My parents brought me a book titled, and I am not even kidding you, Ghosts of I-80. Go ahead, tell me how jealous you are.
People, I have to tell you that, almost as soon as I got home and googled some of the places I drove through yesterday, I wanted to turn right around and go back there today. We scooted up Whites Creek Pike and turned just past the Lowes in Springfield. We had to jog a little, but we ended up on Main, which dumped us onto 41 by the feed store. We then cut over to Adams, which, of course, is spooky in itself.
We headed to Port Royal, being sure to take Port Royal Road, which, from the other direction is called the old Springfield-Clarksville Road. This is one of those roads that is narrow and winding and the trees grow right at the edge of it and canopy over the top in such a way that you have to keep taking your sunglasses on and off. That, obviously, dumps you into Port Royal, where we had a lovely walk. I still need to figure out if that building right by the bridge is maybe some kind of park museum or something, but that will mean coming without the dog.
Then we looped back over to Adams, where I got a pop and went to the bathroom in the little store/gas station. Then we went back to Cedar Hill, which, until yesterday, I didn’t realize was more than a wide spot in the road. But it has that cool church and actually is a tiny town. South of town, we ended up on the Old Washington road, which, I later learned, takes you right by Wessyngton, which was, at one point, the largest tobacco plantation in the country, owned by cousins of George Washington.
I knew Wessyngton was vaguely someplace nearby, but I didn’t know that was it.
So, of course, I apparently missed some awesome graveyards. And apparently there were/are three big Washington homes. Wessyngton (which is the subject of a book I’ve heard tons of good things about), Washington Hall, and Glen Raven. I see Glen Raven road on the map, but completely missed the house. And supposedly there’s a haunted bridge between Wessynton and where Washington Hall was. I missed that, too.
Anyway, we cut over to Maxey Road and then to Old Clarksville Pike and headed on home, where the Catholics scared the shit out of me. We came around that slight curve and there were flashing lights and traffic cones in the road and I thought, “Oh, no! Something terrible has happened at the church!”
But they were just having a barbecue, complete with emergency management people to control traffic.
I can’t even say I wasn’t fairly warned, because I’d been seeing the signs for ages, but I still freaked a little.
Anyway, it was a beautiful drive. I honestly can’t believe I get to live in a place with such history. Not that the Midwest didn’t have history. We just ignored it if it went too far back.