Every historic building has a story to tell
Place is very important to most Kentuckians. We identify ourselves not by where we live, but where we are from – or where “our people” are from. I may live and work in Lexington, but I am from Mt. Sterling, and I cheer on efforts in my hometown that make it a more interesting, inclusive, (read more)
I imagine the phrase “revolutionary architecture” conjures up a myriad of differing images for people – or maybe just a blank stare. Architects willing to experiment with materials, form, and site have transformed both our cities and domestic spaces, but a progressive design is not always so palatable to its neighbors, or indeed, the occupants (read more)
My great-great-great-grandfather’s farm, originally christened “Mt. Pleasant” in the early 19th century, was renamed “Klondike” in the late-19th century, when one of his grandchildren headed to Alaska with dreams of striking it rich in the Klondike goldfields. We have a box of crumbling letters he wrote home to his mother, assuring her of his good (read more)
There’s few things more dangerous to an old house (or any structure) than water. As the heavens opened again a few minutes ago, and water plunged merrily from my overflowing gutters, I thought of how I used to watch the rain anxiously in my old house, as it tended to come through the porch roof. (read more)
Categories: Bluegrass, Historic Preservation, Kentucky, Kentucky architecture, Vernacular
Tags: abandoned, old houses, poetry
I learned this morning that a family friend passed away after a long illness. Terry White was a historian, a storyteller, and a wonderful man. A fixture of trips to Harrodsburg, my mother’s hometown, since I was a little girl, I relished our conversations then (he never talked to me like I was a child) (read more)
Categories: Bluegrass, Historic Preservation, Kentucky, Kentucky architecture, Mercer County, Vernacular
Tags: Harrodsburg, James Harrod, Mercer County
Memories have a funny way of not staying put. Earlier this week, there were some sly bumper stickers waiting for me on my front porch, poking fun at the yawning hole in downtown Lexington that is Centre Pointe. My life philosophy typically follows the “laugh rather than cry” method, and laugh I did. But rumination (read more)
Growing up, I spent a good deal of time visiting cemeteries and graveyards, both those established sites with their neat rows of markers and stones, and the wild, neglected and mostly forgotten spots scattered across my family farm. I never found them spooky or macabre – they were just another element of the landscape. (And (read more)
Category: Kentucky
Tags: Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red, cemeteries, Memorial Day, Tower of London, World War I
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