Consider the Cobblestones

One from my Visual Slushpile photo blog:


In downtown Louisville, under every street, the original cobblestone streets are hidden beneath a layer of pavement. And beneath those cobblestones is soil that has not been seen by the eyes of man since the mid-1800s.

Anything that someone chose to hide under a cobblestone in the 19th century, or buried in the ground even before the cobblestone streets were laid, has been hidden very well indeed for a long, long time.

Just you think on that.

An Archaeologic Assay of Human Artifacts Deposited Alongside Roads, Vol. 1

On Lakeland Road in Anchorage, there's this deep gulch running alongside the E.P. Sawyer Park. The park, as my regular readers are probably tired of hearing about, used to be the grounds of the Central State Insane Asylum and is so haunted, they say you have to scrape the ectoplasm off your shoes when you get back to your car. (I exaggerate only slightly.)

Lakeland Road, incidentally, used to be a railroad track that shuttled directly to the asylum. If you look closely at some points you can still see evidence of the tracks before they paved it over and turned it into a road. And human beings, filthy creatures that they are, have been tossing crap out their car windows along that road ever since.

Today while in the park searching for the exact spot where the asylum's water tower had stood (more about that tomorrow), I happened up the embankment where the park's fenceline meets the aforementioned roadside gulch. It has acted as a catch-net for much of the debris that has been accruing there for decades, and while my left brain was appalled that no one has cleaned that area up for so long, my right brain was fascinated by inspecting what humanity had sloughed off.

Without even doing any digging or disturbing the site at all, I could visually identify corroding beer and soda cans from the 1970s with pull-tabs rather the modern stay-tabs. (Stay-tabs were introduced in 1975 and had become the industry standard in the United States by that decade's end.) Most of the outer layers of garbage were recognizably between the 1980s and the present. And if you think that's not very old, let me remind you that 1991 was two decades ago.

I spotted evidence of much older strata of trash peeking out here and there, however - large murky green and brown bottles, and a fragment of very old floor linoleum (seen in images #16 and #17). A little digging with a shovel would likely yield some more serious finds.



I found a liquor bottle still partially filled with what I presume is vodka or gin because it's clear and the lid is tightly sealed (see image #5). Then again, I also found a pop bottle full of a liquid bearing that unmistakable color of urine (see image #3). Such are the hazards of my profession.

What am I seeing in image #14? Is it a child's sweater? A hat? Definitely some sort of abandoned clothing. It appears to have a face on it. I didn't even really notice it until after I got home and looked at the pictures closely.

While the junk seen here isn't as immediately compelling as, say, the old dumpsite in Elliott County I chanced upon a few years ago, I betcha there's all kinds of groovy goodies lurking under the surface. Avid fan of urban archaelogy that I am, you can be sure this gulch hasn't seen the last of me.

Kentucky Kokopelli?

Your parents might not have ever heard of Kokopelli, but there's a good chance that you have. In recent years, the ancient Southwestern Native American symbol of Kokopelli has become trendy and hip, leading to greater awareness of this mysterious trickster music/agriculture/fertility deity. The first known images of Kokopelli appear on Hohokam pottery circa 750 A.D. and reportedly, the tradition goes back even further to the Ancient Pueblos, circa 1200 years B.C.

Kokopelli petroglyphs (see image above) usually depict him as a slightly hunchbacked humanoid figure (though some theorize he's actually intended to be a cartoonishly anthropomorphized insect) holding a sticklike object up to his face. Because music is among Kokopelli's realms of overseeing, the object is generally regarded to be a flute. Some say it may have originally been a blowgun but gradually gave way to a more peaceful, musical symbol. Still others contend it's actually a pipe for ceremonial smoking of tobacco and herbs.


Kokopelli is also sometimes depicted with obvious male genitalia, and protrusions from the head that variously resemble antennae, hair, horns, or long floppy ears like Walt Disney's Goofy.

Images of Kokopelli are ubiquitously found in the Southwestern states, and I've always wondered why his influence never spread to other parts of North America to states like, well, you-know-where.

But it just may be that the power of the Kokopelli myth did indeed make it to Kentucky in antiquity. I submit to you pages 24-26 of Rock Art of Kentucky, the ultimate compendium of prehistoric petroglyphs of our commonwealth. There you'll find information about the Reedyville Petroglyph (see image below). Located in Butler County, southeast of Reedyville, near the old Honaker's Ferry, this set of petroglyphs reside on a slab of Pennsylvanian sandstone known as "the Caseyville Formation". They show what clearly seem, to me, to be a Kokopelli-ish figure, hunched forward with protrusions from his head and holding something up to his face. A more primitive one is just inches away, with a head of "hair" that even more resembles Kokopelli, but is limbless and tree-trunk-like. Most importantly, look at the legs and feet and how they relate to the torso.


The sketch in Rock Art of Kentucky is just one person's attempt to draw what he saw there, of course. Unfortunately the photo in the book is a terrible one and shows very little. These glyphs lay flat, open to the elements, and were almost certainly much more detailed when they were new. Many details that would aid in analysis may have been eroded away.

Me, I'm convinced this is a rendering of Kokopelli, deliberately done as such by an ancient hand for reasons unknown.

Falls City (the City)

Nationwide drinkers of Falls City Beer probably thought the stuff was named after Falls City, Nebraska or Falls City, Oregon, if they even gave much thought to it at all.

But Falls City is actually an old nickname of Louisville's, one which may seem confusing at first since, after all, Louisville doesn't have any waterfalls, right? And then it hits you, oh yeah, we do - the Falls of the Ohio.

The Falls of the Ohio is generally associated with the Indiana side of the river, mainly because they've (sort of) preserved the fossil beds on their side, and built a park and "Interpretive Center" museum celebrating it. Unfortunately, there's not much left to celebrate - the original falls has been nearly decimated by removal of most of its limestone by the city of Louisville in the late 19th/early 20th century. What was once a towering and grandiose waterfall is now a gentle step only a few feet high.

And the much-touted fossil beds have frankly become a bit of a pathetic joke. According to the official Falls of the Ohio website, "The 386-million-year-old fossil beds are among the largest naturally exposed Devonian fossil beds in the world." And yet, tourists are allowed to tromp all over them, there is essentially zero security to keep people from plucking the beds clean of fossils, and at any given time, the place is filled with garbage, driftwood, dead appliances, chemical drums and other debris. It's not a very pleasant place to be.

The Eriline Stone

In September 1989, the National Register of Historic Places voted to include this large sandstone outcropping that protruded from a cliff overlooking Highway 66 at Eriline, KY.

It was covered in petroglyphs made, presumably, by ancient man. In 1994, the rock spontaneously broke off and fell into the road, surprisingly intact. Just two days later, arrangements were made to move the giant stone to the Clay County seat of Manchester, where it can be viewed on display to this day.


Bill Thayer at the University of Chicago does an excellent job of deconstructing the markings seen on the stone, and debunking some of the odd claims made about the meaning of the glyphs. One of the most prominent markings on the stone has been interpreted as meaning "Jesus Christ, Son of the Father" in a mixture of Hebrew and Greek. However, the glyph in question has absolutely zero resemblance to Hebrew and Greek, and most certainly does not say "Jesus Christ, Son of the Father" in said languages. Whoever came up with this idea clearly knew nothing about Greek, and even less about Hebrew.

The closest connection with Christ one could remotely draw from this glyph would be that there are two intersecting lines that are not unlike the Christian cross. I shouldn't have to point out, however, that the Christian faith has no exclusive right to two intersecting lines. This is something cavemen have been etching for millions of years prior to the Christian scholars who adopted the cross as their symbol long after Christ's crucifixion.


The sign also interprets a simple circle shape as definitely being a "sun disc" intended to symbolize Ra, the Egyptian Sun God. Again, early primitive man was rendering circle shapes long before the Egyptian culture. There's zero reason to find a circle on a rock in Kentucky and declare it to be the work of someone wanting to exalt Ra, especially when seven other languages are supposedly represented here as well.

As Dr. Thayer puts it:

So why do we have eight scripts proposed here? Very simply, because someone has gone fishing for them to support a preconceived notion. If this squiggle isn't Greek, well it's Ogham or "South Semitic" — this last term, by the way, covering several dozen languages modern and extinct, none of which has signs for vowels — or Punic or Runic. Worse than "not true", this is... boulderdash; and very likely with something of an agenda: see this page on Chief Red Bird and the petroglyphs.

Big Bone Lick

Big Bone Lick, so named because of the Pleistocene megafauna fossils found there, is one of Northern Kentucky's most popular attractions. The mammoths and other creatures are believed to have been drawn to this location by a prehistoric salt lick. Although the area is quite beautiful, and the fossils on display are amazing (including a 1,000 pound Mastodon skull), Big Bone Lick's primary claim to fame for most would seem to be the double-entendre of its name.

The Big Bone Lick state park is located in the small town of Big Bone in Boone County.

Elliott County Dumpsite

In the Weird Kentucky book, you may recall I urge my readers to take a greater interest in the relics of the 20th century buried all around us. Here's a prime example. This forgotten rural dumpsite in Elliott County contains mostly trash from the 1970s and 1980s on the surface, and likely has artifacts going back to at least the 1930s buried underneath.

You can see how little these plastic items, almost a half century old, have deteriorated. And what you can't see is the microscopic molecules of plastic being sloughed off by these items, and permanently entering the ecosystem. This is precisely why I am opposed to all modern plastics.

Red River Gorge

If the Brady Bunch had come to Powell County, Kentucky instead of Arizona, they would have saved themselves all the drama and danger on vacation. They could have even made it a side trip during the time they traveled to Kings Island amusement park near the Ohio-Kentucky border.

The grand canyon is much bigger, to be sure, and is a well-known national monument. But it's mostly a dead empty arid barren hole in the ground, whereas the Red River Gorge is literally pulsing with life and energy, resonating with mystery and power. This place has drawn many a seeker of the weird, as well as seekers of nature.

So what is the Red River Gorge, exactly? Well, when most people refer to it, what they're really talking about is a much larger general area known as the Pottsville Escarpment. This is a dense mountainous area of forests and swamps combined with elaborate rock formations and outcroppings, the kind most people only think of as being a feature of the Western United States. The actual gorge itself is but one feature of the escarpment - it's a huge canyon that includes natural bridges, waterfalls, and archeological remains of ancient civilizations.

This area is well known for being a treasure trove of petroglyphs (rock art) etched by members of those ancient civilizations. I'm not going to tell you where to look, because so many of these precious artifacts have been vandalized in recent decades.

The area is very popular with rock climbers, campers and outdoorsy types in general. You could spend your entire life here - and many have - and still not explore all this region has to offer. Among its many bizarre natural wonders are:

* Natural Bridge. This is what draws most people here first. It's a beautiful "natural bridge" rock arch with a breathtaking view. It has its own park with miles of nature trails. Nearby Hemlock Lodge provides food and lodging.

* Sky Bridge. Although smaller than Natural Bridge, I prefer this one because of the way it splits in two at one end, giving the effect that you're standing on an immense dinosaur claw.

* Hopewell Arch. So named for the enigmatic ancient Hopewell civilization that once roamed Kentucky, and about whom we know precious little today. Amazing examples of their elaborate burial mounds still exist, as well as mystifyingly beautiful works of art.

* Star Gap Arch. Another stunning natural bridge formation, less traveled than the others and a bit of a walk off the beaten path from Tunnel Ridge Road.

* Slade Twin Arches. Still more amazing landbridges sculpted by time and erosion. These are a lot harder to find because their location is improperly marked on a lot of common maps. Many more arches exist in Kentucky, such as Rainbow Rock in Logan County, Fishtrap Bridge in Laurel County, and Smokey Bridge in Carter Caves State Park, but the ones in Powell County are the biggest and best.

* Cloudsplitter Rock. This is but one example of the gorge's sizeable stone promontories that make for great camping in the fashion of prehistoric cliff dwellers. (It was near this spot that a Feral Human was encountered by the author, but don't let that put you off from visiting.)

* Revenuer's Rock. This was once used by law enforcement as a scouting vantage point to watch for moonshine manufacturing activity. Many a harmless campfire was mistaken for smoke from a still, and many an innocent camper was harassed by government agents, so this spot soon fell into disuse for this purpose.

* Nada Tunnel. This is a narrow tunnel into rock which Route 77 takes you straight through, with one-way, one-lane traffic. It was originally a railroad tunnel built for loggers in the early 20th century and now has a considerable reputation as one of Powell County's most haunted locales, with numerous reports of hearing strange and unidentiable moaning and thumping sounds coming from inside the Earth when you're in the center of the tunnel. It's such a dangerous tunnel that ghosts no doubt lurk here from a century of automobile accidents. Some claim the tunnel is haunted by the ghost of a man who died in an explosion while working on the tunnel's construction. It's over seven hundred feet long with no interior lighting, so turn your high beams on and proceed with caution. If you're on foot or on a bike, we'd advise you to go some other way and skip the tunnel entirely - don't get yourself killed trying to listen for the ghost sounds.