I'm posting my article for the newspaper about the trip to Memphis. But I wanted to add a couple little side notes: Civil War history becomes obvious when travelling through Tennessee. Only Virginia hosted more battle sites during the course of the war. Murfreeboro, Collierville and the granddaddy of all battles, Shiloh, appeared on road signs as we travelled southwest through Tennessee. It was sobering.

On a lighter note, there's always at least one town in every state that wins the prize for its absurdity. In Tennessee it's Bucksnot. I kid you not, Bucksnot, Tennessee is a real place. Love it!

A Thousand Words

They say a picture paints a thousand words, but since I have no pictures you’ll have to do with a thousand words. A writer paints pictures with words, so sit back, relax and close your eyes while I paint you a picture of a spur of the moment trip to Memphis, Tennessee. If you’re actually closing your eyes, you’ve missed the joke.

With a day’s notice, I was asked to help drive to Memphis, where I would then turn around and fly back to Buffalo. My first inclination was to say no, but when I thought about it, what a great opportunity to drive through the hills of Kentucky and Tennessee and see the fall colors. With all expenses paid, how could I say no?

Years ago I lived in Columbus, Ohio, and this presented an opportunity to drive through my old stomping grounds as well. Now, Ohio, for the most part, is a pretty boring state. There are parts of southeastern and southern Ohio that are quite pretty with some good sized rolling hills. But, by and large, the state is flat. Ohioans are great travelers. There’s hardly a state in the United States that you don’t see an Ohio license plate. It’s because their state is boring. They travel.

However, I was on the lookout for interesting sites to see. Somewhere past Columbus and the familiar street named exits, past the briefest glimpse of German Village, a very ethnic neighborhood in the heart of Columbus with brick and cobblestone streets where we used to sing, “In heaven there is no beer…” at the popular Schmidt’s Sausage House, beyond the city suburbs, we passed flat fields of corn, soybeans and what I thought might be flax and my sister thought rye. There’s a beauty in a long expanse of cropland, some harvested, some waiting for the large combines to come gather the bounty. It fed my soul to contemplate the lifestyle and hard work it takes to feed the world.

That being said, I was happy to leave Ohio behind and enter the rolling hills of Kentucky. Never having been to Kentucky, I was surprised at just how long it takes to drive from Covington to Bowling Green and then on into Tennessee. Kentucky is known as the Bluegrass State. I did not see a single blade of blue grass. Nor did I see the fabulous fall colors I thought I would. Unlike New York, Pennsylvania, and even boring Ohio, the leaves in Kentucky seem to have already reached their peak and fallen to the ground. There are a lot of oaks in cloaks of brown, and a fair number of evergreens, but any trees that would normally display yellows, oranges or reds, seem to have faded into an apathy of brown and beige.

In the meantime, we have driven past a number of places I would love to have stopped and explored. Columbus, being my home in the 70s, beckons me back. I no longer recognized the skyline and there are places I’d like to revisit. Cincinnati looked intriguing, that Queen City on the Ohio River. It conjures images of riverboats and gamblers. Kentucky, with Lexington and the Kentucky Derby, promises treats like Mammoth Cave, a town called Horse Cave and Bowling Green.

I’m travelling with my sister and three Yorkshire Terriers. The dogs insist on sleeping either on a lap or across the shoulders. You haven’t lived until you’ve ridden 650 miles with a Yorkie stole around your neck.

After a night of restless sleep just south of Nashville, we set out for a three and a half hour drive to Memphis. We thought we were making good time, and I wanted to stop for a picture of Graceland. I’m not particularly enamored with Elvis, but after all, it IS the closest thing we have to a Mecca in America. Traffic through Memphis was a breeze until we were about two miles from our turn onto I-55. All lanes blocked the sign said. After 25 minutes in gridlock, we decided we no longer had time for a visit to Graceland, so after maneuvering our way to an exit lane, we proceeded directly to Memphis International. Such a shame. Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to come this way again, who knows.