Knobs of Kentucky

On a melancholy February afternoon, I embarked on a sojourn through the knobs of Kentucky, meandering along the back roads that whisper of bygone eras.

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“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” the poet Tennyson famously remarked. Yet as one ponders the poignant words of Edna St. Vincent Millay – “They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don’t think it’s possible for you to miss me as much as I’m missing you right now” – one cannot help but wonder if the depth of longing can ever be mutual when the object of one’s affection is the rugged, rolling landscape of the Bluegrass State itself.

On a melancholy February afternoon, I embarked on a sojourn through the knobs of Kentucky, meandering along the back roads that whisper of bygone eras. The overcast skies seemed to mirror the wistful atmosphere, as I rolled down the windows to invite the crisp air in, the heaters blaring in defiance of winter’s chill. It was a journey steeped in nostalgia, yet rife with discoveries that unveiled Kentucky’s rich tapestry of history.

My quest began in Lexington, where I awaited the Valley View Ferry that never arrived, its passage across the Kentucky River thwarted by high waters. Instead, I admired the remnants of the Richmond, Nicholasville, Irvine & Beattyville Railroad bridge, a testament to the Riney-B, a railroad line that once connected Versailles to Irvine, and later extended to Beattyville, Airedale, and even Frankfort, its tracks spanning some 110 miles in its prime.

Undeterred, I turned my compass southward, happening upon the old general store at Gravel Switch along the Louisville & Nashville Lebanon Branch. This unassuming hamlet’s name harks back to a railroad spur that split from the main line, its cars hauling gravel to build the very beds upon which the tracks were laid, a endeavor that lasted from 1866 to 1872.

It was at the double bend of Kentucky Route 243 that I encountered Shaheen’s Store, a edifice with a rich heritage. Built circa 1908 by George Shaheen, an immigrant from Syria to Lebanon, the store’s front half served as a general mercantile, while his wife Amelia operated a millinery shop on the third floor, a hand-operated elevator connecting the three levels and basement.

As I followed the winding course of the Big South Fork, the rugged terrain seemed to embrace me, the river’s curves hugging the knobs and valleys with a possessive tenderness. Yet, this idyllic scene was punctuated by a sense of desolation, for few homes and businesses dotted this remote expanse. Abandoned buildings stood as silent sentinels, their foreclosed and forgotten states a haunting reminder of the impermanence of human endeavors.

The darkening skies urged me northward, back towards Lexington, but not before I chanced upon the abandoned Fisher-Byington House in Danville, its antebellum splendor nearly obscured by the encroaching trailer homes and looming hardwoods just south of downtown. Constructed circa 1845 by Robert Russel, Jr., this stately manor bore the names of its more prominent residents, a living memory of a bygone era.

As I bid farewell to the winding roads and hidden gems of Kentucky, a profound longing took root within me – a yearning to return, to explore further, to unearth the stories that lie buried beneath the surface of this beloved state. For Kentucky, with its rich history and rugged beauty, has a way of capturing the heart, leaving one forever torn between the joy of having loved and the ache of having lost, if only for a fleeting moment.

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