It was in July of 2020 that Joseph and I decided we wanted to visit all 50 states. That is why, three years later, I woke up in a tent in the mountains of West Virginia to cross state number eighteen off our list.
Our campsite had was located on a small farm. On my way to the restroom to get ready, I was greeted by a black and white cat and three bleating goats who wanted all the head scratches I was willing to offer. After getting ready and cleaning up our campsite, Joseph and I drove through a misty morning in the green mountains to Cass Scenic Railroad State Park.
I had booked us one of the longest train rides offered, which would take us to the summit of Bald Knob, the tallest mountain in Pocahontas County. We arrived early at the park, so we spent the next hour exploring the shops and snacking on homemade peanut butter and chocolate fudge. When the time for our trip finally arrived, we boarded the Shay locomotive, one of the original trains used for logging all the way back to 1901.
Trudging up the mountain to Bald Knob
I was filled with a childish glee when the trains whistle rang through the air and we began the slow chug up the mountain. Black smoke billowed into the sky above us as we sat on the wooden benches and watched the trees pass by the open air car.
I do not know why I was under the impression the train ride would be three hours, filled with gorgeous panoramic views the entire way. Mostly, it was trees, and what should have been a short afternoon became nearly five hours of sitting on uncomfortable benches as the train trudged up and down the mountain. We were rewarded at the top with a beautiful view of the Appalachian Mountains, but as we slowly made our way back down the mountain, I was beginning to think it would have been faster just to hike our way up instead.
It was supposed to be a relaxed day, but by the end of the train ride, our legs were aching from sitting all day, and neither of us were much enthused by the idea of going to our campsite. We were tired from a week of traveling and exhausted from a day that had been much less exciting than we had anticipated. With very limited wifi, we discovered we were not all that far away from where we had planned to go the following day. Ready for a little taste of adventure, we decided to move that hike to this evening and then drive home a day early, where we could enjoy the final day of our vacation in the comfort of our own house.
The final stop of our trip was Blackwater Falls State Park. As soon as we arrived, we were greeted by a black bear running across the road in front of us, and we took that as a good omen we had made the right decision.
We hurried down the slippery wooden stairs to the overlook of the falls — a gorgeous view of the amber colored water that spilled over the black rocks and pummeled into the river below. We stood in the cool spray of the water and breathed a sigh of contentment. It was a beautiful view, one I was glad we had not bypassed in our frustration with the day and sudden eagerness to return home.
We hiked a little farther to see the Balanced Rock, which was a large slate of stone balanced precariously upon a tower of boulders. Wet with sweat from the muggy, West Virginia air, we returned to our car just as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and began the drive home.
As we drove the six hours home beneath the starry night sky, I gazed out my window in awe of red, blue and gold fireworks bursting overhead. We were just a few days away from Independence Day, and it seemed the nearby towns in West Virginia had decided this was the night to celebrate. I was reminded vividly of our trip to Colorado, when we had made the decision to spend a few days extra in the state to see the 4th of July fireworks in Salida. Sitting beneath that mountain on the hood of Joseph’s car, sipping wine as we watched the cyclists cruise down the mountain and fireworks burst overhead, is one of my most treasured memories. It was the beginning of a new season in our lives, and of so many adventures ahead.
I would not normally be one to so amicably agree to return home early from a trip, much less be the one to suggest it. Normally, I want to soak up as much of our travels as possible. But in the last year, I have begun living my life differently. Instead of waiting for our adventures, I have created ones in my everyday life. I have pursued the career of my dreams, and in my free time, I do the things I enjoy. I have focused my attention on being present and noticing the little joys life brings, instead of going through the motions. I have spent more time on self-care, so I do not feel as though I am sleeping through my days because of exhaustion and burnout. In the last year, I have, for the first time in my life, dedicated myself to creating a life I love. And that is a life I do not mind returning home early for, as long as my travel buddy is by my side.
Joseph and I sitting on his car waiting for fireworks on Independence Day in Salida, CO (2020)
It’s strange to think that, three years ago, in Colorado, we were living through a global pandemic. I had lost my business. Joseph and I had just gotten engaged, and we were ready to embark on wherever that adventure would take us. Little did we know, we would be getting married within a year. That we would restart the business together, and build a team of incredible people I enjoy working with every day. That we would already have crossed eighteen states off our list, with the plan to be halfway done with our goal of visiting all fifty by the end of this year.
We did not know what the future would bring. In July of 2020, we were simply content to be sitting side by side on Joseph’s car, watching the fireworks and knowing, whatever came next, we would be doing it together.
I smiled to myself and reached for Joseph’s hand beside mine as I watched the fireworks burst overhead. Despite three years filled with adventures, not much has changed at all, and I could not be more grateful.
The one thing I told myself not to forget for our hike in Red River Gorge was bug spray. After reading the reviews online, in which everyone mentioned the malicious nature of the bugs on the trail, I knew it would be a miserable hike without it. In the morning, I filled our waters, packed myself an extra snack, and even remembered to charge my Garmin watch so I could put my phone away and only need to quickly glance at my wrist to check the time. But I forgot the bug spray.
We were only a short distance into the trail when I realized my critical error. Joseph offered for us to turn back, but we were already running a little behind schedule, and I thought, how bad could it really be?
Bad. Incredibly uncomfortable. Every step involved swatting another bug away while I felt another bite me somewhere else. We were only a mile in, and I already wanted to be finished with the hike.
Thankfully, the bugs drifted away a little as the trees became thicker. We were greeted by new creatures instead — a long, black snake; a cute turtle that remained paralyzed with fear on the trail until we were out of sight; and little snails curled up in their shells. It was not until we were quite a few miles into the hike that we reached our first overlook at one of the arches.
Me looking out at the view of Courthouse Rock from an arch at Red River Gorge
The arches were amazing. The rock formations had naturally created archways on the edges of cliffs that overlooked the valley below. We sat in the shade of the rock balanced above our heads and gazed out at the lush green valley. It would have been a gorgeous view, had we not been dripping with sweat from the muggy air and being attacked by bugs now that we were out of the trees once again.
We continued our hike, which took us all the way back down into and across the valley to climb up Courthouse Rock, another large rock formation that rose overtop the trees like a gigantic monolith. From our vantage point, we could see the arches we had hiked to before. When we finally arrived back at our car, our clothes were soaked and skin was wet with sweat. I was beginning to wonder why I had ever decided it would be a good idea to visit Kentucky in June.
Showers, unfortunately, were a luxury we could not yet have, but coffee was thankfully within the realm of possibilities. We stopped for drinks and lunch and then began the long drive back into West Virginia to go to New River Gorge.
We crossed over the bridge that overlooked the peaceful river below. This was one part of the trip I had been nervously awaiting since planning. Within the hour, we would be strapped into harnesses and walking the catwalk beneath the bridge we were currently driving across.
We had arrived earlier than expected, so we walked around the gift shop and read about the history of the park while we waited for our tour. New River is one of the earliest rivers in North America. It was named a National River in 1978, and designated as a National Park and Preserve in 2021. It is wild to me to think that even after Joseph and I began our journey of crossing off all fifty states, new National Parks have been added to the list to visit.
When the time for our tour arrived, we joined the small crowd of people to learn how to strap on our harnesses and listen to the required safety rules and regulations. Then, we piled into a bus and enjoyed a quick, minute-long ride back to the gift shop we had come from to walk to the bridge.
Gazing out at the gorge and the white water rushing below, I felt my stomach sink. Heights are not normally a fear of mine, as long as my feet feel stable on solid ground. However, as soon as I feel my feet cannot safely carry me, I can send myself into a panic as I think through all of the worst scenarios. In this moment, I had an image of me crawling my way across the catwalk, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
Our group followed a dirt path down to the start of the bridge. Above us, the metal rattled and shook beneath the weight of the trucks and cars zooming across. The bridge sat 876 feet above the water. Before us, a half-mile long stretch of metal — the catwalk — loomed between metal beams that held the bridge in place.
Joseph went first, and I followed close behind. At my first step on the metal, everything inside of me seemed to go quiet. The tight unease in my stomach loosened. I felt light and inexplicably safe. Standing so high, at a place not many people go, to appreciate a view so many drive past without even noticing, it felt I had been awarded an amazing gift.
The view was stunning. The blue water rushed below us and wound away in the distance through rolling hills and mountains covered with thick green trees. The evening summer sun bathed the valley in golden light. The catwalk left just enough room for our feet — at any moment, we could step our boots sideways and feel the drop in our stomachs as they hung over the edge. Anytime a smidge of fear drifted in, however, it was quickly abated by our tour guide, who kept us in stitches as we walked with stories from his many years living in West Virginia. Overall, it was one of the most beautiful views I have seen, on one of the easiest hikes I have ever done. It is well worth the experience for anyone at any age.
We finished sooner than I had hoped. Despite my unease about this part of the trip, I had wished it would not end. We drove into the nearby town to eat a quick dinner at Wood Iron Eatery, a small cafe with delicious, grilled sandwiches. Feeling satisfied, we drove into the setting sun for another night of camping.
We visited two gorges on day seven of our trip, and they were both incredibly different experiences. As I fell asleep, I found myself thinking back to our sweaty morning hike, which I had thought I would love and instead I could not wait to end, and then to our walk across the catwalk, which I had dreaded but then wished could go on forever. Both brought different levels of discomfort, but I realized I never really knew what an experience would bring, whether it frightened me or not, until I tried it for myself. You cannot know what life has to offer until you are willing to step outside of your comfort zone and truly experience it.
Sometimes, discomfort really is just uncomfortable. And sometimes, discomfort can be truly breathtaking.
It is the first thought I have when I wake in the morning, and one that plagues me throughout the day.
We got an early start to the sixth day of our trip when we were awoken by the roosters at our campsite screaming at one another. We packed up our campsite and got on the road, eager for our first stop of the day. As if we did not get in enough sugar the day before, we planned on stopping for some famous donuts for breakfast.
Unfortunately, the donut shop I had planned on us visiting was permanently closed, but that did not subdue our appetites. Instead, I did a little research as we drove, and we settled on visiting another donut shop on our way to Cumberland Falls. I was not at all disappointed with our decision.
Peace, Love and Little Donuts was founded in Pittsburgh, and now that I know that information, it is going to be rather difficult to sway me from taking a weekend trip just for these little treats. The shop offers a variety of donut flavors in mini donut form, and the option to make your own donut with your favorite toppings. To be clear, these are not donut holes – they are the traditionally shaped donut, just in miniature form. And they are delicious.
As soon as we walked into the shop, we were offered a fresh donut that had just come out of the machine. Who were we to refuse? The woman behind the counter handed us each a soft, warm donut to munch on while we decided what we wanted to buy. The sugared confection melted against our tongues and filled us with warmth all the way to our toes. I had never tasted a more delicious donut. It was light and soft, with just the perfect level of sweetness.
We each chose the flavor donut we wanted, and we watched as they grabbed a fresh, warm donut to adorn with the toppings we had chosen. Eager to enjoy, we rushed back to our car and drove a minute down the road to Starbucks, where we ordered coffees to enjoy with our treats.
Joseph had chosen a caramel macchiato donut, and it tasted exactly like the deluxe coffee drink – sweet caramel was drizzled over the coffee-flavored icing and topped with shaved chocolate. I ordered one of my favorite flavor combinations – lemon and blueberry. The delicious donut was slathered with a lemon icing and sugary powder and then topped with a spoonful of blueberry sauce. Every bite was the perfect combination of sweet and tart.
Now buzzing with a sugar rush, we jumped back in our car and drove the remaining hours to Cumberland Falls. On the way, we listened to the latest Noah Kahan album, Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever), and marveled at how good every single song was and how together they created such a meaningful and relatable story of love, loss, mental health struggles, and the complicated feelings surrounding one’s home.
We arrived at Cumberland Falls just as it began to rain. We grabbed our packs and began the muddy walk to the overlook of the falls — a beautiful, roaring cascade that fell in a large semi-circle over the rocks. The shape and grandness of the falls was reminiscent of a smaller version of Niagara Falls. I later learned that it is for this reason that Cumberland Falls has earned the nickname, “The Niagara of the South.” We then continued the steep and moderately difficult trek to Eagle Falls, which was hidden in a small cove that reminded me of the mermaid’s lagoon from Peter Pan. The stream of water rushed down into a pristine, blue stream that wound through the rocks to join the Cumberland River. I sat on a rock like Wendy in the fairytale, gazing at the beauty before me while enjoying the spray of the waterfall.
All too soon, it was time to hike back to our car. The humidity of the air dripped sweat over our bodies, so by the time we got back to our vehicle, we were hot and soaked as if we had taken a dip in the water. We ate a quick lunch and then began the long drive to our campsite for the evening. On the way, we stopped at the grocery store for some Kentucky fried chicken and french fries to enjoy for dinner. Our campsite was a secluded spot with picnic tables and Adirondack chairs seated around fire rings. We made a campfire and then sat back to relax as the sky darkened around us and lightning bugs flew around our heads.
As the day drew to an end, I found myself thinking about the adventures of the past few days, and the few that we still had to enjoy. For the first time during this trip, I realized we had fewer days ahead than those left behind. Soon enough, we would be returning to home. Noah Kahan’s song, “The View Between Villages” ran through my mind as I thought of returning to our lives left behind. There is a comfort to being home, with the people we love and the familiar life we know. But as a traveler at heart, I feel like every time I return home, I notice the staleness in the air. The familiarity begins to feel like monotony. The four walls surrounding me, which should provide comfort, sometimes can feel suffocating. I find myself longing for views of mountains, for the hours spent in the car listening to music, for the fresh air to fill my lungs once again and the feeling of truly being alive.
But I know, if I were to stay out here forever, this, too, would become less exciting. The hours in the car would drone on. I would long for a real bed, for a temperature controlled environment, for clean clothes and showers. I would miss my family, my friends and my puppy. And as I have begun to create a life I love, I feel like I would miss the work I am doing, my community, and the team we have built.
I know why traveling feels more peaceful than home sometimes does – home is supposed to be filled with happiness and comfort, but it is also filled with all the struggles we have experienced, all the things we have lost and the memories long since left behind. Home, which should be our most peaceful place, is sometimes a bitter reminder of everything it is not.
Therefore, there is something exciting about the escape and the adventure that exists outside of home. I find a sense of familiarity in the mountains that call my name, and with Joseph by my side, I do wonder how long I could go without missing what I have left behind. But like anything else — the adventure, the holiday season, the people we love — it is the finality in them, the tragedy of endings, that makes the time sweet.
I hear the lyrics run through my head – The car’s in reverse, I’m gripping the wheel, I’m back between villages and everything’s still. I gaze around the beautiful, still night around me, close my eyes, and take in a deep breath of the sweet air. The adventure is almost over.
No, I tell myself, reversing the direction of my mind. I look to Joseph and grip his hand in mine. Life is about more than road trips and exploring new places. It’s about love, connection and the imprint we leave behind, and that, I realize, is more than enough reason to return. The adventure has just begun.
As someone certified as a nutrition coach, I know how important food is to our physical health. The phrase “food is fuel” is a frequent one in my industry. I know how many servings of carbohydrates, fats, proteins and vegetables a person should have in a day. I know how the micronutrients of different foods affect our health, and which foods to eat for different nutrient deficiencies. I know the power food has in our body, that it can be used as medicine for a number of different ailments, and it can also be a catalyst for a number of diseases.
I also know that food is more than just fuel. Good food is made with passion and love. Our sense of taste and a certain food can take us back to meaningful moments in our lives. Food plays a role in culture, family, holidays and special events. Food can be comforting. If we are honest with ourselves, our most favorite foods are most often not the foods that are the healthiest for our bodies, but rather evoke feelings and memories that are meaningful to us.
When planning our itinerary, I had not meant to create a day of our trip entirely dedicated to food, but day five was exactly that – no hiking, no boat rides through caverns, no long drives. Just food experience after food experience for an entire day. And to be honest, it was one of the days I was most looking forward to.
We began our morning with a short drive back into Louisville and then a walk under the hot sun to the Angel’s Envy distillery. As I mentioned in my first blog post for this trip, I had planned this road trip for Joseph’s birthday, and this tour was included just for him. Joseph’s drink of choice is bourbon, and his favorite bourbon is Angel’s Envy. I will admit, bourbon has always tasted, at best, like hand sanitizer to me, but I was still very excited for the tour because I knew Joseph would love it.
When we walked in, an older gentleman behind the front desk greeted us as Sir and Lady Mauler from Maryland.
“Do you know what the state sport is in Maryland?” he asked. Both Joseph and I looked at each other blankly. “This will be important for the tour later.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. The older man’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes, jousting, remember that.” He looked down at his computer. “And I see this is a special occasion, a birthday.” I grinned as the man reached into his desk and then handed Joseph a silver Angel’s Envy lapel pin. The gentleman told us to meet him back in the lobby at the time of our tour, and then directed us into the adjacent gift shop. Joseph and I perused the items until the time came, when we joined our group.
The older gentleman introduced himself as our tour guide, and then went around to ask where everyone was from. When he got to us, he paused after we said our state, and then asked again,
“What’s the state sport in Maryland?”
“Um, I think it’s…jousting,” Joseph said, feigning a faint memory.
“Neither did they,” the tour guide said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Our tour guide lead us into the first room, where we were greeted with a wall of photos. He told us about the history of Angel’s Envy – how it was started by a father and son, both of whom were distillers. We learned about the strict laws surrounding bourbon – that it must be made in the United States; made using at least fifty-one percent corn; aged for at least two years in new, charred-oak barrels; must not be distilled higher than 160 proof; and must not contain any flavorings or colorings, among other strict guidelines. Angel’s Envy, apparently, made quite a stir when it hit the market because there is a special flavor to it that is unlike other bourbons. The bourbon policers (whomever those people may be) said it could not be a bourbon because they must have added some sort of flavoring. But, in fact, no flavoring had been added – after doing all the necessary requirements for it to be bourbon, Angel’s Envy distilled their bourbon a second time in a port wine casks, which gives it its distinct flavor. To avoid any grumblings, they labelled their product as a “finished” bourbon.
We were lead through the distillery to see how the ingredients are milled and fermented, and we were given the opportunity to taste the bourbon at all different phases. We first tried the fermented corn mash, which had the texture of porridge and had a sour taste. We were then given the opportunity to taste the bourbon in its purest form, when it was still clear, before being poured into barrels to age. It was poured into our hands, and we were encouraged to splash a little on our cheeks and take a small sip, if we dared. The liquid burned against my skin like aftershave and stung my brain. I was left gasping for air, both from the burning shock and surprised laughter.
We watched workers bottle the brown elixir, and learned that the company just recently received a machine to label the bottles. Until about a month ago, every bottle was labeled by hand. We were then lead into a beautiful, wooden room, where upon a long table two snifters filled with brown liquid and two chocolates, one dark and one white, had been placed at each seat.
“I’ve had many people, mostly women, come up and tell me before the tour that they don’t like bourbon,” our tour guide said. “Most of them bought this tour as a gift for their husbands.” I glanced at Joseph with a stifled laugh. “And I tell them that’s fine. But I’ve had a lot of converts in this room.”
Our tour guide lifted a glass and swirled the drink. He taught us how to gaze at the amber color, how to sniff with our mouths open so we could taste the fumes. And then, we each took a sip and were instructed to hold it in our mouths, to swish it around with the “Kentucky chew” to coat each part of our mouths, and then swallow to let it burn all the way down. It rested warm in my chest, what our tour guide called the “Kentucky hug.”
Our delicious pairing of bourbon, whiskey and chocolates
The burn from drinking whiskey is from our brains panicking when alcohol is consumed. Our brains turn off our taste buds in an effort to protect us. But after a moment, our brain realizes the experience was not as bad as it originally thought, and it turns everything back on. And since everything has now been coated with the liquid, we have acclimated ourselves. Now, we can taste the actual notes and intimate tastes of the bourbon.
I took another sip, and my eyes widened in shock. It was sweet like maple syrup and finished with a bitter aftertaste reminiscent chocolate and vanilla. The burn was entirely gone, and I was left instead with one of the most delicious drinks I had ever tasted. We paired the drink with the dark chocolate, which had been infused with orange, and it literally tasted like a bite of fruity pebbles cereal.
Our guide served us next with the same drink on ice, or “on the rocks.” The cold enhanced the flavors and made the drink more aromatic. We were then encouraged to try the drink in our second sifter – a rye whiskey finished in a rum barrel. This drink, too, was smooth and subtly sweet – I could taste the sweet rum notes balanced by earthy undertones. When paired with the white chocolate beside it, a gorgeous cinnamon and maple flavor emerged that tasted like pancakes.
I had not expected myself to be so easily converted. Joseph literally jumped for joy when I told him how much I loved the bourbon, and as we walked the Louisville streets to get some food, we talked about all the delicious ways we could now enjoy this drink together.
For brunch, we went to Con Huevos, a fast-food Mexican breakfast and lunch spot. Joseph ordered carne asada tacos, and I ordered a muchos huevos sandwich as a salad. The food was fine – nothing to call home about, but it was warm, tasty and filled our stomachs, and that was all we needed.
We walked the local shops, all of which were much too far out of our budget, and then strode back to our car to drive to Schimpff’s Confectionery, a candy shop in Jeffersonville that is one of the oldest, continuously operated and family-owned candy businesses in the United States. Open since 1891, this candy shop located in downtown Jeffersonville offers not only a wide array of candy, but also a 1950s soda fountain, a room dedicated to candy-making memorabilia, and a long counter separated by a class partition where customers can watch the candy be made just as it was a hundred years ago.
Schimpff’s Confectionery
When we arrived, the next demonstration was forty-five minutes away, but we had nothing important to get to, so we decided to stay. I was so glad we did. We walked the shop, perusing the candies and old equipment. We were surprised to find a cast used to create root beer barrels just like the ones Joseph bought from the historic candy shop we went to in Harpers Ferry just a few days before. We came across wooden machine with levers, and an older gentleman walked up and told us it was the first vending machine. He asked if we had any coins. Unfortunately, I did not, but I told him it was still cool to see it. The man looked around, and then he reached behind the machine for a small bowl filled with coins. He handed one to me with a wink.
Excitedly, I entered the coin and chose a peanut butter flavored candy. I pushed the lever, and a panel of wood dropped down to reveal the candy I had chosen on a small shelf. I cannot even describe the amount of childlike glee that filled me when I saw it happen. Joseph and I walked back to the counter to watch the demonstration that was about to begin, and I was surprised to see the gentleman who had told us about the vending machine was the candy maker! It was his family who had owned this shop for over a century.
His wife, an older woman with grandmotherly presence, sat in a chair beside him, and she explained the process as we watched her husband pour the red candy; fold, massage and pull it to the consistency and and shape he wanted; cut it to size; and then roll sheets of the candy through a press to create rows and rows of square-shaped mounds. He took the sheets of candies and dropped them onto the counter, where they broke apart and scattered into perfect little cubes of bright red, cinnamon candies.
The candies were placed in each of our palms, and I was surprised to find they were still warm to the touch. Red Hots have never been my favorite candy, but when I popped this one in my mouth, I was immediately whisked away to the flavor of Christmas morning. The cinnamon was subtle, sweet and warm, more reminiscent of a cinnamon roll than a Fireball shot.
After the demonstration, we bought a whiskey truffle to enjoy on our way back to the car. Our next stop was the Mainstrasse Village in Covington, KY, a German-American village and a historic district in the National Register of Historic Places. It was a little difficult to find, but once we did, we were greeted with a large mural of Frida Kahlo and charming buildings that looked like they jumped off the page of a storybook.
We chose to go to Bouquet Restaurant and Wine Bar for dinner, one of the most highly-rated restaurants by Cincinnati Magazine. We decided to splurge a little and treat ourselves to a tasting menu, which gave us the option to choose one dish from each section of the menu, and we enjoyed it with their offering of wine pairings for each dish. Normally, Joseph and I do not share dishes – our taste in foods is quite different. But we were each feeling a little adventurous, and Joseph shocked me by thoroughly enjoying every plate set before us. He is normally a much pickier eater than I am, but tonight, it warmed my heart to be able to share my love of food with him in a way I never had been able to before.
Each dish was elegantly prepared. We began with a strawberry salad drizzled with balsamic reduction and topped with spring onion pesto, pepitas, and Kentucky rose cheese. For our second course, we chose the wagyu beef meatballs, which were served on top of a earthy butternut squash and black garlic puree, drizzled with a balancing herb gremolata and topped with a spicy chili crisp. Our third course was the famous maple leaf farms duck, which was served with a medley of mushrooms, roasted carrots, kale, and smoked grapes, served on top of an earthy parsnip purée and drizzled with a tangy balsamic gastrique. For dessert, we shared the coconut cake, which was dusted with a coconut snow and toasted coconut flakes and topped with a scoop of sweet and citrusy mango sorbet. For each dish, we savored each note and shared what we loved most and of the memories the flavors evoked.
After our meal and far too many glasses of wine, we walked the shops and savored the sweet evening. Our stomachs were still far too full when we decided to head to our next stop – an ice cream shop. I thought I would burst from the amount of sweets I had eaten already, but we were told by locals we could not leave without trying the famous ice cream from Graeter’s. Joseph ordered a scoop each of Dutch chocolate and coffee chip. I went for something a little lighter to round out the evening and ordered a scoop of lemon sorbet. We sat outside to enjoy our treat under the warm glow of the evening sun, our frozen treats melting in the warm air and against our tongues.
My love for food was something that inspired me to get certified in nutrition. In my own journey, which, as it is for most, has been filled with both negative and positive relationships with different foods, I have learned how much of a role food plays in our lives. Food is fuel, and it is also so much more than that. Food is medicine, and it is also art. Food can be comforting, off-putting, healing, or sickening. It can be new and exciting, or cultural and familial. Food can be used to learn more about new people and places. How exciting is it to go share your favorite food with a new friend? How familial and possibly annoying can the question, “Where do you want to eat tonight?” become among couples? How comforting is a warm bowl of soup when you are sick, or your mother’s cooking when you just feel homesick? Would life be as sweet without the first refreshing, juicy bite of watermelon in the summer, or the first sip of thick, hot cocoa during the holiday season?
Me popping the champagne when we opened our new Evolve Wellness office
I tell my clients that food is, in fact, fuel, but to think of fueling more than just their physical bodies. Food also fuels our minds and our souls. Eating mindlessly does nothing for us, but mindfully eating a scoop of ice cream and savoring the creaminess on our tongues as we watch the sunset and savor summer? I think that does much more good than it does harm. Yes, we should take care of our physical bodies, and food plays an enormous role in that. But I do believe taste is one of our main senses for a reason, and it’s not so we can punish ourselves by eating celery all day.
Taste is meant to remind us of moments we have left behind, and to savor the ones we have now. We use the phrase “I can almost taste it,” for something exciting that is coming. We reserve our lips and tongues only for the sweetest things in life, and there is something beautiful in that. So, fuel your bodies, eat from the earth, and heal yourself with food, movement and love. And then, when you want it, give yourself a big scoop of ice cream and savor it in the summer sun’s glow. And if you feel like that’s the wrong thing to do, remind yourself just how much you loved ice cream as a child, how much that little one deserves this scoop of joy, and that your friendly, traveling nutrition coach told you eating ice cream for your inner child is even more healing than eating the “healthier” alternative.
The fierce and hot Indiana sun awoke us as it streamed into our tent, baking us inside. We unzipped our tent door and gratefully gulped in the fresh air on the other side. The day had only just begun, and already, there was sweat dripping down my forehead and back.
Today’s plan was to drive south to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. We stopped for coffee on the way and listened to our book on tape. When we arrived, we found the parking lot filled almost to capacity. I highly recommend booking your tour ahead of time, which, thankfully, I had the forethought to do before our trip.
We ate a quick lunch at our car and then walked around the air-conditioned discovery center and shop. I particularly enjoyed learning about how the caves formed and the other life forms that live within them. Mammoth Cave was formed naturally through karst topography, or limestone erosion. The caves have been forming since 10,000,000 BCE, when rainwater first began to dissolve the limestone and form the first passages of the cave system. The caves were first explored and mined by Native Americans 5,000 years ago. There are multiple wildlife species that live in the caves, including crayfish, bats and, my personal favorite, the eyeless cave fish. These fish have evolved to the lack of light in the caves by ceasing the growth of their eyes. White in color and only a couple inches in length, these fish can go months without eating and live thirty to forty years! Considering the lifespan of this fish, the amount of time it can go without eating, and its lack of sight, I still find myself thinking about them and wondering how they spend their time.
When the time for our tour arrived, we gathered with our group at a pavilion outside, where we were given our safety instructions and a lantern with a flame dancing inside. We walked down a steep, paved slope together to the mouth of the cave.
The air cooled around us. I pulled on my jacket and held the lantern a little closer. The light faded away, leaving only the artificial lights that had been placed around the cave and the lanterns we held in our hands. We passed by other groups gathered in the cave, who watched with interest as we passed. I had signed us up for the Violet City Lantern Tour, the only tour in the cave that is done entirely in lantern light, just as early explorers would have seen the caves.
As we delved deeper into the cave system, all other lights faded away. We walked with our lanterns held at our sides, our eyes flitting around the dark cave walls as they adjusted to the dim light. We could see very little than the few feet around us, lit by the warm glow. The wide trails narrowed into winding dirt paths, the same historic trails early explorers followed. While we walked, our tour guide told us more about the history of the caves. We passed small, stone huts, and our guide told us about the tuberculosis patients who were “treated” here because it was believed there was something special about the clean and cool cave air. We learned about the dangers early explorers faced and the Kentucky Cave Wars, when developers and promoters of the cave fought over tourists to show them their section of the cave system. We peered at ancient drawings and gaped down at steep drops beside our feet that seemed to end in nothingness.
The tour lasted a total of three hours, but the time passed quicker than expected. I was shocked by the sticky warmth that greeted us when we emerged from the caves at the edge of a road surrounded by thick, green foliage. A tired bus chugged up the hill to meet us.
We rode back to the visitors center and then hopped back into our car to drive to the edge of Kentucky and Indiana, where our first and only Airbnb of the trip was located. I am always surprised at how luxurious showers feel after days of going without one. Despite the heat outside, I could not help myself from turning the water to scalding and relaxing in its spray.
We dressed in clean clothes and drove to Louisville, KY, where we strode across the Big Four Pedestrian Bridge back into Jeffersonville, IN. As we walked, we watched the orange sun dip behind the clouds as we listened to classical music playing from speakers overhead.
In Jeffersonville, we decided to dine at Harry’s Tap House, where we could sit outside and watch the bridge light up as the sky darkened. We were served by a young, blonde woman with a thick Kentucky accent. To drink, I ordered a summertime sangria made with peach schnapps and sweet peach puree. For an appetizer, we chose the pretzel and beer cheese – the fried Klaus pretzel, made by a renowned local baker in Louisville, was served hot with a creamy house-made beer cheese dip. I am sorry to say this, because I have visited Pennsylvania on numerous occasions and always ordered a famous Philly pretzel, but I think it was the best pretzel I have ever eaten. Crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, with the perfect, mouth-watering amount of salt, it melted against my tongue and felt warm in my chest. I wished I had ordered three more and just had that for my meal.
For dinner, I ordered the mango bourbon salmon, a chilean salmon served with refreshing mango salsa. It was served with a sweet Thai broccoli smothered in sauce, and in place of the rice, I ordered a side of Brussels sprouts that were also drenched in an Asian sauce. Joseph ordered the smokehouse burger, which was a half pound burger served with crispy bacon, smoked cheddar cheese, beer battered onion rings, and tangy barbecue sauce.
Stomachs bursting, we walked back to the Big Four Pedestrian Bridge, which was now lit up against the night sky. I savored the walk across, taking in the view of the skyline beneath the white moon and the blue lights of the bridge that glittered against the black water below.
It was amazing to go in one day from marveling at the walls of a cave to gazing at the tall buildings of a city – a wonder created by nature, and another created by man. Our travels have not yet taken us outside of the United States, and I find myself often wishing to see something truly old. Most of what we have seen in our travels has been created within the last couple hundred years, whereas, in countries like Europe, you could marvel at a building that is centuries old. Today, however, I was reminded that, even if our buildings had not been erected that long ago, we still have structures here that are just as ancient – mountains, rivers, trees and caves. And that made me wonder just how many parts of nature I see regularly, even around my own home, and take for granted. I wonder how long the trees in my backyard have stood there, how long the rivers gushing around my home have existed, how many others have walked this land before me, and how different it must have looked then.
There is something amazing to be seen anywhere, if only we take the time to look. And sometimes, we may be surprised to discover the wonders we are looking for are actually hidden beneath our feet.
