Dear prospective southern Indiana resident:
You would hear the hum of the dirt track four miles from your house on Friday nights. The sound would somehow travel all that way through the absurd continental humidity. It would be eighty five degrees at ten p.m. You would sit on the porch and drink beer and suffocate.
Spent many an evening there after spanking those browns. F.Y.I....try the booze on the top shelf in those "Duck Decanters" -just try it.