FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Walking In Memphis (After Fleeing Illinois)

A SECOND CHANCE FOR A NATIONAL DISGRACE

Walking In Memphis...With My Feet 10 Feet Off Of Beale

Walking In Memphis…With My Feet 10 Feet Off Of Beale

Cairo, Illinois has always seemed mythic to me. Founded on the peninsula where the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers join, it marks the most important intersection of the nation’s original superhighway, connecting the interior of the original states to the Gulf of Mexico and world beyond. I most envision Cairo, though, as the gateway to the abolitionist north that Huckleberry Finn and his runaway companion, Jim, tragically drifted past in a heavy fog. Yet while the Mississippi’s intersection with the Missouri gave birth to mighty St. Louis, Cairo is a small town of little note outside of Mississippi River literature.

For good reason.

Welcome To Historic Cairo

Welcome To Historic Cairo

From the moment I crossed back into Illinois I was confronted by more decay and neglect. I hoped Cairo would be an appealing little hamlet like those of southern Minnesota, embracing its historical significance, but this rundown town on the state’s southern tip was hardly worth a second glance. I continued on the Great River Road to the confluence, but the wayside was overgrown, littered with trash, and abandoned like all the others; the placard was faded and barely readable. It took a minute to get my bearings since there were no markers to make sense of the landscape, only a dilapidated concrete landing that looked like an abandoned military bunker. I assumed it was meant to provide a view (or something for bored [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: The St. Louis News

FOLLOWING THE RIVER AGAIN (THEORETICALLY)

2014-07-06 16.43.45Although I stayed up late chatting with my neighbor, I was up early the next morning to meet an old friend, Matt Gregg, for the 1:00 Cardinals game in St. Louis. So after heading back to the Java Jive to book a room via their internet (any excuse for great coffee) I headed south along the river.

At least theoretically.

As I left town it was immediately clear that flooding had worsened overnight. After the second major detour around a flooded small town I steered away from the rising waters.

CASINO QUEEN: A MUSICAL LANDMARK (OR NOT)

Casino Queen / My God you’re mean

I’ve been gambling like a fiend / On your tables so green

Casino Queen.

Casino Queen From Across The River

Casino Queen From Across The River

On their debut album, Wilco—a band with Midwestern roots— [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Celebrating The Nation’s Birthday In America’s Hometown

BLOGGING BY FIRELIGHT

Spending The 4th With Tom & Huck

Spending The 4th With Tom & Huck

Tonight, after three longs days of driving, I’m spending my second consecutive night in Hannibal, Missouri, having merely traveled the two miles to town and back today. Taking the day off to bask in history and walk in the footsteps of—in my opinion—America’s greatest writer feels luxurious after my whirlwind trek from Lake Itasca.

 

 

Map Of The Web Like Cavern Passages...No Wonder A Young Twain Got Lost!

Map Of The Web Like Cavern Passages…No Wonder A Young Twain Got Lost!

As I write these words I’m basking in a warm, orange glow: my first ever act of blogging by firelight. I’m camped just a few hundred yards from the cavern where Samuel Clemens got lost as a child, an incident that he would recreate as central plot point in his breakthrough novel: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

Blogging by a campfire may seem like an odd juxtaposition of the elemental and artificial, but it feels rather romantic. I’d like to think Mark Twain would approve.

BAD LUCK=DIVINE PROVIDENCE

Arriving In Hannibal

Arriving In Hannibal

I’d arrived in Hannibal late in the afternoon on the Fourth of July after spending the previous night in Iowa, too rushed to relax as my idealistic visions of cooking dinner on a scenic bluff gave way to hurriedly pitching my tent while daylight faded as I munched on veggies and lunch meat. I knew I’d have the entire next day to explore Hannibal, though, so that afternoon allowed myself to relax before heading into town for the fireworks.

Relaxing In Hannibal On The Fourth

Relaxing At My Lovely Campsite After Dinner

I’d been worried that [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Corn Country

SLUTTY MINNESOTA

La Crosse, Wisconsin

La Crosse, Wisconsin

My drive through rural Wisconsin was bookended by La Crosse and Prairie du Chien, two towns that were nice enough but not as intriguing as those of southern Minnesota. I crossed into Iowa at Marquette, which was nothing more than a couple of motels and a casino with a giant buffet (per the billboard) tucked beneath a steep bluff, but just a couple of miles to the south McGregor turned out to be a comely one street town ending in a T-intersection at a large stone church.

 

Crossing Into Iowa

Crossing Into Iowa

This picturesque and abrupt termination made McGregor memorable, but there wasn’t a coffee shop or cafe to distract passers through. This trend would hold throughout much of Iowa. The towns were neat and pleasant, but they were quite chaste compared to those of slutty Minnesota, trying to seduce naïve strangers with its lurid craft boutiques and frilly cafes.

In fact, McGregor was so indifferent to outsiders that this crucial intersection—the only one in town—didn’t bother embellishing route numbers with anything as gaudy as hints about what town…state park…local attraction…or NATIONAL SCENIC BYWAY… may be found by following a particular route. Your choices were 76 or County X56. Locals would know.

Abrupt Ending In McGregor

Abrupt Ending In McGregor

I figured the county route was too obscure to be The Great River Road, so I turned right and soon came to an even more confusing intersection in the middle of nowhere that correlated poorly withthe tattered road atlas from [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: A Cluster of Culture (Southern Minnesota)

LYRICAL EXAGGERATION & DONUT INDULGENCE

2014-07-03 11.07.23I’d gone to bed a bundle of nerves from pushing too far the day before, but woke feeling refreshed and excited. As an added bonus, I was surprised to discover by daylight that Red Wing was a lovely red brick town filled with towering churches, historically preserved storefronts, and converted warehouses, all nestled beneath a scenic bluff with a park on top providing a panoramic view of it all. I’d visited Allentown once expecting industrial ruin per the Billy Joel song and was shocked to find a bustling, refurbished downtown district. Similarly, the Dylan song had prepared me for Dickensian bleakness, yet Red Wing turned out to be one of the most charming small towns I visited.

2014-07-03 11.00.35I wandered the streets soaking in the sunshine and hometown vibe for a while—my favorite pastime when visiting a new place—before being lured into a bakery and coffee shop prominently featuring a banner proclaiming it had been voted Minnesota’s best. It had a comfy, rustic vibe and the long display case was packed so full of delectable confections that I instantly knew the low carb diet I’d clung to so stubbornly was about to take the morning off.

As I stared lustily at the menagerie of decadence, I asked the girl behind the counter to steer me to the best option, desperate to get the most bang for my buck with my nutritional sin, but she assured me everything was good. Well, that really narrowed things down!

2014-07-03 11.00.25Normally I steer clear of donuts, considering them the cotton candy of pastry. Krispy Kremes in particular dissolve on the tongue before I’m fully aware of what I’m tasting, yet shortly after that millisecond of indulgence my blood sugar spikes and I ache for bed like suffering a bad flu. These hearty round pastries, however, held a greater promise, and I asked about the day’s special— [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: A Winding Wilderness Waterway

PYTHON THAT SWALLOWED THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

2014-07-01 12.35.04The town of Bemidji lies about 20 miles northeast of the Mississippi’s source and boasts dual claims to fame: first town on the Mississippi River and birthplace of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox (and I’m not sure they realize the latter aren’t actual historical figures!) During its initial wilderness leg the modest Mississippi balloons into three of Minnesota’s largest lakes in quick succession like a python that swallowed the Three Little Pigs. Bemidji, a surprisingly robust college hockey town (home of The U of M-Bemidji), hugs the first of these lakes that dominate the Mississippi’s initial northern arc and is the only one developed beyond small fishing camp and boat resorts.

2014-07-01 17.39.39Upon entering town, it’s near-mandatory to stop by the welcome center and allow the giant statues of Paul & Babe to photo bomb you by the lake. Just around the corner, though, is a nearly completed lakefront arena of grand scale and design that promises to draw legends and giants of a different ilk. Whereas the lakefront is the main draw, there’s a string of alluring coffee shops and cafes mixed amongst the souvenir shops running perpendicular from the waterfront like a spoke. Venture a little further and you run into a cheerily cluttered antique mall perfect for visiting packrats and a small operational wool mill that sells the socks and gloves it produces next door along with an assortment of heavy wool clothing from other manufacturers to help you through the frigid northern winters.

The River Flowing Into Lake Bemidji

The River Flowing Into Lake Bemidji

The primary reason visitors travel this far north, though, is for [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Veritas Caput (True Head)

A RIVER BY ANY OTHER NAME (OR BRANCH)

"I crush you with my fingers, great river!"

“I crush you with my fingers, great river!”

Identifying a river seems to be an obvious endeavor, but choosing which trickle of rainwater is the true source can be as tricky as determining which grain of sand begins a beach. Thus, it wasn’t until 1832 that the source of the Mighty Mississippi was established when a local Native American led Henry Schoolcraft—a geologist and U.S. diplomat on an Indian peacekeeping mission who decided to take a side trip after failing to find the source with previous expeditions—to the portage flowing from a lake that Schoolcraft named Itasca. As with any such claim, controversy quickly ensued and other ambitious explorers tried to refute his claim.

2014-06-30 16.33.15Modern scientists even question whether the northern branch of the great confluence should be considered the ‘true river,’ for the Missouri River, branching to the west, dwarfs the length of the entire recognized Mississippi while the Ohio River—branching to the east—contributes by far the greatest volume of water. Yet while debate may continue in scientific communities, Schoolcraft triumphed with historians, mapmakers, and vacationers seeking to stride the humble origins of the nation’s greatest river.

SEEKING TRUE HEAD

2014-06-30 17.06.07Schoolcraft created the name Itasca by combining the Latin words veritas (true) and caput (head), though he might as well have called it Lake Disappointment! Early writers and naturalists, eager to witness the birth of the Mighty Mississippi, decried this marshy, log and debris jammed outlet as an unworthy beginning for the nation’s legendary artery.

Rendering of Veritas Caput As It Was

Rendering of Veritas Caput As It Was

Although the modern aesthetic would tend towards preseveration, depression era work corpsmen decided to [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: Detour Duluth

PICKLES & DRYER LINT

Moosing Around In Duluth

Moosing Around In Duluth

While visiting my sister, Kelli Sarrett Moors, over Christmas I raved so much about the curry pickles she and my mother canned last summer she sent me home with a jar. I later raved on Facebook about how I put them on a sandwich and enjoyed it so much that I forgot to add meat. Alas, they are sweet pickles and full of sugar, so when I embarked on My Low Carb Lent I pushed the half-finished jar to the back of the refrigerator. As I emptied out my apartment, however, I couldn’t bear to leave behind the best pickles ever.

Between maintaining my diet—which I’ve eased up on a bit per design—and cleaning out my fridge, I left New Orleans with two coolers full of food. Last Thursday as I transferred this mass of groceries into Jesse’s refrigerator, he and Amy were stunned. When I pulled out the half-finished jar of pickles, though, it was too much. “That’s just ridiculous!” Jesse declared, shaking his head.

One Of Duluth's Lights

One Of Duluth’s Lights

Two days later as we headed north to Duluth, a frigid college/tourist/mining town perched on a hillside on the southeastern tip of Lake Superior, I realized in a huff that I’d left my wallet in Jesse’s basement. Later, as we pitched our tents along the shore of the lake, Jesse and Amy again marveled as I pulled out elastic jewelry string and began to repair my tent poles whose innards had dry rotted. Then, when Jesse realized we’d forgot trash bags I declared, “We can just use my [Read more…]

FOLLOWING THE MISSISSIPPI: The Waterfall That Starts It All (Minneapolis)

ONE FINAL DETOUR

Minneapolis & The Waterfall That Built A City

Minneapolis & The Waterfall That Built A City

Last we spoke I was lying on an air mattress in an empty house contemplating the future. Now I’m curled up in a leather recliner cradling a streaming cup of black coffee in a rugged, wood hewn coffee shop along Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota warding off the chill of a northern summer as I eagerly embrace the glorious present tense.

Granted, Duluth is slightly beyond the reach of the Mississippi River—the alpha and omega of my journey –but anyone familiar with my life knows that I’m always susceptible to a delightful detour. In fact, One Final Detour could serve as my epitaph!

THE WATERFALL AND THE FLAT HEAD

Hauling Aspirations Past A Missouri Sunset

Hauling Aspirations Past A Missouri Sunset

Exorbitant rental car rates made flying north impractical so the morning after my dining room dissertation I packed my truck so full you would think I were [Read more…]

One Last Adventure: Exploring The Spiritual Artery of New Orleans

EMPTY HOUSE, CROWDED MIND

One Last Game With The Guys

One Last Game With The Guys

Tonight I’m lying on an air mattress in the dining room of the now empty New Orleans house I’ve rented for the past ten months. Last night this room was filled with the stories and laughter of the good friends I’ve made over the last year and a half. It took an entire year for my ‘Red Beans On Monday’ parties to draw a steady crowd, but the last several gatherings have been smashing successes. Last night’s encore performance didn’t disappoint, delivering all the enrichment and communion that I’d hoped for when I began this tradition after reading about the phenomenon in Gumbo Tales. Thus inspired, I made my first Monday pot as a New Orleans resident within weeks of moving here and tried to give them away to the neighbor who begged off, citing her diabetes. I’ve come a long way.

It figures things would finally start to click as my time winds down.

Fore!

Fore!

Therapy work is still slow in New Orleans, writing opportunities have failed to materialize, and I’ve yet to hear back from my last gasp TV audition. Meanwhile, several interesting opportunities are beckoning back in Florida, so perhaps it’s time to join the real world again and resume the daily grind, relegating passion back to hobby as most adult do.

PACKING UP & LOOKING BACK

Visiting My Old Decatur Street Home

Visiting My Old Decatur Street Home

I have no regrets. It has been an enlightening year and I never truly intended to permanently relocate, anyhow. Still, it was a little melancholy over the past week packing up and looking back. As I’ve reminisced I’ve visited old haunts and caught up with everyone I could. Sunday afternoon I took one last opportunity to play croquet with the Chewbacchus folks and that night headed to Frenchmen Street while it’s still just down the road. At one point in the evening wanderlust overtook me and I strolled back by my Decatur Street home of last summer’s misadventures, checking on the old neighborhood.

Last night’s red beans was the final stop on my farewell tour, so this morning I put my stuff in storage and cleaned the house, setting aside food and camping gear for one last adventure.

LEWIS & GPS (FOLLOWING THE BIG MUDDY)

The Old Neighborhood At Night

The Old Neighborhood At Night

Tomorrow I’m heading north, driving to Minnesota—specifically Lake Itasca, source of the Mississippi River. From there I plan to follow it back to New Orleans, blogging about my discoveries along the way. I have no itinerary. I’m just heading out like a Lewis without the Clark (though with a GPS, which is probably better, anyhow.)

There is no New Orleans without the Mississippi River and all that enters that great draining basin must pass the Crescent City on its search for the sea. I have wanted to take this trip since arriving in town–for the river seems such a natural extension of the city–and recently it has occurred to me as the perfect farewell. So I’ll spend the next two weeks exploring the river that made New Orleans a necessity and contributed to is wild and delinquent nature, following it back to my current adopted home.

SEEKING CLOSURE: ONE LAST GRAND ADVENTURE

One Last Night On Frenchmen

One Last Night On Frenchmen

Unless something drastic happens as I meander, then I’ll pack upon return and head back East, having found such fitting closure in seeking out the spiritual artery that feeds New Orleans.

The blog will continue, as will my visits to New Orleans and participation in Mardi Gras, but differently. The blog and my study of New Orleans will again become a hobby rather than focus of my time and attention.

Empty House

Empty House

Yet before I go trying to grow up again, I have one last grand adventure to undertake, so I hope you’ll check in from time to time as I cut through the heartland of this great nation looking for the people and places whose essence has drifted down towards this famous bend in the Big Muddy to create one of the most unique and interesting cities in the world.

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