I remember driving down two-lane highways late at night in Wyoming. The dark lit only by the stars and an occasional moon. Now and then there was a light in the distance, a big flood light illuminating some ranch compound. Mostly though, it was dark…and quiet. Floating down the river at night is like that.

It was raining in Paducah so we sat inside for breakfast for once. We had planned on going to the National Quilt Museum there, so we donned rain coats, checked ourselves out/off the ship, and caught a golf cart shuttle up to the bus. Arriving at the museum we managed to absorb a quart or two of rainwater as we trudged the 100 yards from the curb to the door.

The museum prides itself on its collection of modern quilts. Most were ornate and complex, the patterns intricate for the sake of intricacy. They were like a drum solo, more a matter of showing off than being purposeful.  One small gallery had a collection of older quilts, exhibits from contests held by the Kansas City Star. From the 1930’s and 40’s, they were intended to be used. My favorite was hanging out from the wall. The backing was made from flour sacks, the labels still evident.

We tried to soak up as much rain as possible as we waited for the bus to return. Several gallons later we climbed aboard and decided to return to the boat, opting to save the Moonshine Museum for another trip.

We got a hot drink and shared a hamburger before heading to the cabin to change into dry clothes. Once dried and rested, we split up. Lydia went to the small theater (to watch an oldie: The Glenn Miller Story) and I hung around for a bit before heading for the top deck to listen to a calliope concert while we left port for an evening cruise up the Ohio. The sun had come out and it was very pleasant up top. The “calliopist” ran his fingers up and down the scales then began with a medley of Stephen Foster songs. The steam jetted out of the whistles as they were played. The music echoed off the bluff above the town. The ambiance of the music coupled with the paddles slowly pushing us out into the stream was iconic. It was also loud beyond belief (think standing by the speakers at an Iron Butterfly concert). It was a short presentation, which was perhaps best, or my hearing loss would have been total.

We met at the café and followed our established pattern: dinner, the show in the Grand Saloon, and river watching on the porch.

The dry weather held through the evening and we sat for a few hours as we made way under bridges and past barges tethered for the night. In the dark other passengers came to the rail, watched, then wandered away. We approached a set of locks and shuddered to a stop. We waited, watching for down stream traffic to emerge from the lock. We watched some more. It grew late. We returned to our cabin. Later we received an announcement followed shortly by a letter from the captain that repairs to the lock were behind schedule. We were turning about to return to Paducah.

It didn’t matter.

 

Blessings

 

 

 

 

  

The Road