Yesterday my dad and I drove down to the Kentucky River. It was a gorgeous drive on country roads that snake through horse and tobacco farms. Dad was born and raised in Lexington, and he is no slouch when it comes to the history of the area. He always makes for a great tour guide. When we reached the river, we drove onto a rustic, old three-car ferry (this isn’t the original ferry, but the operation dates back to 1785) that transported us across to Madison County. Dad recalled one time when he and my mom came down to the river and stretched out on its banks on a blanket to watch a lunar eclipse. He has eighty-six years worth of memories of places like this. It is a treat to hear him tell the stories.
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