A series of goodbyes: Western Kentucky

Smiling for the camera

When the Cumberland Basin closes in, I liked to look northwest and roam to where the fields are expansive, people are friendly and surprises myriad.

The highway climbs steadily for 30 miles from Nashville to Clarksville. By the time Fort Campbell rises on its northern border, the land has flattened into western Kentucky’s rolling hills interrupted by miles of fertile farm fields. Much of what I think of as western Kentucky isn’t really western Kentucky. Technically western Kentucky begins west of the Tennessee River – Paducah, Murray and Mayfield all qualify, but not Hopkinsville or Bowling Green or Mammoth Cave National Park. For my purposes, we’re talking south of Elizabethtown and everything west of Interstate 65.

It has been a common escape for the past 12 years, a place packed with secrets and worthy day trips. I have driven most of the Kentucky parkways through the region, spent time in towns from Bowling Green to Owensboro to Mayfield, visited historic sites that deserve wider publicity (Audubon State Park in Henderson). My parents came up for a mid-week trip, with a drive up to the casino in Metropolis as our destination. That gave me the chance to string together a few old favorites in western Kentucky. As we crossed the wide, modern span above Barkley Lake, the reservoir on the Cumberland River, I remembered my first visit, when we crossed a narrow, rusted span that had seen better days. The new bridge soared and gave barges ample space to cut beneath.

Back in 2011, the animals were hard to see on a blistering, humid afternoon. The sun sent the bison into the prairie’s interior, where they stood in and around an ephemeral lake, while we managed to spot a pair of elk standing in the trees.

This time, there were no bison anywhere, a first that threatened to derail the stop. A lone female elk grazed near the start of the loop. Without bison, the trip would be wasted. How could I promise North America’s largest mammal and not deliver? Then we ran into the elk, more elk than I thought possible in this fence space. Whether the full LBL herd or close, almost three dozen elk grazed in a meadow just past the creek that cuts through the prairie. They were wary, as elk always are – these usually hide in the trees, but this time they eyed us from a few feet away. In observing, the difference elk, from teeth to fur to rumps. The bulls lounged nearby, with varying lengths of antler growth This was magnificent.

Still, we needed bison. Fortunately, LBL has a less-publicized – and free - southern bison range, where another herd roamed the plains below steep, tree-capped foothills. Even this was a letdown, as we could only spot a few bulls seated in the grass around a corral. I decided we should press on, and drove the rest of the LBL trace, giving my parents views of the canal linking the two rivers and the vast industrial apparatus right outside the peninsula preserved for nature and recreation. Within a half-hour, we crossed into Illinois to visit Metropolis. We only spent an hour at the casino, the closest to Nashville. People were generally pretty friendly.

The doors were closed in March.

Aside from the Superman statue and some weathered tourist attractions, there was not much life in the old rivertown. The casino had just reopened after 30 days, the floodwaters forcing it to shut down. Nearby Fort Massac State Park was still covered with water, its picnic tables stacked on high ground. Metropolis was healthier than Cairo, but that isn’t a high bar. In fairness, visiting Ohio River towns on bluster, overcast days never brings out their best – the tanned river waters have a tendency to make everything else look drab. It wasn’t as if I saw the city decked out for its Superman celebration or the Fort Massac Encampment around the colonial-era replica fort at Illinois’ first state park.

Superman isn’t the only towering draw in Metropolis. Near the interstate looms the giant fiberglass mascot of the few remaining Big John grocery stores, a chain local to southern Illinois. Seeing the newly renovated statue made me wonder which giant gets photographed more. After an hour and $40 in losses that never surged more than $15 ahead; I begged off and wandered to the car for a nap. My original intent was to wander the riverfront, but the waters were too high.

Metropolis lies just a few minutes north of Paducah, where I have spent enough time not to feel totally lost. I wanted a last stop in Paducah, where I had nothing but good times and pleasant memories.

Downtown Paducah was a little more fortified than usual. The gates on the floodwall were closed, from the pedestrian passages to the wide doors where cans drive down to the riverfront boat launch. Unable to see I imagined how high the waters reached around Paducah. If Metropolis flooded, Paducah probably came close.

For lunch, I planned on Shandies. The restaurant shared a name that was part of a family joke, and it Indian-influenced comfort food spiced up a dreary afternoon. Only a few tables were occupied, much like my first lunch here a lifetime ago, but we had arrived between lunch and dinner, so Shandies’ business seemed likely to pick up. The interior was beautiful and stately, a conversation piece ready for any table. There were few people about on this Thursday. Friendly as it might be in Western Kentucky, I sometimes like visiting the region on off-days, when you can wander dozens of blocks and see only a handful of people.

Paducah has healthy rows of century-old houses and more weathered rows, but its quirks and draws help it overcome the same struggles endemic across small-town America, the same felt across the river in Metropolis. Immediately I noticed a difference in downtown Paducah. It felt more compact, less open. That guarded feel came from the floodwall beautified by paintings that depict Paducah’s history. Along the wall, the passageways were shut with metal doors to prevent the flooding rains from inundating downtown Paducah. Last Memorial Day, I walked 20 feet below the floodwall near the Tennessee’s mouth.

I spared my parents the cold walk along the floodwall, one I had done on warm and cold days. The river town had a history that spanned Indian tribes to William Clark founding a settlement to its pivotal role in atomic energy. A recreation of Clark’s market was surrounding by cobblestone blocks. If that wasn’t enough, the massive quilt museum loomed further down the floodwall.

Paducah might only have 25,000 people, but it has days of places worth visiting. The only drawback from Paducah is the return trip always feels double the drive up. But we got a morning of elk, a brief peak at bison and a slice of the eclectic world northwest of Nashville.

Floodwall on a sunnier day.