Leighann’s aunt Kandy has a sister named Kathy who lives in
Plymouth, OH. Kathy is the owner and editor of a local magazine called The Weekender and a national edition
called The Weekender Extended. Since
we’re traveling the country and all, Kathy thought maybe we could write some
articles for her along the way. It’s not a paying gig, but it would mean free
admission to cool places like amusement parks, museums, and maybe even
B&Bs. She says she’s working on lining up the assignments, but offered to
put us up for a night if we wanted to swing by Plymouth to meet face to face.
Why not? We have nowhere to be.
Why not? We have nowhere to be.
Plymouth, OH is a crossroads town in the upper middle of the state, surrounded by fields and forests. The area has signs depicting horse drawn carriages that remind me of deer crossing signs, and I imagine a buggy bounding suddenly out of the trees and into our path.
When we arrive at
Kathy’s, she and her husband have cooked us delicious steaks. I am dimly aware
that this is an American way to honor visitors. We eat beef but not very often
and we don’t cook with it for ourselves, so it almost feels like a foreign
custom wherever we encounter it.
Over dinner Kathy tells us about her rise in journalism, working for newspapers and magazines. She talks about work at the local paper and how a new editor came to town once that had no idea how to write for Plymouth readers. Her husband interjects, “This fellow, he didn’t think anything was news. When a car came speeding through the Intersection and flipped upside down, and sat there like a turtle for a whole day, he didn’t think that was worth writing about. Or when the sheriff took his annual firearms test and shot out the windows of his own patrol car, this guy didn’t think people wanted to know that?!”
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