I was on a mission. After watching the video below, I asked, Bucky, my most wonderful husband and RV driver. if we could go to Beattyville, KY. I needed to see Beattyville with my own eyes. Today, 1,100 miles from our home in Ripton, VT, we saw Beattyville first hand. Beattyville is not an easy place to reach. Watch this short clip before I describe our experience.
We climbed hills, dropped into valleys and negotiated hairpin turns not meant for an RV and trailer. Bucky never whimpered while fulfilling my wish to see Beattyville. Each mountain settlement that we drove through provided a collage of images and contradictions. I struggled with defining poverty and wealth when seeing mobile homes existing comfortably beside grand homes. I fought with my own stereotypical belief that a person's home in some way defined them. I wanted to be confronted with an undeniable view of poverty, not to be left wondering. But what I saw from my passenger window left me confused.
every KY home has a porch and chairs for sitting
new modern homes existing near mobile homes
signs of the past
Regardless of what road we traveled or what town we were in there was one constant, the church. In this rugged landscape, it appeared even the hardiest of souls might need the support of a higher being. Some churches were more elaborate than others. We saw no church cemeteries, but instead, family cemeteries, many far removed from the home sites. It was very personal and intimate and at times I felt like an intruder into a culture I had very little knowledge of.
Bucky and I were stunned when after hours of traveling through the hills in search of Beattyville, we passed the same home we had seen earlier. It was so distinctive there was no mistaking it. We had driven in a circle, our path dictated by the landscape.
It's beauty demanded two viewings!
As if pulled by the current of the swollen Kentucky River, we had arrived,
I looked for the empty store windows and unpainted buildings that would be my proof, but what I saw were busy shops and a Main Street that my own hometown could emulate.
It's said that seeing is believing. My perception of Beattyville was initially formed by the above video. Having now seen Beattyville, I'm unsure. Is poverty hidden? Did the media sway me? I just don't know. What I do know is, if I posted only photos of dilapidated houses and junk filled yards you would form a very different impression of KY than the one I intended. My hope is to provide an unbiased account of what we've seen during out travels.
Winding through the rolling farm land of Pennsylvania had me wondering why my mother, a Pennsylvania native, would choose to leave this state to settle and raise her family in Vermont. The grass smelled fresh and the soft green of new leaves hung from the trees. It was a welcomed sight after the late snow of our Vermont winter. We hadn't intended to end up in Maryland, but found ourselves traveling along her northern border west to West Virginia. It was an unexpected pleasure with "red buds" jumping from the green hillsides in a burst of purple. We first saw this wild tree traveling in Virginia. I was overwhelmed with its beauty and called my nephew, a University of Virginia grad, to learn its name. He responded without hesitation,"we just call it red bud". So red bud it is. Maryland tried to out due Pennsylvania with her immaculately maintained farms. Many of which had farmhouses layered with first, second and third story porches, standing as they had for a century or more. My immediate thought when seeing this was the amount of upkeep required on the ornate railings and porch posts.
Not all were well cared for.
I've never been in West Virginia. My husband, Bucky, hunted deer on a ranch in Albright, WV many years ago. I remember him hunting there and me at home with four lively children. There were a lot of hunting trips back then, now, looking out my window at the hills and "hollers" I understand a little better. What a wonderful world in which to escape.
Describing West Virginia as having steep hills and deep valleys, is an understatement. Combine these with the curves needed to negotiate the ups and downs and it makes for a thrilling ride. Near lunch time we randomly picked an exit off the highway to see what a town in the "holler" would be like. The exit we chose took us along the Elk River and into the town of Gassaway. Its strange name was derived from a man named Henry Gassaway Davis. You tell me why they didn't name their town Davis?? Gassaway was once a lively railroad town, but now seems quiet, but far from dead. We spent time parked outside of town eating lunch while watching a Killdeer lure us away from her nest, first issuing loud chirps then alternately fanning her tail and dragging her wings in desperation. Our dog watched with delight, wishing her leash were longer.
In Gassaway's downtown, we watched as a man drove a forklift moving merchandise around what seemed to be a building supply store. Oddly, one whole section of the building appeared to have been destroyed. I wanted to run over and ask the machine operator what had happened.
Looking back at Gassaway from the ballfield outside of town.
We followed the Elk River until we reached Charleston, W Virginia's capital. Here the Elk joins the Kanawha River and later the Ohio. We learned that Elk River water is so clean it provides the drinking water for not only Charleston, but most of the towns in the Elk River Basin.
Presently, we're camped in Louisa, Kentucky and plan to visit Beattyville, KY said to be the poorest town in America.....I guess we'll find out.
I'm haunted by lists. At the least opportune times I think of items to add to these lists. I'm now at the point of keeping paper and pen on my bedside table. My best thoughts occur while at rest or walking our dog, Fisher. I now carry paper and pencil in my parka pocket. As Fisher and I head up our dirt road surrounded by forest, the dog has become accustomed to my abrupt stops. Putting pencil to paper against the nearest tree trunk, another item is added to the list. It's my way of preparing and organizing for an upcoming event. Over the years, my lists have been varied and endless. Planning for our son's wedding required a legal pad of lists. The sale of my parents' home was another forest lost. Now, it's planning for our RV departure within a few days. One current list is solely devoted to household needs. Life in our small rolling home requires everything needed in our land locked abode. It would be much easier if the RV could remain stocked year round, but Ripton's industrious field mice prevent this. Any paper products left behind, are shredded and become pillow top mouse mattresses. Several spring cleanings of the RV have revealed naked mouselings snuggled within these soft paper beds. Granola bars, a staple while traveling, when left over the winter, quickly become a mouse banquet. After this sugary meal, the silverware drawer becomes a mouse playground. I visualize tiny mouse feet scurrying across the knife blade balance beam while others enjoy the fork tined jungle gym. Others race over the curved spoon half pipe, dropping evidence of their total glee in what we have so generously provided. To avoid mouse over stimulation, I strip the Jayco Greyhawk bare, placing the RV items in plastic tubs stored in the cellar......ewww, need to add plastic tubs to the Walmart list. The clothing list is often the most difficult for me. Did I actually think there'd be an opportunity to wear the silver heels or that sassy, black, chiffon blouse I packed last trip? My clothing list was super complex in 2015. We traveled through ice, snow, into sun and desert heat only to drive back into late Montana snow. Along the way, we attended our daughter's wedding in NM. Not knowing if April in NM would mean dressing for snow or for sunny and 80, I packed suitable attire for both. As it turned out, my accessorized blue jumpsuit fit the bill. Fortunately, I was able to ignore my family's comments that I looked like either a appliance repair man, auto mechanic or astronaut in training. If I looked half as good as"Rosie the riveter", I was fine with it! Fourteen days after leaving the heat of Texas, we were back in snow hunting bear on Kodiak Island. No need for the jumpsuit now, but the two down parkas I so thoughtfully packed, came in mighty handy. I tend to be a "better safe than sorry" style packer. This can sometimes make it hard to find things inside our rolling home, but I've realized that cutting clothing corners can lead to regret. Yet, thinking back......one of my favorite jackets was a result of under packing and shivering in the Alaska summer air. Alaska warm is not my warm. Voila! a black, fleece lined, Alaska Summit jacket purchased in haste at Walmart ! I've seen the exact coat worn by folks of all shapes, sizes and gender from Kotzebue to Anchorage with the highest concentration of wearer seen in Ted Stevens International Airport! The world is full off under packers! This coat has made every trip to Alaska since 2008!
People ask, "do you have an itinerary"? You would think someone dependent on lists would, but no, we don't. In the evening, sitting at the RV dinette with my husband Bucky, we look at the map and decide where to head in the morning. The outdoor lighting of the Walmart parking lot helps illuminate the atlas. However, that being said, there is a focus for the first half of this trip. For those whose care to look, the following gives a hint.
