I woke up in Columbus, and while I was eager to see that city, my stop in it on this particular morning was short because I needed to see the sights south of me first. Since I was staying overnight there, I left Tamu behind with a Sex in the City marathon (he’s a fan of Charlotte) and air conditioning, and headed into the hot day.
First I made a stop at the visitor’s center to get my bearings, and then headed to Zaharakos, an ice cream parlor that kept appearing on my tourist radar. 
I opted for a sandwich and milk shake at the marble bar, while the place filled with a variety of guests. In addition to its ice cream, the restaurant has a Welte Orchestrion, a self-playing pipe organ that proved irresistible to a table of my fellow guests and, admittedly, a little tiresome to me. But I could drown my irritation in a mint chocolate chip milk shake, so that’s what I did.
I must point out here that southern Indiana was the pleasant surprise in 1999 that inspired me to take this trek, so I was eager to take in as much of it as I could. I headed out but was soon lost. My target destination was Bean Blossom, the home of Blue Grass legend Bill Monroe. Now, I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about bluegrass because that would be easily proved false in two seconds of conversation. However, I’m a folklorist, and some things about Old Time music one learns by osmosis: a conference paper here, a colleague in a publishing workshop there, a former roomie who loves bluegrass as well. The tiny bit I know is that Bill Monroe is a founding father of the genre known as Old Time/bluegrass, and the fact that his museum is in a place called Bean Blossom makes it even more of a siren call to me. Unfortunately, the annual jamboree happens in June, so I had missed it, but I was there for biker weekend. The museum did not allow any photography inside, but I took the 10 minute tour (the cashier told me it was that long and she was right), and learned a tiny bit more about Bill Monroe.
From Bean Blossom, I headed next to Nashville, which is an town of artists and galleries on the road to Bloomington. When I arrived there, the place was crowded and I realized I needed to head south quickly if I were to visit the Monastery of the Immaculate Conception, where an order of cloistered nuns lives. I made a short stop in Nashville, then put the convent address into my GPS. I would not have a lot of time there before the place was closed to visitors. On a whim, and as a personal nod to my late uncle, I put in St. Meinrad’s, a Benedictine Abbey also in southern Indiana where Fr. Bill studied. That seemed closer, so I headed off in that direction, which would take me past French Lick and West Baden Springs, which were also on my must-see list. Unfortunately, along the way, I discovered that I had once again been foiled by time changes within the state, and my arrival time at St. Meinrad’s would preclude me from visiting there as well.
So I headed to West Baden Springs and French Lick, where my first stop was the French Lick Winery for a tasting. After that, I parked in French Lick and wandered around photographing the area. I was there on what might have been the hottest day of the summer that year, which had been wonderfully mild until Labor Day. 
The heat was oppressive and I was glad Tamu had a cool place to stay. The area is known for its two resorts which took advantage of the natural springs in the area. The French Lick Hotel is the older of the two, dating to 1845. From a distance, it seemed less charming than its counterpart, so I opted to visit West Baden Springs, where I got out and wandered the grounds, photographing the gardens. They were preparing for an event in their main hall, but were mum about who the sponsors were. 
This intrigued me since the area is relatively removed from big industry. The other mystery for me during this visit was the details of restoration. I am a member of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, which lists historic properties for sale in the back of every issue of its magazine. One of the two resorts, looking derelict and abandoned, sat on the for sale list for ages. However, there was no sign of either hotel being in crisis. The staff assured me that both facilities were owned by the Cook family of Bloomington, and that West Baden Springs completed renovations in 2006 and the French Lick Hotel in 2007. This hotel had originally opened in 1902, and was used as an infirmary for soldiers during World War II before being used by the Jesuits later in the 20th century.
My next stop was Paoli, a small town nearby. While I was wandering through French Lick, I opened the two guide books I was able to find in two DC-area libraries about Indiana. Mind you, neither of the guides are dedicated to Indiana; the state is a component of a larger guide to the Midwest or Great Lakes. One of the books noted that, south of Paoli, there was a pre-Civil War settlement of freed slaves in the area, and the only remains of it is a cemetery nearby. Unfortunately, there was no direction in the books or Paoli itself on where to find this cemetery. 
I settled for photographing the imposing courthouse that anchors the town rather than go searching for a cemetery late in the day. As I thought about this, I began to ponder the difficulties of visiting Indiana. One of the values I learned as a midwesterner was that calling attention to oneself is bad form. As a tourist in a midwestern state, this can be a problem. The history is not as clearly marked as in other states, and since the guidebooks were scarce, I was dependent this trip on the state’s tourism site, which was heavy on restaurants, but short on overall state historical sites or quirky off the beaten path items. So what is good about the area was proving bad about this trip. It had been a second frustrating day.
I hoped to reclaim it with a stop at the Gus Grissom Memorial in nearby Mitchell. When I got to the town, I could not find any directions to that, which was a surprise because I had visited it easily in 1999 (and now I even have GPS!). I headed down a scenic highway back to Columbus in the hope of taking in Nashville along the way, but as it grew dark and difficult to navigate, and gas was running low in my car, I had to forfeit that plan as well, and head for the interstate route to my waiting dog in Columbus. The day had been a series of frustrations, so I promised myself I would make it back one day.
To put it all in perspective, a week later I was telling my sister–who still resides in Ohio–of my missed opportunities and hope of returning one day to see the area and she gently reminded me, “Sandra, you’re talking about Indiana. It’s next door.” Exactly. I’ll be back!