We arrived in Augusta just as the sun was setting.
My husband and I were on our way to Cincinnati, where he was born and spent his earliest years. We wanted to see the home where he had lived as a little boy and explore that part of his story together. Along the way, he found a small town on the map called Augusta, Kentucky.
I had no idea that this little stop along the Ohio River would become one of the places I would still be thinking about long after we returned home.
We parked on Main Street, got out of the car, and walked down to the river. There is something about arriving somewhere on foot that helps you begin to know it. You notice the buildings, the flowers, the distance between a front porch and the sidewalk. You have time to look around. And Augusta gave me plenty of reasons to linger.
We stayed in Bertha’s Cabin, a two-story log cabin dating back to the 1800’s, right on Main Street. With its stone fireplace and porch swing, it was the kind of place I was happy to return to after walking around town.
I loved that we could leave the car parked and walk everywhere. We walked to eat, walked along the river, and wandered through town without much of an agenda. Lingering along the sidewalks and taking everything in without a plan is my favorite way to experience a small-town. For me, this allows out of the ordinary experiences to take place, meet people I would not have met if I had a plan and really soak in what it is like to live there.
Some of the shops were closed during our visit, which fell on a Monday and Tuesday. Of course, I would have enjoyed looking inside them, but window gazing sufficed this time. There was still so much to appreciate just being there. The old buildings, the homes, and the river were all part of getting acquainted with Augusta. Staying right on Main Street also meant that, for a little while, we could settle into the town’s everyday surroundings. We had a porch to sit on and somewhere to walk for breakfast the next morning. I spent mornings on the porch with coffee reading the Bible and saying hello to those passing by. I also spent afternoons on the porch swing enjoying ice cream from the General Store across the street. I must say it was the best ice cream cone I’ve had in a very long time. Now that can be debated whether it was truly the ice cream or the experience itself that made it the best. Those are small things, but they made the visit feel personal.
The General store across the street is also where we went for breakfast in the morning. Local men gathered here every morning for coffee, breakfast and conversation. That scene stayed with me.
I have always been drawn to places where people come together as part of their ordinary day. A familiar table. A cup of coffee. People who know one another and have a place to catch up. It reminded me of something I love about small towns ~ the opportunities to be known through the simple habit of showing up.
As visitors, we were only passing through. Yet being there gave us a glimpse of a life that continued before we arrived and would carry on after we left. I find that far more interesting than a place arranged solely for visitors. I want to see where people eat breakfast, where they gather, and what they love about the place they call home.
We had lunch at the Augusta Pub, meeting a few town people that invited us to the local VFW Club. We accepted their invitation and walked down. We had a wonderful time meeting more people, sharing conversations, and learning more about the area. Those encounters gave the town a human face.
On one of our walks around town, we stopped to visit with a man sitting on his front porch. Before we knew it, an hour had passed. He spoke with us as if we were friends catching up, telling us about the town and the businesses that had come and gone.
During another lunch, we met a former mayor of Augusta who was running for office again. The next morning, he greeted us at the General Store. In that short time, he had become a familiar face.
Augusta was becoming more than a town my husband found on a map. It was a place with people and stories all its own.
This is truly how I love to get to know a small town. It’s through its residents, their stories, and the everyday life happening around them. I love visiting historic places and learning about the past, but I also want to leave time for an invitation or a conversation that lasts longer than expected. Discovering the roots of a place and getting to know the people who continue to tend them, is what intrigues me.
We had set out on this trip to revisit part of my husband’s childhood. There is something meaningful about seeing where someone you love began. Even when they were too young to remember every detail, the place belongs to their history. I wanted to see that part of his life with him.
Finding Augusta along the way made me think about how often one story leads to another.
Last week, I wrote about Atkinson, Nebraska. The place where my own roots run deep. My affection for Atkinson comes from family, memories, and years of knowing what that town means to me.
Augusta was different. I had no childhood memories there. No family home to point out. We arrived as strangers, with only a little time to spend. Still, I found myself paying attention in much the same way. I wanted to know about the buildings, the homes, the people. I wanted to hear stories. I wanted to understand what made this town unique.
That curiosity is part of what draws me toward small towns. Each one offers the possibility of discovering something I could never have found by simply driving past.
When it was time to leave Augusta, we drove our car onto the ferry and crossed the Ohio River into Ohio. I had never done that before, and I thought it was the neatest thing. To drive onto a boat in one state and drive off into another. After walking beside the river during our stay, we were now crossing it. It was such a fitting way to leave a town that had surprised me from the moment we had arrived.
I am glad my husband noticed Augusta in his map research, and I am so glad we stopped, had a place to stay, and gave ourselves time to walk around, relax, and soak in all it had to offer.
This is the exact thing I think about when I consider what makes a well-lived life. Some of the memories we treasure begin with a very ordinary decision, to stop, to look, to have a conversation, to take an unfamiliar way across the river.
For us, this one began with a small town at sunset. And I would happily go back.