cottonfields to the big easy

My friends in Mississippi live along a dusty gravel road off of Mississippi State Route 1. MS-1 never strays further than a mile or so from the river. It follows a path the river once carved. I am in the Delta, the Delta, and my friends regale me with stories of "life on the Delta."

They live in what once was the town of Deeson, populated mainly by sharecroppers. Anymore, about five houses remain standing. Some fields are still fertile, but huge swaths of land lay barren. Vines entangle scrawny trees, bare in this colder-than-average January. I thought of books that are set in this environment, the stories suddenly popping to life before my eyes. One of the books on tape I've been listening to on this adventure is Let the Circle Be Unbroken, and the author's sultry prose filled my ears as I looked around.

It's things like this that make me want to find a way to teach history via outstanding fiction.

To get to Deeson, one follows MS-322 out of Clarksdale for quite a ways before finding Highway 1. The house is 24 miles from Clarksdale, at pop. 20,645 is a thriving metropolis. The house is drafty, and we heat it with radiators as we huddle under blankets overnight. In the morning, we have coffee and oats cooked on a hot plate. We walk the dog in the sparse woods, and then I am on the road again.

My goal today: New Orleans! So exciting!

The day was gray and cloudy as I motored south, continuing along MS-1 as far as I could. The mighty river rumbled along to my right, and I was humbled by its presence. I drove through several small towns. Many were no bigger than a few side streets, a boarded-up gas station, and an overgrown brick school building. On this dreary, dusty Sunday morning, few people were out and about, and those that were lingered idly.

Eventually, the clouds gave way to a glorious sun that warmed me as I drove south. I grabbed MS-14 east for a few miles into Rolling Fork and the subsequent junction with US-61. I drove through Gunnison, MS, where bluesman Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil, or so they say. I drove through Onward, MS, where Teddy Roosevelt famously refrained from shooting a bear, giving birth to a generation of children's toys.

I feel like I spent a lot of time talking about the same things: the sky, the weather, the fields, the horizon, the sunrise/sunset, routes. All of these things are spectacular, every day. So I don't really mind. The trees grew thicker around me as I drove; there is something utterly magical about the way sunlight streams through trees in January. It's as if the branches are crying out for more. When I look through the leafless trees, I feel like I can see all the way through the woods and out the other side into the past.

I followed US-61 around Vicksburg, picking up MS-27. I was reluctant to leave the back roads; with two extra hours of driving time, I could have made it to New Orleans without ever seeing the interstate, but I wanted to get there as soon as possible! MS-27 was a gorgeous, invigorating ride as I crossed over lakes that were once part of the Mississippi River, wound around plantations that grew ever-greener as I went southward. Ultimately, I sped onto Interstate 55 which would take me into the bayou. This, too, was a beautiful ride. I-55 is thickly framed by trees, some brown and bare, others full in their piney green foliage. I crossed the 31st parallel and into Louisiana, where I stopped at the first rest area. I've learned that the first rest area of each state comes complete with a fully staffed welcome center, maps of all sorts, and friendly staff who will eagerly direct you throughout the state. And free coffee! The lipsticked ladies behind the desk gave me stern, drawling directions to the area of New Orleans I was headed to.

About 23 miles north of New Orleans, I-55 goes up on pilons, like a bridge, and never comes down. I realized I was on the bayou. The sun began to set to my right, glinting off the intense blue water. Trucks sped past me, but I was enjoying this ride. I got closer and closer. The gulf loomed ahead of me, or perhaps that was just my anticipation. I-55 ends at I-10, my old friend which got me across the desert, and I headed east into New Orleans. As dusk fell, Lake Pontchartrain rose boldly to my left, and the Gulf bracketed the road on my right. I giggled with excitement; I can't explain what it was like to be driving between two enormous, influential bodies of water.

I'll write more about my New Orleans adventures later but for now, it's time to go have some today!

Daily mileage: 347. Total mileage: 3,739.