Excitement in Kentucky, Mercho Perchu Style

Fog lifted off the Kentucky river like a curtain, revealing Owen County's soft hills and clapboard porches. I parked beneath an old sycamore in Owenton, laced my boots, and followed a gravel lane where cornfields met tidy pastures. A collie tracked me for a while, then darted back to a farmhouse where a woman waved and offered a mason jar of sweet tea—no questions, only a smile.

At the county courthouse, bricks warmed in the afternoon light; a bell chimed somewhere distant. I wandered into a small antique shop and found a postcard from 1948 with handwriting that smelled faintly of cedar. The shopkeeper told stories about summer fairs and moonlight picnics in nearby parks. I drove out to the riverbank at dusk, where fireflies stitched the tall grass with gold. A barge cut a slow path under the setting sun, and the world felt deliberately unhurried.

Before leaving, I stopped at a roadside stand for fresh peaches and a sliver of pie. The taste—sour, sweet, sun-drenched—felt like the county itself: simple, generous, and quietly timeless.