Archives for September 2014

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Journey’s End (Natchez To NOLA)

September 28, 2014 by

BIG MUDDY PEEK-A-BOO

2014-07-10 14.35.29As I headed south on Highway 61 out of Vicksburg the Mississippi River reappeared, glistening in the late afternoon sun through a frame of pink flowering shrubs. It was a stirring sight, but the road soon turned inland so I hopped on the Natchez-Trace Parkway hoping for even a faint echo of the magnificent Blue Ridge Parkway. Instead, a monotonous sentry of towering pines dominated the flat landscape.

2014-07-10 16.05.39I arrived in Natchez at 4:00 and made an unplanned stop at a historic park on the outskirts of town. It too was not quite noteworthy—a plantation home of dubious beauty, preservation, or significance. I declined to pay for the final ranger’s tour of the day and instead briskly walked the overgrown ‘gardens’ before heading into town seeking a smaller version of Vicksburg.

(UN)EPIC EPILOGUE

Whereas Vicksburg rose from the river on a steep but sloping hill, Natchez was perched atop a plummeting bluff that provided dramatic views of the Mississippi. A small park along the cliff formed a lovely centerpiece to town, but there was little else to see in this tiny river community.

2014-07-10 16.17.28

View From Natchez Bluff’s Cliff

Natchez once was a thriving riverboat stop between Vicksburg and New Orleans segregated into two distinct sectors. Atop the bluff set ‘Natchez On The Hill’ where wealthy, God-fearing merchants and plantation owners stood removed (at least outwardly) from sin and vice. Along the narrow strip of land at the bottom of the cliff lay ‘Natchez Under The Hill,’ a bustling and rowdy wharf lined with bars, gambling dens, and whorehouses. Multiple attempts from on high to tame Natchez Under The Hill had failed during its frontier days, but now the entire town appears sleepy and reserved—tamed by the sands of time.

2014-07-10 16.33.35It was brutally hot, so after walking down to the river I spread my tent out (I’d left it out overnight to dry but it had rained again) and fled into the lone public establishment within sight for a drink and bite to eat.  The food and atmosphere were pleasant if unremarkable. I relished the chance to jot down some thoughts and reflections but found little other reason to linger.

As I drove out of town, however, I passed a sign pointing to Natchez Under the Hill. Kicking myself for missing a chance to hang out there instead, I drove down the bluff only to find a couple of empty bars and cheesy t-shirt shops.  My disappointment quickly waned, though I did feel a growing melancholy. This was the last stop of my epic journey.

FROM SHACKS & STRIP MALLS TO SILT & RECECDING SOIL

River Casino Below Vicksburg Taking Advantage of the River's Return

River Casino Below Vicksburg Taking Advantage of the River’s Return

Dusk fell as I crossed into Louisiana and passed a steady line of strip malls and country shacks that lead into Baton Rouge. (While New Orleans is a cultural jewel, you’ll never hear many folks raving about the rural Louisiana landscape!) As for Baton Rouge, I’d visited friends who teach at LSU throughout My Year of Mardi Gras and felt little need to return–they were all out of town and beyond the university and a few government buildings deserted on evenings and weekends there was little to see.

I-10 between NOLA and Baton Rouge cuts through large, unpopulated stretches of river and marsh, and as I drove over the receding silt and soil on an endless succession of bridges I reflected on my journey. I had started thousands of miles away at the river’s meager trickle from Lake Itasca and traversed the heart of the country witnessing spectacular changes both geographically and culturally.  Though my journey ended as the lights of the Crescent City rose to embrace me, the river itself meandered on another hundred miles to the Gulf of Mexico. (And I’d already documented this final stretch on a frigid February day.)

VINI VIDI VICI

View From Natchez Under The Hill

View From Natchez Under The Hill

I had been invited to crash at the home of a writer friend, and it was past 9:00 when I arrived.  She was in the throes of revision and I was exhausted, so after minimal obligatory small talk I crawled into bed and sunk into restless sleep, overwhelmed by a swirl of emotions.  Over the past year and a half I’d seen and done so much, yet now it was all over.  There were no more dreams of grandeur, no more tricks to try.  Tomorrow I’d quietly pack up and head back to Florida without stirring a wrinkle on the surface of this deep cultural pond. I came. I saw. I hadn’t conquered. Not by a long shot.

The next morning I awoke early with little time to say goodbye (for now) to the city that had lured me and captivated my imagination yet never quite felt like home. After a farewell breakfast at Slim Goodies, I picked up a U-Haul trailer, hurriedly loaded my belongings in storage, and set out the nine-hour drive back to Jacksonville where I would recoup, regroup, and decide how to move on from My Year+ of Mardi Gras. I had hoped to launch at least a part-time writing career in New Orleans, but continued to struggle to grow an audience or figure out how to turn warm, fluffy sentiment into cold hard cash.  Deep down I know I’ll type away until the day I day, yet part of my feared I was giving up. I was desperate for closure a sign of some sort, so was grateful when the universe offered a sly wink.

A Cute Coincidence or Sign From God?!?

A Cute Coincidence or Sign From God?!?

During my farewell trip along the Mississippi my favorite destination and fondest memory had been Hannibal, Missouri—home of literary hero Mark Twain. To my surprise and delight the U-Haul trailer I was assigned boasted a picture of a leaping frog illustrating Twain’s most famous short story: “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” Every U-Haul illustrates a different location, yet out of thousands of American destinations I’d drawn Mark Twain’s hometown.

Perhaps it was just coincidence, but maybe—just maybe—the universe was giving me a little nudge to keep on hauling….

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Filed Under: Autobiography, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , ,

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Vibrant (No Longer) Vanquished Vicksburg

September 15, 2014 by

MOTHER NATURE-1, GENERAL GRANT-0

City On A Hill

City On A Hill

By the mid 19th Century, Vicksburg was a flourishing antebellum cotton exchange with surprisingly cosmopolitan amenities. Located atop the highest bluff on the southern Mississippi, it was both an important river and railroad junction, so when the Civil War broke out it became arguably the most fiercely contested position of the conflict, its fortress-like perch a defensive blessing that lingered into a curse. Instead of falling quickly to the Union like other river communities, Vicksburg easily frustrated all attempts at capture for over a year, but this would only prolong its suffering.

Vicksburg Past (Lower Mississippi River Museum)

Vicksburg Past
(Lower Mississippi River Museum)

Up-and-coming Union general Ulysses S. Grant (who inherited the failure of the previous command) was so frustrated by Vicksburg that he tried to dig a bypass canal through the horseshoe bend where the city lay at the apex—a colossal failure. Out of desperation, he finally sent his troops on a risky overland maneuver through swampy wilderness in enemy territory cut off from supply lines to lay siege from the city’s rear. The gamble paid off, and over the next few months he starved out the city’s genteel residents while forcing them to live underground like rodents to avoid the ceaseless shelling.

Aware of Vicksburg historically prominent perch, I rolled into town anticipating spectacular views of the mighty Mississippi, but instead discovered I could barely glimpse a narrow, stagnant channel through the trees below.

The Opposing Generals (Battlefield Visitor's Center)

The Opposing Generals
(Battlefield Visitor’s Center)

Vicksburg’s prosperity was fueled by its founding at the Mississippi’s confluence with the Yazoo River, but—in an ironic twist of fate—a dozen years after Grant’s failed detour [Read more…]

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FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Highway 61 Visited

September 3, 2014 by

HIGHWAY 61: RELEVANCE OVER RHYME

Bob_Dylan_-_Highway_61_RevisitedGod says to Abraham, “Kill me a son.”

Abe says, “Man, you must be putting me on!”

God says, “No?”

Abe says, “What?”

God says, “You can do what you want, Abe,

But next time you see me you better run.”

Abe says, “Where do you want this killing done?”

God says, “Out on Highway 61.”

2014-07-09 13.19.22Highway 61, paralleling the Mississippi River throughout the state bearing its name, was the road pre-civil rights era field workers followed north seeking a better life and more tolerant culture with guitars strapped to their backs. Memphis was the first stop of this gradual cultural dispersion that crept on to St. Louis before finding a home in Chicago. In this Midwestern Mecca the blues went electric and flourished into an artistic movement that swept the world; thus, many folks—even old blues songwriters—assume that Highway 61 runs to Chicago when in actuality it ends in northern Minnesota near Bob Dylan’s childhood home (which is appropriate since that’s where the river and my journey began).  In fact, one of Dylan’s greatest and most influential albums was titled Highway 61 Revisited, containing a song thus titled.

2014-07-09 13.06.47While Route 66 is better known because of a catchy rhyme (Get your kicks…), Highway 61 is the most storied route in American music. As I penetrated the Mississippi delta along this fabled corridor I relished this extension of my reverse journey through music history (Cargo flowed south with the current but culture swam upstream!), looking for stops along ‘The Mississippi blues Trail’. The Blues Trail is not a trail at all, but rather a collection of historical markers, museums, and birth sites of famous musicians spanning the entire state. The official map displays hundreds of sites in every corner of the state, leaving little area uncovered; therefore I decided to hit a few highlights.

2014-07-09 14.18.12While glancing down the list of birth sites, however, I was surprised to learn that truly every blues great I could think of from the twenties through the seventies was born in Mississippi except for Buddy Guy, who was born just across the border in Louisiana: B.B. King, Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Albert King, Freddie King, Son House, Elmore James, W.C. Handy, Howlin’ Wolf, John Lee Hooker, Lighting Hopkin’, and on and on and on. When Mississippi claims to be the birthplace of the blues, it is being quite literal. There isn’t even a second pace contender!

NOT ENOUGH MEAT ON THE BONE (THE DELTA BLUES MUSEUM)

2014-07-09 13.06.28The first noteworthy site I passed was in Tunica, which brands itself ‘The Gateway to the Blues.’ The town has converted an old trains depot into a visitor’s center which makes a rustically appealing photo backdrop. One of the friendly staff even came out and snapped a picture for me, though, inside the depot was more a really cool gift shop than educational center so I continued on to an intersection just outside of Clarksdale which is one of several claiming to be the crossroads where, according to blues lore, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to learn how to play guitar. It is a great—if ridiculous—story and I had fun taking a great but ridiculous photo before driving into town to visit the Delta Blues Museum.

2014-07-09 14.21.05Clarksdale isn’t much to look at and the museum is a difficult to find and unremarkable in appearance. The entrance fee is reasonable, though I was a little miffed when they informed me they forbid photography. I requested some stock photos for the blog per their sign addressing the media, but they brushed me off (so I snuck a few pictures when no one was looking!)

2014-07-09 14.20.43Not that there was too much to photograph besides Muddy Water’s salvaged cabin. Waters’ story was told in some—if not elaborate–detail, but he was the only artist who received significant treatment. Displays on other artists were flimsy and revealed little that a moderately informed blues fan wouldn’t already know. More disappointing, the collection made little attempt to build a narrative to explain the birth and evolution of delta blues from a field hand’s diversion to a worldwide cultural institution. Instead, it was a random and spotty collection of artifacts and bios. Perhaps after my incredible Memphis musical ménage à trios of the previous day anything would have trouble measuring up, but I left feeling like the museum barely scraped the surface.

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Muddy Waters Cabin

It was after lunchtime so I stuck my head in Morgan Freeman’s eclectically cluttered Ground Zero Blues Club across the road, but the place was empty and I decided to move on. The club featured live local music every night from ground zero of the blues, but there was little else in Clarksdale to hold me through the afternoon.

DISPERSED COTTON & FANTASTIC CLAIMS

Led Zeppelin's Gift To The Delta Blues Museum Honoring The Music That Inspired Their Launch To International Fame

Led Zeppelin’s Gift To The Delta Blues Museum Honoring The Music That Inspired Their Launch To International Fame

It was too late to divert east of Highway 61 to B.B. King’s Birthplace and Museum in Indianola (for which I’d make a special trip), so I stopped for lunch at another famous barbecue joint located at the crossroads—Abe’s. It still couldn’t compete with my beloved Mojo’s in Jacksonville, though, so I continued south, stopping for a few historical markers along the way.

Morgan Freeman's GROUND ZERO BLUES CLUB

Morgan Freeman’s GROUND ZERO BLUES CLUB

It was thrilling to drive through such cultural significant fertile countryside as the afternoon sun began to fall in the sky, but the fields where the blues were born are too dispersed to conjure the same sense of history as the condensed confines of Memphis. My next planned stop was The Dockery Plantation which claims to be the spot where cotton workers first gathered to develop their new form of music, but the signage directing the way was poor so I kept driving—I had enough photos at spots making fantastic claims and didn’t want to drive late into the night again after another disappointing detour. Besides, I was eager to reach Vicksburg where I had decided to pamper myself on the last night of my journey at a Bed & Breakfast after spending two soggy nights in a leaking tent!

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