Killing Time in the Kentucky Bend

A few weekends ago we headed south to Murray, Kentucky to see our brilliant son Luke, who was in the middle of his five-week stint at Murray State University in the Kentucky Governor’s Scholar’s Program. Saturday was Family Day, so we left our house at 5 a.m. just so we could get to Murray by 9 a.m. (central time) to pick him up and spend the day with him.

The dilemma, of course, was once we got there, what do we do? Though it seems like a quaint college town, the things to do in Murray seem to be limited.

Being that I had taken up quilting a little less than a year ago, I really wanted to go to the National Quilt Museum in Paducah, which was about 45 minutes away. Unfortunately, I was outvoted on that one. Apparently, I’m the only real quilt enthusiast in the family.

So we just started driving. South, we went. Murray is close to the border, so within 15 minutes or so we were in Tennessee.

The modest sign that welcomes travelers to the Kentucky Bend.

That’s when my husband had his bright idea. We would head for Kentucky. The other Kentucky. The Kentucky that isn’t part of the rest of Kentucky.

I never knew of such a Kentucky, but my husband had actually noticed on an atlas once that the most southwest part of Kentucky is actually detached from the rest of the state. Getting there entails leaving Kentucky, traveling through Tennessee, then heading north back into the “other” Kentucky. It was the one part of Kentucky where he had never been and wanted to go.

It’s called the Kentucky Bend. And all I can say is if you want to go there, you’ll have to really, really want to go there.

It took us about three hours to get there from Murray. We did stop at a restaurant near Reelfoot Lake for lunch, and that was nice. But after lunch we proceeded with our journey toward the Bend. Through Tiptonville, Tennessee we went, then north up Highway 22.

Yes, we went north, up through the middle of nowhere. At one point we had the waters of the Mississippi on both sides of us. I feared that we might encounter water on the road, and if that was the case, I wasn’t willing to risk flooding our van just to get to the other Kentucky. But the water stayed mercifully off the road. We glimpsed some signs of civilization. An occasional house and farm; some electric lines. So it’s not as if we were totally out of reach of reality.

A few miles of some twisty-turny driving, and we finally arrived. To the “other” Kentucky. And now that I’ve been to this other Kentucky, let me enlighten all who may wonder what is there.

Nothing. No historical markers. No signs explaining how

Courtesy: Jim Efaw, author of  this  work

this little bubble-like piece of land managed to get detached from the mainland of Kentucky (answer: an earthquake). No parks. Just nothing.

We entered the Kentucky Bend as we approached the crude (but I’m guessing just as official) Welcome to Kentucky sign. You’d think the folks in Frankfort would send these fine citizens of the Kentucky Bend one of the more official looking Welcome to Kentucky signs. But I’m thinking instead they told the residents to make their own.

I shouldn’t say there isn’t anything there. There is. There’s corn. Lots of it. And we did spot what appears to be a family cemetery. And a sparse sprinkling of homes. I believe the last census put the number of Kentucky Bend residents at 17. It could still be that – more or less.

And that’s pretty much it. We followed the road for a couple of miles until it turned into a dirt road, and then we didn’t go any farther. I’m guessing if we did, though, we would have hit the waters of the Mississippi. At that point we headed back into Tennessee (despite the remoteness of the area, kudos to Tennessee – they did have one of the official looking signs). Then back toward Murray, Kentucky.

I have to say, the adventure left me a bit underwhelmed. But at least I can say that I’ve officially been to the Kentucky Bend – the part of Kentucky that isn’t attached to the rest of Kentucky. And my husband can make that claim, too, which makes him happy.

Of course, since that exciting excursion took about five to six hours, there was no time for the National Quilt Museum afterward. Guess that will be another adventure for another day – and yes, I will make it there someday. If I can grin and bear the Kentucky Bend, then I’m sure my husband can spend an afternoon learning to appreciate the beauty of fiber arts.

For those who are determined to go to the Kentucky Bend, have at it. Just know you’re only going to say you’ve been there, and for no other reason. It really is pretty much a destination to nowhere.