The Morgantowner: Bracken County, Kentucky

I know- I hardly ever seem to be home anymore. I'm still visiting one county monthly, only this July and August I made up for the trips I missed in January and February. I'll be off again next week, because it's the only time I can go in September before the Holidays and my "Beach Boys- Light and Dark" class which starts mid-September.

The wisdom to how I do this became apparent on this trip when I was near Athens, Ohio at lunchtime and just halfway to Augusta, the big-using the term loosely- town in Bracken County. I was in Athens in March of 2014, and I remembered yesterday that the Union Street Diner was a good place to eat. I found it without going too far out of my way. It's all about pathways and making places familiar.

Augusta is famous for a few things: it was one of the first places to be settled in Kentucky immediately after the American Revolution, it sits on a beautiful spot on the Ohio River, which flooded up to sixty-five feet in 1997, there was a Civil War battle here in 1862, where Confederate troops fleeing from an unsuccessful attack on Cincinnati burned much of the town, tobacco is the main cash crop, Stephen Foster often visited an uncle here (hence "My Old Kentucky Home") and, at one point in the 1970s, Rosemary, Nick and a teenaged George Clooney lived here.

I found Augusta a bit scary. There is a downtown, which seems to be open on weekends for tourists. Lots of gift shops, antique/junk stores, little precious cafés, all closed on Monday when I arrived. You have to look to find the "real" town. I had a bowl of spaghetti for dinner at a local pizza and subs place.

There are no chain hotels in the county, so I picked the B&B that lets you make a reservation online. They have, I think, twelve rooms, decorated in cute styles. I picked the "railroad room" with a sign on the wall that says "Grand Central Station" and the television sitting atop a steamer trunk. They give you a menu for breakfast and you get to order a variety of things. Food in this area comes in three flavors: sugar, butter and pork.

I didn't want to stay in someone's house in the state where several county clerks are defying the Supreme Court and not issuing marriage licenses and have to explain my life to the people who own the place over croissants and muffins at breakfast. That's why I generally prefer anonymous chain hotels.

The waterfront on the Ohio River is gorgeous, lined with big old houses and brick sidewalks. Behind that is a poor industrial town. Trailers, little nineteenth century cottages in bad shape, one IGA grocery store, one gas station. I'm sure I looked like the tourist I am in my bright yellow Ralph Lauren t-shirt today. I give the town a C+ for friendliness. I walked a lot (the weather was sunny and between 55 and 75 degrees) and said "Hi" to everyone. Some greeted me back, but some deliberately did not.

Last night, I was taking pictures of some big old houses back off the water, when a woman came out and greeted me. She was in her 70s, thin, wearing a bright orange blouse and messy blond hair. She asked where I was from, and when I complimented her blouse, she said "Well, I am a Leo." I could have guessed that she lived in Los Angeles for many years. I felt like I had run into someone from "back home." She's from Kentucky ( a few counties downstream) but insisted to her husband that they move back here after the Northridge earthquake in 1994. They have a beautiful Victorian house with a wrap-around porch in the middle of town. Not that there is much more than the middle - the town is ten blocks by five.

I traveled the road down the river to find a few historic places with little luck. I did encounter the tiny town of Foster, a huge limestone mine., and a hydro-electric plant under construction. Traveling due south for lunch, I found the county seat, Brooksville, much smaller than Augusta, and looking half-empty. Brooksville is surrounded by fields of bright yellow-green tobacco. I had lunch at Donna's, a diner across from the courthouse where everyone seemed to know everyone else. I was proud of myself for not eating at Subway, around the corner. As a reward (never reward yourself with food) I had a slice of home-made butterscotch meringue pie. Down the road from Brooksville is Germantown, on the county line, looking like some town in rural Pennsylvania.

Rosemary Clooney's old house on River Street is now a museum, and not doing well. I guess people under sixty don't remember her. Still, they had some George memorabilia as well. The woman who manages the hotel gave me and a couple, probably the only others staying overnight at our hotel, a tour this afternoon. Rosemary was stunning in her day, and still glamorous until her death in 2002. Her son is married to Debby Boone and George is her nephew. Interesting family.

Tonight, I had the buffet dinner at the hotel. They had chili, vegetable soup, pork roast, beef with noodles, meat balls, roasted boneless chicken, a salad bar, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stewed tomatoes (not seen since elementary school) and green beans, thankfully without bacon. I was joined by two busloads of visitors from First Baptist Church in Cold Spring, Kentucky. We were entertained by a small band playing show tunes and a singer reminiscent of Bill Murray on Saturday Night Live forty years ago. I didn't sit with the church people, as they had taken every seat in the main room. I got to be off in another room by myself. Meals are the times when I miss having Joe with me on these jaunts.

As usual, I felt guilty about leaving Joe and Tappuz, spending money I don't have and putting too many miles on our once-new car. But I've never had a bad time on these little trips, and I enjooyed both the long drive (and back tomorrow) and getting to know a new place.

Here are the pics: