Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.
Issue link: https://loumag.epubxp.com/i/174531
Take a Swing at Curing Breast Cancer Fuzzy is contributing $10 everytime you make a tee time and play at Covered Bridge and Champions Pointe. Join Fuzzy! Play Fuzzy Zoeller's Covered Bridge or Champions Pointe in October. Just mention Swinging For A Cure when you make your tee time. $10 will go toward Susan G. Komen of Louisville. Call and make a tee time today! (812) 246-8880 (812) 294-1800 Donations made on regular tee times and rates, not valid for outings or league play or any coupon discounted play. 36 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 10.13 Street, say nine galleries were once open on their street in Lower Town. But as the economy dried up, they even had to close their own gallery, although their B&B; thrives. (As does the neat little Etcetera cofee shop across the street.) It's unlikely new galleries will take over where artists have fed. After owners sunk fortunes into renovation, the homes are priced far beyond the reach of any starving artist. Remaining galleries struggle. Wil MacKay is an artist who with his wife Carol owns Stornoway House Gallery on Sixth Street. His is one of the few galleries open on this day. As long as other galleries fail to keep regular hours, creating a critical mass for tourism will be impossible, he says. Philip Phillips of Dixie Leather Works on Seventh Street has the kind of artisan business that can thrive in Lower Town: He makes his money primarily via Internet sales; he doesn't need street trafc to survive — although a visit to his leather manufactory is a worthwhile stop. If nothing else, Phillips, with his silver braid down his back and wide headband, is a historic relic from the 1970s, referring to himself as one of the few survivors of that era's leatherworking boom. But he's far beyond faddist. He's studied period leatherwork in museums around the country, and the handbags he makes are nearly second fddle to the historically accurate goods he creates. Tey're popular with re-enactors, and have served as props in some 40 movies, television shows and documentaries. Tey're also used in museum displays, including the Smithsonian Institute. Tere is plenty more to see in Paducah — at a minimum, I had hoped to visit the grave of John T. Scopes of "Monkey Trial" fame — but it's time to get back to Twain, so this morning we're heading out to conquer the 63 miles of Kentucky's Mississippi, setting a circuitous path toward Wicklife, which marks the confuence of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers on the Kentucky side. We do not make the logical choice and head down U.S. 60 to Wicklife. I want a look at the nation's last uranium enrichment plant on the way, and while we're at it, visit Monkey's Eyebrow, just to say we were there. Of course, you can't really get to the Paducah Gaseous Difusion Plant. People are a little touchy about letting just anyone waltz up to fssionable materials. Te plant sits in the middle of a wildlife management area posted with tranquility-jarring orange signs advising one what to do in the event of an emergency. None of the instruction seems terribly encouraging. Our choices are to run, or fnd an airtight shelter amid the wildlife. Te people of the Paducah area have more immediate worries: An economic asteroid strike. Te gaseous difusion plant is closing, and 1,100 workers will be laid of in the next year. Te average worker at this plant earns $125,000 in salary and benefts. How does a community replace these kinds of jobs? Tis would be a big deal if it happened in Louisville; I can't imagine how devastating it will be for Paducah, a city of 25,000. After our failed attempt to visit this Cold War relic, we go to Monkey's Eyebrow in Ballard County, which pretty much means we look at two signs, one saying Monkey's Eyebrow and the other saying Monkey Eyebrow. I don't know what else I hoped for. Maybe real monkeys. As I understand it, if you squint at a map of Kentucky, this part of the state, outlined by the Ohio and Mississippi, looks like a monkey head: Guess where Monkey Eyebrow is. We get our frst Kentucky glimpse of the Mississippi at Wicklife and stop for an hour at Wicklife Mounds, a modest museum of a Native American village last occupied around 1300. It's in move-in condition compared to Cairo. We don't spend a lot of time lingering over our view of the Mississippi at Wicklife, fguring we'd be tired of the stream by day's end. Boy, are we mistaken. We skip south, landing at the ColumbusBelmont State Park, site of a Civil War battle in which both Union and Confederate forces ignored Kentucky's declared neutrality in the early days of the war. A short trail through the earthworks created by the contestants, which included some 13,000 Confederate soldiers, is worth a look. You don't have to be a war buf to appreciate this feat of battle engineering. It's also a beautiful park, and we hang out a few hours, eating lunch and walking trails. Once back on the road, I realize it will be miles before we'll be anywhere near the Mississippi again. Te main roads avoid it. In fact, we think, we won't see the river again until Hickman, the fnal stop on our trip. And although I'm excited to see Hickman, I don't want to give the river short shrift as a result. Te allure of Hickman arose when several tourist pamphlets quoted Mark Twain saying it was "the prettiest little town on the Mississippi." Te city's website quotes Twain calling it "the most beautiful town on the Mississippi." Which was it — prettiest or most beautiful? I will have to wait to fnd out. Pledging to be true to our original goal of Mississippi study, we use the GPS on my phone to guide us down lanes only it can see, inching closer to the river on glorious treeshaded, winding roads, most only wide enough for a single car. It is beautiful, and the fact that travel on rough roads takes much longer has been no hardship, given the surroundings. Neither Joey nor I even remark when we see a sign declaring, "Water Over the Road." I picture a little stream, a puddle. A half-mile later, we