Kentucky and A Matter of Conscience

Kentucky and A Matter of Conscience

 

July 23, 2009

It may appear to some that we are wandering about the face of this earth in our little motorhome with no real goal in mind.  Actually, one goal is to find how to accidentally discover something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely unrelated.  Wordsmiths even have a name for it: “serendipity.”  We found some yesterday.

After exploring the Cumberland Gap National Park and learning how maybe 80,000 Americans climbed up and over this gap on the way through the Appalachian Mountains toward making homes in Kentucky, Texas, and the rest of the West, we decided to head north up a small country highway to find a small RV park that I had seen advertised someplace.

After an hour or so of passing through small Appalachian communities along a river valley bordered by the Cumberland Mountains, we arrived at the town of Lynch, KY. – a coal mining town started by the US Steel Corp during WWI.  The mine was deserted many years ago, but the old town has been partly kept alive due to lots of governmental welfare.

In the center of this deep valley town, we found the small RV park I had seen advertised.  We searched for an office to no avail.  I asked one of the inhabitants about where I might find someone to pay for a site for the night.  He said I could retrace the route over which we had just traveled for about 5 miles down the winding road to the Coal Museum where we could pay. 

“I wonder if they would mind if I pay in the morning?” I asked.

“No problem,” was the answer.

So, we hooked up in the little park and walked around the town reading signs about the history and taking a bunch of photos.  

The next morning, we backtracked to the Coal Museum.  The sign on the front door read “Open 10 AM till 5 PM.”  It was now 8 AM and there was no way I was gonna camp by their front door and wait till they opened.

Then, I noticed a front-end loader tractor stopping in front of a neighboring building.  The tractor-operator left his vehicle running as he entered the front door.  A small, sign with peeling paint indicated that the old building was the home of city offices.  Several workers in the hall were very friendly as I entered.  In the back was a large office with two robust women behind a long counter.

“May I pay for the RV park here?” I asked.  

“Certainly,” answered one of the women.  “Do you know how much it costs?”

“Well, no,” I answered.  “I thought maybe you could tell me.”

“Sorry, I don’t know,” she replied.

“How about I pay you $1000 for the site – would you take that?

“Try me,” she said.

Another fellow in the office spoke up and said that I could certainly pay him if I wished.

“Tell you what,” she finally said.  “Go across the street to the Inn and you can pay the girl at the front desk.”

“Is the ‘Inn’ the old school house I noticed up on the hillside?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded.

“Many thanks,” I said as I headed out the front door and up the hill.

As expected, the old stone schoolhouse had been converted into an Inn.  I entered the front door and found myself in the kitchen, where there were unwashed dishes in the sink.  Deciding that it was not likely the office, I searched down a hall where I found the office.  Another rather robust girl behind the desk asked if she could help me.

So, again I explained my mission and asked, “How much do I pay?”

“I don’t know,” responded the girl, “but let me call somebody who might know.”

She called two different authorities who claimed ignorance on the subject.

“Look,” I said, “why don’t I just pay you $20 and I can be on my way.”

“I actually think it is only $15 dollars,” she said.  “But let me call one other person who might really know.”

After completing the call, I was informed that the correct cost was $15.

I thought about offering to pay with a credit card till I remember how often in similar circumstances I have waited and waited when some clerk tried to communicate with my card company over a very slow phone line.  So I forked over the 15 bucks in cash, thanked her, and started to leave.  

“Wait,” she said before I could make my escape. “ What site number were you in?”

“I have no idea,” I replied.  “Is it really important?”

“Well, I need it for my records.  OK then, what is your last name?”

I gave her my name and left.  At this point, I was questioning my sanity.  Where is the world does all this honesty come from?  We could easily have left the park this morning without paying and probably no one in Lynch, KY would have known or cared.  We could have already driven up the Black Mountain highway, over the Cumberland Mountains, and be in Virginia by now.  But no!  I remember how many campground owners have trusted us over the years.  There is no way I could leave without paying.  Besides, my wife Pat would never let me hear the end of it.

OK, enough virtue-signalling.

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