When the weather discourages outdoor pursuits, Dan and I pile in his truck and go on a day-long trip. Dan has a good sense of direction, and armed with a general sense of destination, we amble up and down small country roads, marveling at old communities and enjoying interesting landscapes.

Our most recent adventure was a round-trip to Somerset, Kentucky. Driving through snow, occasional sleet or rain, passing by large icicles and snowscapes, we eventually got close to town. At this point in our trips, I start researching where to eat, and the number one place that came up was The Salty Hen.  

Described as a local’s sort of place, we set the navigation system and a long 30 or so minutes later arrived at what had apparently been a gas station/ repair shop turned into a roadside café.  The old gas pumps were still in place with a carved hen totem pole positioned between them. It was a cold day with ice on the ground. We stepped into the small space and found an upright piano in one corner, relics of all things chicken everywhere, and the smell of really good old-fashioned cooking.

Behind an amazing stainless-steel counter was a young man madly flipping, frying and cooking, with a list of food choices above him. At the counter was a blackboard with the day’s special – something called “Jerry’s Plate.”

Jerry’s Plate was aptly named after a fellow who comes in every day and orders fried cornbread, soup beans, fried green tomatoes, greens and country fried potatoes and onions. Good Lord! Crossing our fingers that our hearts wouldn’t notice the extreme intake of cholesterol we were about to introduce into our systems, we ordered the plate, and in just a few minutes, the food, marvelous food, arrived.

Last week, I wrote about the function of community within our environment; this small café was as fine a representation of community as I have seen in a long time. The customers love the country cooking , but also love the friendliness and dedication of the owner.

Setting an opening date in determined concrete, her first day of business arrived with an emergency flood alert, a leaking ceiling, and a bathroom that flooded. Equipped with two propane-run camp stoves and an ice chest, she toughed it out and almost a year later has made a success that the community admires and encourages. The totem pole outside the café was a gift from a customer, as are the majority of the chicken-themed items in the place. The owner’s landlord donated several of the customer’s tables and occasionally drops in to help with whatever needs helping. Everyone talks to everyone, everyone knows everyone and everyone knows the owner. Questions about family, ideas about new menu items (with samples given out and opinions sought), the café serves as the unofficial community center for the area.

Upon leaving the café, I felt uplifted, satisfied, much like I used to when leaving my grandmother’s farm. I was full of good food, new memories, and a connection with new people. I left with a better resolve to meet, enjoy, and encourage others, to strengthen the community by forming more bonds similar to those at the café. What is life, after all, if it isn’t an experience that teaches one to know and trust others to hold our hands as we march towards whatever faces us; marching with the knowledge that neither side of us will disconnect, that we will stay together strong, helpful and encouraging as we move toward something better, something beneficial, something lasting.

Cindy Arp, teacher/librarian, retired from Knox County Schools. She and husband Dan live in Heiskell.

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