A Valley View of Nature

A Valley View of Nature

  The air is cold because the wind chill enjoys to run up and down your spine. This does not stop the tranquility of the aroma of cold wet dirt and grass surrounded by the oak, birch, and pine trees. Kentucky’s soil seems to be quite muddy around the transition from winter to spring. It reminds me much of my hometown in Wheeling, West Virginia, although the mountain state tends to have more snow and cold spells than Lexington. The ecology is fairly similar, though the flatter ground of the supposable horse capital of the world frightens the woodland critters elsewhere, with the addition of a metropolitan influx of over 300,000 inhabitants. 

Becoming a new resident in a larger city is quite the challenge because there would be new people, new buildings, new streets; coincidentally, new everything. Finding a community that would reflectively relate to my own benefit was difficult, because in larger areas such as Lexington, there is a vast array of communities. However, most of these communities are building blocks of social relationships, and its not that I discourage the idea of social relationships. I rather find socializing not a strong suit of a timid person who hermits them self into a shell as a turtle. Including the fact that there is a large population in the city, the multitude of people cause straining anxious tendencies where there is no motivation to seek social communities.

Obviously society is quite a fear I have had for some time. Many moments when I cannot comprehend school or society, I need peace, I need serenity. For many miles I have traveled just to have time to myself and have searched for places just to have this maintenance. However, when there is an explosion of not being able to handle self, I need the beautiful scene of nature to clear all thoughts. 

When I first arrived to call Lexington another residence, I knew I could not handle being cooped up in a single room, not knowing anyone; so I drove in my car. I have wasted hundreds of gallons of gas to unguided destinations, and frankly I have found many enjoyable roads that are able to help retain sanity. One road in particular helped me find one of my favorite places that is only about 16 miles away from the University of Kentucky. The road is known as Tates Creek Road, yet it is symbolized as Route 1974 South. If one travels on this stretch of road, you see the occasional mallinization of plazas that are very well known to suburban areas. The further up you travel you begin to see unimaginative beauty. This beauty is the rural outskirts that are very helpful towards a cities production. Farmers tend to live in the rural areas, yet here, you see far too many higher class homes and mansions instead of silos and barns. There are a few horse farms, cattle farms, chicken coops, and even a vineyard called Talon Vineyard. Though there are still way too many higher class looking developments than there are farms on this road. The further up you go, you will begin to see a trailer park adjacent to some middle class and lower income homes. Seeing the reality of my high school human geography class further puts me into a cynical mood, assuming that city developments are where they should.

Once the stratified predisposition of homes are passed, Route 1974 South turns into a left turn, and not too much further there is a road that guides you to Nicholasville. To get to the destination, you want to stay straight. It is quite a few forks in the road, yet the road turns to Route 169 South. From then on you continue less than three miles, and find a very windy road down a mountain slope. The windiness and the dynamite destroyed Appalachian mountains remind me of the roads of West Virginia and allude me to believe I am home. 

At the bottom of the mountain, you begin to see lights flashing signaling drivers to slow down and stop. The reason why they stop is because they are about to encounter the Kentucky River. However, there is no bridge, there is only a ferry to pass. The Valley View Ferry is the oldest running business in Kentucky, and is the oldest running ferry in all of the United States, existing since 1785. The history of the valley can still be seen in a few sites around the river. There are four large cemented pillars that extend out of the river where an old rail road bridge used to stand. However, much of the history has deteriorated because of commercialized communities. Not many cows are used for milk, not many blacksmiths are needed for smaller communities, and not many people churn butter any more. There is still a strong value to preserve these histories in words rather than actions like in the brochures you can receive from the ferry ride.

Besides the fact that the rural life is not as strong as it once had been, the nature that surrounds this valley is simply breath taking. Many birch trees stay very close to the river to retain water. Those away from the river have developed a white exterior coat, which give these birch trees unique characteristics. On some occasions you will find murders of crows in the sky; I assume they are searching for souls, but these are only myths. Mallards come by every now and then, and a few patrons tend to stop by and take a few pictures, indicating that the wild life in Kentucky might be scarce. I know in West Virginia we cannot get rid of the darn mallards. There is a striking difference of the amount of wildlife that is seen between West Virginia and Kentucky, but I can only propose it is because of the larger cities. The Kentucky River is a greenish brown and very muddy. I would not advise one to drink or swim in this water. The North side of the river is known as Donaldson Park, which contains a few benches, picnic tables, a custodial shed for lawn work, unpicked dog excrement, a steel pillar standing approximately seven to eight feet that may have historical connections (but looks like it has no business being there), and there is a wonderful fresh bathroom scented port-o-potty. There are a few houses on the North side of the river which includes a sheriffs house and a few others homes. On the South side of the river there is a beautiful sun-yellow two-story New England style home (without a chimney) containing a naked property and a warehouse in the distance. Essentially seeing all of this and being able to sit and occasionally play guitar, play ukelele, or ponder thoughts, this is an ideal place for tranquility; thusly a desire to lay in dirt or grass and allow the wind to carry your plights and battle with your gravitational pull. 

The Ferry is what signifies the jaunt. You can either watch it or ride it. I had the opportunity to speak with two of the workers on an occasion. One of the workers operates the ship and will give him the pseudonym, Captain Baha. The other worker basically directs the vehicles on the ship to make sure of the safety and capacity, whom I will give the pseudonym as Mr. Jeffy. 

Mr. Jeffy informed me that he was an ex-convict, and his previous incarceration facility helped gain him this job. His job is very simple: He stands on the ship, walks towards the loading dock, ties a very strong rope to some anchors cemented to the sloped road, and makes sure there is enough capacity for vehicles. He occasionally will see some usual ferry riders as he picks up conversations with a few patrons. Typically only three cars at a time, yet I have seen a gang of motorcycles, three cars and three motorcycles, and other different ways to travel across this pass, including strong willed bicyclists. Mr. Jeffy brought to my attention, that in order for him to have this job, he had to attend a class in Tennessee for basically boat safety. He was rather intimidating, but once you got through a few questions you began to realize that he was a very smart person with a strong ambition. He knew much about the valley, but would always refer me to ask the captain to make sure he gave correct information. Mr. Jeffy answered a great deal of my questions though, and even gave me the information of what used to be the railroad bridge centuries back. Another thing he mentioned, was that the four tripod cemented pillars that keep the ferry in a straight path supported by cables, have past flood reports, which was simply intriguing. He did not have one complaint about his work as he wore many layers of clothing, a light brown Cahartt jacket, dark shaded sunglasses, a black toboggan, black gloves, and brown work boots in forty degree weather.  

Captain Baha was a very straight forward answerer. He knew his valley history quite fluently, and had been serving the John Craig (the name of the ferry and founding owner) for eight years. He mentioned that he had to have a masters in a coast guard related program, which allowed him to operate the ferry. Ironically, he was never enlisted in the guard, yet I believe he had the capabilities of operating the wide range of operations that it takes to run the John Craig. Captain Baha spoke about the original Craig family being the owners of the ferry and many parts of the surrounding land. Eventually, the family sold the land and ferry to the Howard family. He stated that back in the 1980’s it used to be two dollars in order to ride the ferry, but since 1991 the ferry has been entirely free after the purchase of the ferry from the Fayette, Jessamine, and Madison county governments. He also introduced to me unfamiliar Kentucky history, that Kentucky used to be Virginia before it became a state. I had never known this, and the John Craig actually supports two state flags on top of the captains operation unit which sit in front of the United States flag and a Prisoner of War flag. Inside the Captain’s corners was a heated room, many laminated safety posters hanging up, a radio playing contemporary country tunes, control panels, and a log to write down the license plates and number of people inside the car for trafficking information for bureaucratic reasons.

After a few questions, and a few trips up and down the Kentucky River, Mr. Jeffy took me to the engine because I had earlier mentioned a question about it. He stated the ferry runs on a tractor mower diesel engine which propels the black stern wheel. When he opened up the silver metal door that looked like any other breaker box door, only bigger, there was this large room underneath the captain, which had mechanical parts that I could not fathom to cooperatively comprehend. The engine was enormous, and could not fit inside a regular car. The room could hold approximately ten people, but it was not meant for such a big crowd.  

Eventually, as I began to run out of questions, Captain Baha handed me a brochure about the Valley View Ferry. It was very courteous of them to give me a brief history and brief tour of the ferry. I shook each of their hands at least three to four times. My presence on the ferry began to feel unwelcome when I could not come up with good questions, but they assured me I was welcomed back. The two of them may not be used to such company, but I felt I had gathered enough information. I would then leave the John Craig, and go back to the grass land and collect my thoughts.

Again, the topic of society arose, specially after hearing about and seeing the captain write down information in his log book. I then would realize that I was not so far away from society. One of the fears of my life. Yet, I knew from previous experiences of this scene that I found it different than city life. People treat each other differently. Around busy hours, specifically around five in the evening, you may see many cars piling up to ride the ferry to go towards their destinations. Occasionally people will come out of their cars and hold conversations with people as they wait, or they will go out to the small park and watch the ferry as they await their turn. 

I saw something entirely different with peoples attitudes in how they look at others.  They primarily do not look at you in ignorance or disgust but rather as concerned or intrigued. A time when I was playing guitar, there were coincidentally Mallards by the river, whom I imagined they enjoyed my music, but people saw these Mallards and were intrigued by the scenery and would stop and just watch the ferry or waste time doing what ever they so pleased. I knew then I was not the only one who wanted natural environments to surround me, but there were indeed others who shared my passion. It is rather a tourist ideal, yet not all of us tour, many of us homo Sapiens are stationary, so we seek the environment that surrounds our habitat. We need not to communicate with another, rather the way we communicated was through what was naturally surrounding us. As I think further, I knew this was a perfect place for me, because the wind and dirt is what I will eventually become, and knew I was home.