September 14, 2018, our first destination was Perryville Battlefield State Park, site of a major Civil War battle, the Battle of Perryville (duh).

The outcome was considered a Union tactical victory, with the costs being over 7000 casualties, 1355 killed and the rest wounded, captured or missing. There is so much misery and blood soaked into the ground at these sites.

We drove Jasper, (Grace’s new Subaru) through the rolling hills and horse farms of Kentucky, the scenery was so pretty and the conversation was flowing so we missed the entry to the park the first time.  Our first stop was the visitor center/museum, so we could get a map. I was wearing a shirt emblazoned with “LET’S GET SPOOKY” in large white letters. I felt a little sheepish to go to a  Civil War site with my obvious ghost hunting intentions advertised on my clothing, since these sites are justly somber, sober places, and we didn’t want to come off as disrespectful. I fully expected the same reaction our gothy asses received from the patrons at the Danville, KY Cracker Barrel the night before, confusion then the hairy eyeball.

As we approached the door, a friendly lady went out of her way to open the door for us and greet us as she left the building. We went in, and a young man with a beard and a glorious Kentucky drawl immediately got us a map and highlighted the best areas to reach by car (um, goths don’t hike in 90 degree heat).

We shopped around a bit, found some locally handmade holiday ornaments and I was drawn to this lead (?) soldier. Now, when we went to Gettysburg, Grace and I looked at lots of shops for little Civil War boyfriends, but never found any that sent us. This guy looked like a stubborn asshole, which is just my type. Reader, I bought him. The fellow that rang us up found his fact sheet, and indeed, mah boo Philip Henry Sheridan was a passive aggressive dickhead. *swoon*  Google him, he’s awesome.

Then the kind fellow behind the counter noticed my shirt. He pointed out the Ghosthunting Kentucky book by Patti Starr on the shelf. I had that one already, and really enjoyed it, and told him so. He said, “The author of that book is in the back room. I’m sure she’d enjoy meeting you, she wrote a chapter about this battlefield”. I immediately started to geek out, but alas, Patti was the lady who held the door open for us as she departed to run some errands. Skunked again. But another lady, Belinda,  came out from the back room, introduced herself and told us about the private paranormal investigations that can be booked in the park, and gave us some paperwork in case we wanted to book one.

Such an open-minded and welcoming response from the staff for us ghosty types. We give it 5 entities for ghost hunter friendliness.

Our first stop was the Dye House, which I naively assumed was a place where cloth was dyed. No, it was the Dye family home, which was commandeered by both the Confederates as a headquarters, then the Union as a hospital. Blood stained the floorboards, so they say. The Union troops remained for several weeks after the battle. One day, seventeen year old Martha Dye went upstairs to get some flour to bake bread. as she descended the stairs, a Union solder refused to give way to let her pass. Martha dumped the flour over the soldier’s head. Martha is my spirit animal.

The house is in a state of disrepair, we couldn’t get in but peeped in through the windows.

The flour-dumping stairs through a dirty window-

This house is supposed to be a hotbed of paranormal  activity. We stood in the yard and ran the SB7 for a while, but got only one interesting response, which sounds like a male voice saying “Dye”. Or, maybe “die”-

Then to the highest point-The Valley of Death, obviously the site of the worst of the casualties. There was the obligatory cannon, albeit one that was really used to blow soldier’s heads off and not a reproduction. We didn’t run any equipment up here, just took some snaps.

Some fortification was in order after all those intense battlefield moments, and we searched for a local restaurant, preferably one with Southern cuisine. We ended up in downtown Lebanon, KY, which had promising banners advertising a Country Ham Days festival in the near future. Hennings Restaurant had a scrolling marquis that promised such culinary wonders as ‘fried catfish pork tenderloin brownies” and many other delights. We drooled our way across the street to the beckoning open sign, but were chagrined to discover a handwritten notice on the door that they would be closed until the 24th. Skunked again.

So, burritos it was at Los Mariachis, the next open restaurant on Main street. We enjoyed “pollo locos” huge chicken burritos for less than you’d pay at McDonald’s for an extra value meal. And we didn’t double our cholesterol numbers as we would have with a big fry-up at a “Southern” restaurant.

There was an antique store right by where we were parked, so of course we ducked in. Grace found this tiny, blind, Grady Twins-esque little dolly.

There was only one, but we are going to scour the internet to find her twin sister.

Next post, the gloriously ghosty Thomas House B&B!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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