Post-Derby Blimp

"Hello, MUFON? I saw this UFO yesterday flying really low over my house. It was sort of sausage-shaped, dark gray, and made an ear-splittingly loud grinding sound that upset all my dogs. Yeah, and it said "Good Year" on the side. Hello? ......hello?"

I suppose it was blimping its way back to wherever it comes from - Blimp, Inc. Central HQ - after the events of the Derby wound down. But I surprised it was cruising at such a low altitude; good thing there are no tall buildings around these parts.

Anchorage Trail Compass Mosaic

The Anchorage Trail, a beautiful park donated by John and Annette Schnatter, is one of my very favorite places to go on my early-morning coffee walks each day. I'm perpetually fascinated by this giant mosaic compass that can be found in the midst of it.




I don't know why it's here - I mean, there's really no danger of getting lost on the trail (there are even permanently mounted maps on posts at regular intervals), but hey, who needs a reason? It's simply interesting for its own sake and doubly so when you're listening to R.E.M.'s "Stand" on your mp3 player. (And if you're of the Muslim faith, I suppose it could make a very handy makeshift Qibla in a pinch.)

Fallen Trees and Flooded Streams

Last night's storm (it's still last night to me even though this post is dated Thursday because I'm typing it at just a few minutes after midnight, see) was something, wasn't it? Me and Krampus were holed up here on the old JSH Plantation, listening to the hurricane-force winds and emergency sirens, getting ready to take shelter in the center of the house if need be. I spent a couple hours bouncing public and private messages back and forth on Twitter with various peeps-o-mine, which kept my mind occupied until the storm abated enough that I finally fell asleep around 3am.

This morning (Wednesday morning) when I got up, I found that Anchorage had become a landscape of devastated trees - including one that fell on my car and gave it some minor dents and scuffs. Could have been a lot worse, it's obvious to see.






Additionally, the creek is now swollen so far over its banks that vast areas of the nearby park are totally flooded. Between the fallen trees and flood waters, some of the trails are completely impassable now.

Hobbs Chapel Cemetery

After recently having written about the Hobbs Chapel Facade only to learn that there's a cemetery hidden in the woods behind it, I just had to trudge back there again and see it for myself.



As cemeteries go, this one's in really good shape now, though from what I've read online, such wasn't always the case. There's evidence that vandals and losers have made a mess of the place in years past, judging by the headstones that are cracked and seemingly have been cemented back together again. There's also a bunch of broken headstone fragments - many of them quite old - laying in a pile. Apparently no one knows where they go or what to do with them.



There are many interesting markers out here. I especially enjoy stones that tell a little about the person. Here we have the eye-catchingly arabesque design for Ludwell Dangerfield, who died at the Battle of Chaplin Hills, KY at the age of 20 on October 8, 1862.

Then there's William Wade Marshall, born at Marshall's Corners, Pennsylvania in 1837 and died here in Anchorage in 1870. The grave of Samuel Nock doesn't tell us where he died but does mention he was born in Nova Scotia.

Hobbs Chapel Facade

Like the Heigold Facade, the Hobbs Chapel facade is the remaining front entrance to a building that no longer exists. The original church was built on this site in Anchorage in 1876, and destroyed by a fire in 1954.


Note the Tudor Roses on the front entry gateposts.



Somewhere along the way, someone decided to rescue the abandoned remains of the church and rehabilitate it. The area is now a public park, and a charmingly spooky one at that.


It would appear that the base of this birdbath is actually a piece of debris salvaged from the church.



The sign says "Hobbs Chapel and Cemetery", and I'd always wondered where the heck the graves are. I just did a Google search, and lo and behold, the cemetery is in the woods further back behind the park area, about 300 yards. Guess now I gotta go back and check that out too.

Signs of the Anchorage Wilderness

I spend a lot of time roaming the woods and trails in Anchorage. Here's some puzzling evidence encountered in the way of signage.

Above:this almost completely rusted-away "No Trespassing" sign is along what is now a public nature trail in E.P. Sawyer Park. It must date back to the time of the Central Kentucky Insane Asylum, which originally occupied these grounds.

Below: This "nature trail" sign is oddly isolated out in the middle of a swamp area.


Just when I thought I was truly out in the middle of nowhere, I happened upon this deluxe and informative sign, telling me all about the importance of keeping Goose Creek clean:


And then there's this old plastic sign with what seems to be the international symbol for "no hikers allowed", but it was laying flat in the ground in a remote part of the woods. Which way had it been meant to indicate to keep out? Impossible to tell for sure. I kept walking, of course.


It sure does seem like there's a lot of plastic signs littering the landscape even as they warn me of the importance to protect the environment. Here's another, with the surreal title "Wetlands: Nature's Kidneys".

Outhouse Shed

I'm in with the out house. Or I would have been, except this structure spotted on the Anchorage Trail is a fake facility. I inquired to someone about it and they told me it's actually a shed for groundskeeper's supplies.

Trees of Life

I don't give a fig for much modern TV programming now that LOST is off the air, but I do adore that History Channel show Life After People. They use a mix of CGI and real footage to demonstrate just how quickly all traces of our civilization would be absorbed back into nature and disappear, if all humans suddenly just up and vanished. (Hope springs eternal.)

I always enjoyed the weeds that start to take back parking lots when the blacktop starts to crack and decay, like behind the abandoned Showcase Cinemas at Bashford Manor. If left untouched for another 50-100 years, the vast expanse of concrete would once again be a wildlife area - the back-and-forth temperature extremes of scorching summers and ice-encased winters will gradually weaken anything, be it concrete, steel, what have you. And the gentle forces of vegetation pressing upwards against the pavement shouldn't be underestimated - like slow water torture, each Spring brings pressure from below. Sooner or later it all begins to add up until shoots of plants with a lust for life succeed in breaking on through to the other side.



Now here's an even better example of nature's indomitable drive to survive. I spotted this pair of strong-willed trees in Anchorage refusing to let a thick slab of poured concrete stop their advance. And upon closer inspection, I could see their roots extending like tentacles some feet away, going over, under, around, whatever it needed to in order to get the job done.


If I had but ten people in my employ with half the determination, life force, and joie de vivre of these trees, imagine what could be accomplished overnight.

Where Dead Voices Gather

In addition to all the many deaths that took place behind closed doors at the multi-named Lakeland asylum - and there were many - I'm also intrigued by the ones that took place outside.

Some in-the-know folks have told me that many patients drowned trying to escape through an aquaduct that leads to the Lake for which Lakeland is named. I'm looking into that and will report soon. Another anecdote I've been told is that someone, presumably a patient, climbed the water tower on the asylum's grounds and committed suicide by jumping off. For some reason, this story has stuck in my head lately and I decided to try to figure out the exact spot where this occurred.

Fortunately, the photograph above gives us a near-precise indication of where the tower stood. Yesterday morning I trudged out there in search of the spot and found a semi-circular sunken area, partially paved, with a service road leading into it. This would seem to be it.



There were also other interesting and possibly related structures in the vicinity, like a large rusting pipelike opening that is filled with mud and leaves (image 1), an opening in the ground covered by a square stone slab (image 2), a huge hole in the ground that upon further inspection was revealed to be a partially exposed well of some sort (images 3 thru 6), a similar but above-ground enclosure that appears to have once been part of a sewer system (images 7 thru 10), and several other large holes that may lead somewhere or may just be really large fox holes (image 11).



And keeping with my anti-plastic environmental concerns from yesterday's post about all the antiquated garbage along the fenceline, I noticed some lackadaisical park groundkeepers apparently chose to ditch a pile of plastic plant containers in the nearby woods (image 12). Not cool.

It's been said that the asylum area is a great hotspot to get ghostly EVP recordings of the voices of the dead, especially near the cemetery. I remain lukewarm on the EVP concept, just as I have little reason to swallow most of the other gimmicks employed by so-called would-be "ghost hunters". Although I heard a tape a few years ago purportedly recorded here, sounding indeed like spirit voices, there was no chain of evidence for it. And I don't take anything on faith.

Mind you, that doesn't mean I necessarily disbelieve in ghosts and ghouls and things that go boomp in the night. I would hazard a guess that the asylum grounds are dense with gathered spirits, entities, life-force energy, or whatever you wish to call it. This would probably also include the unfortunate soul who jumped from the water tower and hopefully found some subsequent peace. But for those who seem to have an unhealthy obsession with "contacting the dead" and so forth, it's going to take more than a tape recorder, a gaussmeter, and some wishful thinking to establish communication with anything unseen.

(Do I have a better idea? I do indeed, and I'm working on it. Wait and see. All in time.)