Mapping out my journeys, whether spiritual or physical, is a cultivated habit. A bit of organization helps me to plan my days. A few years ago, I purchased a book for my husband about Kentucky byways and we travel a few back roads, gleaning the history of the people groups who ventured to walk the land.
Kentucky roads meander through the bluegrass. If you’re in a giddy up mood all your hurry won’t get you there faster. Best to let the beauty of the rolling hills, startling knobs, and weeping limestone cliffs fill your soul.
We’ve stayed in Western Kentucky, so I could wander slowly through the National Quilt Museum in Paducah and watch the river’s lazy crawl south. The western lands are washed by rivers. Boggy, water saturated, the bayous hide fish, birds, and the treasure of tales.
To the east where my foremothers lived above the coal deposits, the Appalachian range was ground to a fraction of its creation. Spires still lift their craggy heads heavenward amid shadowed hollers and tumbling waterfalls.
Kentucky draws visitors to explore. And, while I love to explore a landscape, I love my heart-companion on my saunter through life. My beloved husband holds my hand on our adventures. Is it to keep us steady, for our gray hairs outnumber our brown or gold locks? Or perhaps to clip my impulsive thoughts?
We are blessed to be together.
It is a gift that we didn’t expect.