 7 and 2) have done more international traveling than I, so a Thai lunch was not a problem for them. I had a noodle arrangement with chicken, but I also had my first seaweed salad ever. (I had thought that I might have eaten seaweed before, but I’m sure I would have remembered given the haste the salad made to get through my digestive system.)
After lunch the boys just happened to spy an indoor playground a few doors down from the restaurant, and we spent the remainder of the afternoon there as they frolicked about the jumping stations, the climbing stations, the yelling and hollering stations, and the arcade games. I think Grandma enjoyed her birthday there nonetheless.
When we thought the boys had had enuf fun, we packed ourselves in the cars and drove back to my mother’s place where — surprise! — cakes and presents were waiting. Thus we spent the evening visiting and nibbling.
Knowing we had a long drive ahead of us, we said good-bye to everyone and excused ourselves at about 8:00 p.m. to return to our B&B. We fell into our king-sized bed and were lulled to sleep by the barges on the Ohio River two blocks away, coupling with loud clangs.
By 6:00 a.m. we were back on the road home, reversing the order of our trek, but still spending only about twenty seconds in Illinois. On the last leg we passed, it must be said, within six miles of Roundrock, but we did not detour to visit. When we got home late that afternoon, having been in four states by then, Flike and Queequeg were overjoyed to see us. (They were in the loving care of #2 Son while we were away.) We took them for a walk around the neighborhood and then began unpacking our things to return to our mundane lives.
No, I didn’t get to visit any of the old boyhood haunts: my grandparents’ farm, the lake, the many tourist traps that had so fascinated me as a kid, the town of Benton where I practically grew up it seemed. But those remain allures to bring me back.
Missouri calendar:
- American woodcocks begin courtship in northern Missouri; at dusk, listen for “peenting” in brushy fields.







