Memphis. Home of the Blues!

We arrived facing the usual issues when a downtown hotel is involved. The parking garage can’t really handle an 11-foot-tall vehicle, so we parked in traffic on a busy street and unloaded ten shopping bags of possessions onto a hotel cart, then parked a block away in a lot with no visible security. Oh, well.

Our hotel was about two doors from Beale Street, on the corner of B.B. King Boulevard.

 A sign at the front desk says “This hotel is in the entertainment district. It’s noisy here until the wee hours. If you’re looking for a quiet hotel, this isn’t it.” We didn’t mind. We could listen to the music in our room with no cover charge, and it’s possible to fall blissfully asleep to the sound of a driving bass if you’re old enough and tired enough.

While in Memphis we walked Beale Street and dropped in on some good blues groups. 

We toured the Sun Records Studio, founded by Sam Phillips, where countless hit records were recorded by the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis, Howling Wolf, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, and of course Elvis.  

Our guide, Tiffany, told us that the very first rock n’ roll recording  ever was made at Sun (“Rocket 88” by Jackie Brenston and the Delta Cats). 

 The story was that Elvis was no overnight success. He had to audition several times, hang around constantly and do everything but sweep the floors before he finally got a chance to make a record, and the rest is history. His first record was “That’s All Right, Mama.”  Sam Phillips immediately took a copy to the local radio station. When it was played, they received so many call-in requests that the song was played fourteen times in a row.

Part of the Sun tour included the actual studio where all the recordings were made. 

On display in the studio is an original mic that was used by all the lead singers, including Elvis, Johnny Cash, and the rest. Kate and I tried it out. 

 This could be our big break.

We visited the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. The museum is built around the Lorraine Hotel, the site where Martin Luther King was shot while standing on the balcony outside his room. 

 The museum thoroughly displays exhibits and films taking patrons through the history of blacks in America, from slavery through several stages of oppression, civil rights struggles, setbacks, and successes, up to the election of the first black president. There is no Trump exhibit as yet. 

The transatlantic slave trade lasted 366 years and moved 12.5 million Africans across the Atlantic Ocean. It was the largest forced migration in human history.

The museum served as a reminder that forms of oppression like Jim Crow laws, laws against interracial marriage, and internment camps survived until quite recently, and not only in the South. Continuing this trend, at least 33 states have now enacted legislation requiring some form of government ID for voting.

The museum’s effect is overwhelming in its completeness, but somehow didn’t have the impact on us that the much smaller, simpler, focused tour of Central High School in Little Rock had had. Maybe the difference was the effect of the dynamic Ranger Toni in Little Rock.

At any rate, even today at the Memphis Civil Rights Museum there was controversy and dissent. A young woman and man had a table set up outside the museum on a street corner, protesting the very existence of the museum. Their passionately made point was that the museum is part of the gentrification of what used to be their neighborhood, displacing blacks from downtown Memphis, diverting revenues to a corporation that does nothing to address the needs of blacks in the community. I don’t know the other side of the story, but they made a strong case, and they were mad.

One day we decided to visit the Stax Records Museum, about 2 ½ miles from our hotel. Kate thought it would be a good idea if we walked there for the exercise. We asked for walking directions at the hotel’s front desk. They looked at us as if they couldn’t be hearing what we were saying, but eventually they told us how to walk there. We set out, and after about a mile we reached what looked like a very nice low-rise public housing project. It was very well kept, quite huge (many grassy acres) – and all boarded up. No one lived there. We walked on and on passing it. We looked ahead on our route and noticed several apparently unemployed men slouching against walls, looking aimless. Kate suggested detouring, but we only had a mile or so to go, so I advocated pushing on, and we did. 

We ran the gauntlet of slouching men without incident. Later we asked someone if he knew why the housing project was closed. He said the housing authority was intending to scrape it and build something else, probably something that no one would be able to afford to live in.  "Politricking," he said. On our way through the area, we realized that more than the projects were slated for destruction. The neighborhood high school was also closed and boarded up. 

We also found signs (literally) to give us pause, like the one at a corner grocery store. 

On the other hand, we also came upon Miss Shirley’s Soul Food Kitchen.

We started chatting with the people hanging out front, and since It was about lunch time, we decided to try some soul food.  Inside, the place was quite large (maybe thirty tables), and had a large food selection. Miss Shirley cooks all the food herself. 

Miss Shirley at work.

Kate and I had meatloaf, turnip greens, okra, a fried pork chop, corn bread, and banana pudding (with pieces of real banana and vanilla wafers mixed in). We decided to postpone our diet a little longer. 

After lunch we talked a little more with Miss Shirley and her assistant while they were taking a break.

Taking a break (boarded up housing in background).

The Stax Museum was great. 

Stax Museum today.

Stax Studio back in the day.

Recreated on the site of the original Stax Studios, the museum features nice exhibits detailing the history of Stax and stories about the incredible array of recording stars it spawned, including Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes, Rufus Thomas, Sam and Dave, Carla Thomas, Booker T and the MG’s, Wilson Pickett, and more. We viewed a brief film about the history of the record company, and then toured the exhibits. 

The exhibits featured recordings by the many, many Stax artists and some film clips. Even Isaac Hayes’s Cadillac is on display. 

Stax is pretty much associated with raw, raucus Black music, but the actual atmosphere of the place in its heyday in the 50’s and 60’s was virtually colorblind. Many of the groups (e.g., Booker T and the MG’s) were a mixture of black and white performers, and veterans of that era say that Stax was a haven in Jim Crow Memphis where color didn’t matter.  The only other such oasis in Memphis was the Lorraine Hotel. The assassination of Dr. King at the Lorraine changed all that – from that point on, whites were less welcomed by blacks at Stax. The assassination and its aftermath were among the  factors that eventually led to the demise of Stax in 1976.

We decided not to walk back to our hotel after the museum visit, and we caught taxi ride with some other people headed downtown. We mentioned to the (black) cab driver that we had walked to the museum from our hotel. “You walked here though the ‘hood? I’ve lived here all my life and no way I’d ever walk through that ‘hood. There’s gangs in there.” But we did, and we had a good lunch in the bargain. Maybe we won’t again, though.

On our last day in Memphis we took in the Mississippi River Museum. It had an interesting approach to layout and presentation. The museum winds through four floors in a kind of serial flow, sort of like a river. First you look at prehistoric times on the river, then at Indian cultures over the centuries, then at Spanish (DeSoto) and French (Marquette and Joliet) explorers, and on through to modern days. 

On the way, you wander around a full scale replica of a nineteenth century riverboat, sample the history of music along the Mississippi from Chicago to New Orleans, and visit the bridge of a modern diesel tugboat guiding a barge along the Mississippi. 

Riverboat interior.

Modern Mississippi tugboat bridge.

 At the exit the displays merge visually with the river itself. 

Once outside the museum, on display is a complete scale model of the Mississippi, from the headwaters to the Gulf of Mexico, complete with flowing water, labels to show location of cities, state borders, etc. We had fun walking the length of it, looking for Mississippi towns we’ve visited and those we hoped yet to visit. 

Kate walks through Tennessee toward Kentucky.

Walking across town from the museum we had one of those slightly jarring experiences reserved for naïve Yankees spending time in the South. There in a place of prominence was a statue of Jefferson Davis, “Before the War Between the States, he served with distinction as a United States Congressman, and twice as a United States Senator, He also served as Secretary of War of the United States. He was a true American patriot.” 

Well, I would say he was NOT a true American patriot, and I’d say having a statue of him in a prominent place is not unlike flying the Confederate flag, and is especially a slap in the face to the large population of blacks in Memphis. But there it is, and no one (that I know of) has rioted about it or tried to blow it up or remove it. It's clear that these things are more complicated than I know, but I don't understand.

On our way out of town we dropped by Graceland, with the intention of taking the tour of Elvis’s mansion. Parking cost ten dollars. From the parking lot we approached the overwhelmingly large and fairly ugly complex that funnels the crowds to the mansion across the road.

When we reached the ticket window, we discovered that the bare bones pauper’s tour costs $40 each with the senior discount. The really cool tour with a guide costs $160 per person (no senior discount). We decided we didn’t really need to see how Elvis spent his money, so we left with no tour. Kate tried to get the ten dollars back at the parking booth, but “No refunds.”  I was able to get a partial photo of one of Elvis’s private planes as we sped by, so all was not lost. 

On to Oxford, Mississippi for an evening in the Walmart parking lot. It was there that we discovered that indeed our sewage system was leaking like a sieve. 

Trouble in the Walmart parking lot.

Oh. And our air conditioner didn’t seem to work. So now we had to figure out if we just needed a new shroud, or if we needed a whole new air conditioner (which would come with its own shroud). We could have picked a better time for this. We were getting deeper into the South, the temperature and humidity were rising, and we had no A/C. How did those pioneers on the Oregon Trail (much less the Trail of Tears) do it?

As is always the case when we have dire rig emergencies, we made these discoveries after 6:00 pm on a Friday. RV repair places for some reason universally are only open Monday through Friday. So there we’d be staying, in Oxford, until at least Monday. Lucky Walmart is open 24/7 and has bathrooms.

But on the bright side, we made a new friend in the Walmart parking lot. Cindy, from Texas, Is living in her pickup truck for now in the next parking space because:

The f**king people at the f**king motel next door asked for her ID, and her ID didn’t match the name on the credit card, so they wouldn’t give her a room. So she called her f**king ex, but he was no f**king help, as usual. 

Cindy was terrific for moral support, but didn’t have anything really practical to offer to get us out of our predicament.

Vignette Department: When we awakened in the Walmart parking lot, Kate said “Here we are, broken down rig, no A/C, sitting in the Walmart parking lot.” We had the kernel of our own blues song.

Adding to our blue mood was the fact that our new friend Cindy had vanished in the night. No trace of her. While we pondered this development, Phil pulled up next to us in his rig.  Phil is a free lance IT guy who has worked in several states for several companies. He also is “a bit of an engineer.” We told him about our plumbing disaster, and immediately he was under our rig checking it out. 

He concluded that the damage could be easily fixed, and took a photo to prove it. 

The photo was a mystery to us, but we took his word for it. Better yet, one of Phil’s current IT clients is “the best RV repair outfit in the South.” The owner and the service manager are close personal friends of his. Phil promised to contact them to introduce us and to tell them we’re coming for service, and he guaranteed they’d move us to the front of the queue and fix us up in no time. This seemed like it was a really good break, though it would take us to Jackson, Mississippi, about 200 miles off our then intended route.

We decided to leave the rig at Walmart and take Uber to the Double Decker Festival in Oxford (named for Oxford's double decker London-style tourist buses). A star-studded cast of mostly blues performers was scheduled to perform, and it was free – no admission charge.  When we arrived,  throngs of people were there. 

Within a minute or so of our arrival, in the midst of the throng, we bumped into Cindy, our Walmart parking lot friend. 

Kate and Cindy

We knew this festival was on Cindy's bucket list, because she wanted to see the headliner, Dr. John, perform live. She had driven all the way from Texas in order to see him. 

When we met up with Cindy at the festival, she was sitting on a bench facing the staging area behind the outdoor concert stage. She had been up all night, and was drinking a lot of coffee to stay awake until Dr. John’s scheduled 7:00 pm performance. She had a long time to wait; it was only 11 in the morning. She offered to stay on the bench and save us places while we looked around town, so we set out to see Oxford.

There were tons of people there, scores of booths selling crafts and street food, and more scores of restaurants and bars stuffed with partying folk. 

Kate was putting her fan to good use – it was hot.

We spent a lot of time at Square Books, a terrific independent book store, which was doing a brisk business that day. 

We retreated from the festival by relaxing on the Square Books balcony. 

There we met Kristen and Laura.  Both were Oxford locals for years – graduates of Oxford High and the University of Mississippi (Ole Miss). Their parents had worked at Ole Miss for several years. Now the daughters live near Memphis, where Kristen teaches Spanish during the week and waits tables on the weekend. Laura is a bookkeeper for a restaurant in the mornings and waits tables in the evenings. Southern Millennials. They were very friendly and helpful, giving us lots of ideas about what to do in Oxford and where to eat. 

Kristen and Laura

Where to eat was the Ajax Restaurant, featuring soul food. 

We had turnip greens, fried okra, coleslaw, red beans and rice, purple hulled peas, and cornbread. Yum! Note: Diet postponed until visit to South completed.

Suddenly we realized five hours had passed since we left Cindy on the bench. We feared she was long gone, but there she was – right where we left her, saving our places.

The daylong concert had begun at 10:00 am, and the crowd was revving up, in anticipation of Dr. John’s appearance. 

Finally the big moment came, and Dr. John, a 77-year-old blues/rock/zydeco cult star, took the stage. 

The crowd went wild; he was great. 

Cindy really got into it, too. 

Cindy offered us a ride back to Walmart from town in her Dodge Ram pickup.  On the way, Kate suggested that Cindy might take a nap before attempting to drive 11 hours to Florida. Cindy’s instant reply: ”F**k that!” Cindy was someone who said what she thought – no hesitation. Always. She dropped us off at about 9:00 p.m., and set out for Florida, after promising to stop at a rest area if she felt tired. We hoped she made it safely home.

After sheltering from a storm for a day by hiding out in the comfortable chairs at Square Books, we stayed overnight at a campground 15 miles outside of Oxford. The next day’s activities, I warn you, will sound boring. I feel this document (the blog) has now gained status (weight) such that it’s become our own version of the Lewis & Clark Journals. All (2) of you readers may realize it, but 200 years from now, scholars will be salivating over the level of detail recorded here.

A Slice of life from a day on the road:

We called the RV repair place in Jackson, Mississippi where we had an “in” because parking lot friend Phil was a VIP there. Right away it was clear that if the service manager in fact knew Phil, he wasn’t impressed that we knew Phil. He said we could make an appointment for two weeks hence, and they’d take a look.

Next we called the student book store at Ole Miss to see if they might have in stock a MacBook charger to replace Kate’s broken one. They don’t sell any Apple products, and don’t think anyone in Oxford does.  We conducted a vigorous internet search and found a computer repair shop that has MacBook chargers (located less than a half mile from the Ole Miss student book store). We went there and bought a new charger. 

On to Baptist Memorial Hospital in Oxford, looking to get my monthly blood draw. I had to wait 45 minutes in the Admissions Office, then go through a long process to get “registered as a patient in their system,” then I waited another 30 minutes before it was my turn for a blood draw.

On to the Visitor Information Center in Oxford. While there, we mentioned our problems with the RV and were overheard by Michelle, another customer. “My best friend owns an RV repair place in Sherman [40 miles away]. She’ll be glad to help you. I’ll text her and tell her you’re coming.” We'd heard this one before. Had another delicious lunch in a restaurant on Courthouse Square in Oxford.

Called my State Farm agent to discuss our Subaru’s recent traffic accident while being driven by our friend in Palo Alto. Then called the friend to discuss what the insurance agent said.

Late in the afternoon there was a text from Michelle: "Hi Don, this is Michelle that you met at the Visit Oxford office. I talked with Carol at Sherman RV, she said to be there at 7:30 & they will be glad to help you. Best of luck to you & Kate!!"

We visited Rowan Oak, Faulkner’s home in Oxford. 

Consistent with an emerging theme in our untethered wanderings, we arrived at Rowan Oak on a day when it was closed to the public. We resolved to return another day when it would be open, if possible.

From Rowan Oak we walked the wooded path (about 4 miles round trip) to the Ole Miss campus. 

Another jolt or two. At a central place on campus, there's a statue commemorating the valor of Confederate soldiers during the Civil War. The statue became a rallying point for opponents of integration in 1962, when James Meredith was attempting to become the first black student to enroll at Ole Miss. 

To be sure, there’s also a statue of James Meredith himself, in a slightly less central place. Our feelings about this were colored, admittedly, by the account we had recently read about the incident three years ago when someone had placed a noose around the neck of the statue and laid a Confederate flag at its feet. 

Kate with statue of James Meredith

The nickname for Ole Miss sports teams is the Rebels. About 80 to 90 percent of Ole Miss football players are black.  I can't quite wrap my head around these seemingly mutually exclusive facts that are part of everyday life in the South. How do people come to terms with them? 

Returning to the rig, we noticed that some of the plumbing had now sagged, hanging to within a few inches of the road. I made another ingenious duct tape repair to hold it together temporarily. 

Since we had to show up at 7:30 a.m the next day, we drove closer to Sherman and spent the night in the Walmart parking lot in Tupelo (birthplace of Elvis --Tupelo, not the Walmart parking lot). 

From the song “Playin’ Solitaire at the Tupelo Walmart.” – only it was Words With Friends.

Next morning there we were at Sherman RV, bright and early. 

No one seemed to know who we were. Carol wasn’t expected for another hour. So, we settled in to wait. Carol arrived and was very cordial, but then went on about her business. So we waited. At lunchtime we took the staff’s recommendation and went on foot down the road to Sherman’s only restaurant, the Big R Drive-in (more on this later).  Returning from lunch we found that the rig had disappeared from where we had parked it. It was in the shop. They were working on it. A few hours later came the word: They fixed it! We were back on the road.

Next day we explored Tupelo. We visited the house where Elvis was born and spent his early years. I sat on the porch swing and hummed “Love Me Tender."

In the adjacent museum there were some cool exhibits of Elvis memorabilia, like these childhood photos, and the photo of his mom (in the oval frame). 

We also visited Tupelo Hardware (still operating as an everyday hardware store), where Elvis got his very first guitar. 

Our guide Connie (yes, there’s an Elvis guide in the hardware store) is a devoted and very knowledgeable Elvis fan. 

She showed us the X on the floor (marked with ever-versatile duct tape) where Elvis and his Mom stood when the fateful guitar was purchased, as a present for his 12^th birthday. She also pointed out a guitar on display just like the one they purchased that day. 

We stopped in at the Tupelo Automobile Museum, which has dozens of exquisitely restored cars, including one that once belonged to Elvis. 

I stood shoulder to shoulder with a life-size 

cutout of Elvis (I’m on the left).

Neither of us is a particularly devoted Elvis fan, but we came away from our experiences in Memphis and Tupelo with a new appreciation for his enormous talent, his sweet disposition, and the ultimately lonely life he led.

That night while camping we noticed that there was a new, sizable leak from our wastewater system. Sherman RV had fixed the problem created by my ditch-diving, but an unrelated problem now had surfaced. We had to return to Sherman RV and throw ourselves on their mercy yet again.

The ensuing repairs required all day, and considerable ingenuity on the part of the repair guy assigned to our job. While waiting in the RV dealership for this second, unexpected day, we hung out a lot in the RV supply shop.

Overheard in Sherman RV’s shop:

"When I was in college, I had a professor who used to say at the end of class, "Now, I want y’all to go home and muuull this over. You need to muuuull this over, because then it'll stick with you. And that'll make the difference between a Pinto with a stick shift, or one of them GTO's. Or, instead you could go get one of them jobs working on the dam, killing snakes with a chain saw."

Our prolonged stay afforded us the opportunity to spend some time chatting with Sherman’s very gracious owner, Carol. 

Among other things we learned that Carol used to have a Pontiac GTO. She drove it 205,000 miles and called it the "Silver Bullet."  A guy with a business just down the street from Sherman RV still holds the national drag racing speed record. Carol has a standing offer to race him, any time. He won't talk to her about it. She thinks he's afraid she'll beat him. In the course of two days Carol almost managed to sell us a brand new RV. But not quite.

Our long wait on the second day allowed us to have both breakfast and lunch at the Big R Drive-in.

Just to give you an idea, here’s a photo of one of the Big R lunches I consumed. 

My lunch: A turkey club sandwich, tater tots, and a large plate of deep-fried chicken livers. (This is displayed for friends back home, so you won't be surprised to see the 350-pound man who will return sometime in the fall.)

The Big R is owned and operated by Phyllis and her husband Red. 

Phyllis and her menu.

Phyllis and Red cook all the food themselves. While we ate, Phyllis herself sat at the next table to eat her lunch. She started talking and never stopped. She talked so fast, and had so many stories to tell, that I can only remember about one percent of what she had to say. Among the topics covered were:

"When I was young I used to be a professional drag racer." [We told Carol about this later, and Carol wouldn't believe us.]

“At home we have chickens, goats, sheep, dogs, and cats. We work 6 days a week 7:30 to 7:30, then go home and tend to the animals and the garden. Sometimes Red has to work in the garden with a flashlight.”

“I just hatched 23 baby chicks on my kitchen table.  My dog just sits and stares at those baby chicks all day and night. We had a chicken a while back that wanted to live in the house. She'd come in through the back door every day, go over and eat the dog food, and go back outside again. The dog didn't mind at all. She'd just follow that chicken around. The dog had a pet chicken.”

Phyllis hates Dallas, where her daughter lives, because the drivers there are crazy. When her daughter drives her on Dallas freeways, “I just hang onto the ‘oh shit’ bar for dear life. If there were two ‘oh shit’ bars, I’d be holding onto both of them.”

Phyllis also talked about the upcoming graduation parties for two of her grandsons. She has some opinions. 

Phyllis is going to cook up appetizers for possibly 300 guests in Dallas for one of the graduation parties. 

Red had a few stories to tell too.

Red

“When I was young I was in Miami Beach once. I saw that in the downtown, people were driving 60 miles an hour. I decided to just get behind ‘em, and do what they did. A cop pulled me over and said “Son, what do you think you’re doin’?” I said “I’m tryin’ to do what everyone else is doin’. I’m from Mississippi, and we don’t drive like this, but here, I’m just followin’ everyone else” “What would you do if they all drove over a cliff?” “I’d just drive right over with ‘em.”

Red commented on the notorious speed enforcement on the Natchez Trace, where the speed limit is mostly 55 mph:

“One day I was driving up to Nashville on the Trace in a group of five cars. All of us were sticking together, and all of us were speeding. A cop pulled me over, and gave me a ticket. I said, “Why do I get a ticket and the other four don’t?”  “Because this is Third Car Wednesday."

Red touched on more serious subjects as well.

“I’ve lived in California.  In Folsom in the 60's, I ran a restaurant there. We had a black nanny living with us who moved with us from Mississippi. After a while, Folsom town officials came to us and said,  ‘Either she has to move out of town or all of you have to move out of town. Blacks may not be in this town overnight.’ Ultimately we had to send her back home to Mississippi.”

On the other hand, he pointed out that a town nearby in Alabama until very recently had a road sign at the beginning of town: "Don't Let the Sun Set on Your Black Ass." His point: There’s prejudice everywhere, and it’s not gone yet.

After our second full day in Sherman, our rig was really fixed, and we were back on the road. We decided to go further into the Deep South, but first we backtracked for one more day in Oxford.

Finally, we were able to tour Rowan Oak, Faulkner’s Oxford home.

We were shown around by Bill, the curator for the house and its contents.  

Kate and Bill

Bill has been curator since 1999. To say the least, he’s very knowledgeable about Faulkner, and very enthusiastic about discussing his subject. He took to Kate immediately, because she had a lot of questions and she was well steeped in Faulkner – especially since we’d been listening to an audiobook of “The Sound and the Fury” for a couple of days previous.

Back in downtown Oxford for lunch, we watched a spirited Gay Pride Parade in Oxford’s Court House Square. 

Gay Pride in Mississippi. The times, they are a’ changin’…..

And off we went, deeper into the South. As we neared Jackson, Mississippi, we saw an enormous, beautiful lake that we learned was the Ross Barnett Reservoir. 

Once again we felt kind of a jolt, this time from the juxtaposition of our viewing of a lovely body of water and then finding that it’s named to honor someone we’d always thought of as an arch villain.  The South seemed to present us with of this kind of experience often.

It was a long drive to Jackson, and we arrived after dark. With some difficulty we found Le Fleur’s Bluff State Park – the only public campground anywhere near Jackson. It was closed and gated. So once again, we over-nighted at a Walmart. Before turning in that night, we ate dinner at a Mexican grill next to the Walmart parking lot. Our young waiter didn’t sound Mississippian (we could readily understand him), and it developed that he was from Santa Barbara. He had moved to Mississippi because he wanted to become a nurse practitioner, and the tuition to accomplish this in Mississippi is one-tenth what it is at a California public university.  We’ve heard a lot about “medical tourists” who travel to Mexico or Asia for major operations. I wonder how many “education tourists” there are?

On our travels we have avoided the interstate highways whenever possible. Traveling south in Mississippi, we followed the Natchez Trace. The Trace is a 444-mile long parkway, stretching from Nashville to Natchez. It’s essentially a 444-mile long national park – a parkway with a speed limit of 50 mph, no billboards, and no commercial traffic allowed. Most locals in a hurry to get somewhere take the parallel highways, so there’s very little traffic on the Trace. The scenery along the way is uniformly gorgeous – and distinctly Southern. 

The Trace parkway closely follows the route of the original Natchez Trace – a network of animal trails since prehistoric times, then a series of interconnected trails walked by Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Natchez Indians, and later still a route used by farmers and merchants. Prior to the advent of steamships, “Kaintucks” – farmers - floated their goods downstream on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to Natchez and New Orleans to to sell them, and then walked or rode horseback 400 or so miles back home on the Trace. There are still places where the old route can be viewed. 

Kate walks the Trace.

Following the Trace we stopped at the Vicksburg National Military Park. 

The park is more than six miles long and covers the territory of Union and Confederate fortifications during the assaults on Vicksburg by General Grant. 

Remains of Vicksburg battlements -- viewing the Confederate side from the Union side.

Control of Vicksburg was crucial, because the port was a key point of entry for shipping food, clothing, and armaments up the Mississippi to supply Confederate troops.  Soldiers from seven Union states and six Confederate states were ranged against each other; repeated assaults by Grant’s troops were repulsed by the Confederates. Vicksburg eventually fell only after a siege essentially starved out the Confederates and they surrendered

Vicksburg National Cemetery encompasses116 acres, and holds the remains of 17,000 Civil War Union soldiers, brought from battlefields throughout the Southern states. More than 12,000 of them are unidentified, unknown soldiers. 

From Vicksburg we traveled further south on the Trace, finally reaching Natchez. Perched on bluffs overlooking the Mississippi, Natchez is the site of many meticulously preserved, picturesque antebellum mansions. 

The mansions of Natchez survived the Civil War unscathed partly because Natchez was pro Union, and voted against the secession of Mississippi. The "powers that be" in the Natchez of that day depended on selling cotton from the plantations for their wealth, and in order to do that they had to ship the cotton on the Mississippi. They couldn’t afford to have the Mississippi freight traffic blocked by war. Natchez surrendered to the Union early in the war (May 1862).

We toured Longwood, one of the most interesting of the pre-Civil War buildings in Natchez.  

Longwood was built by a rich cotton baron, Haller Nutt, who had five plantations and owned some 800 slaves. He was determined to build the grandest mansion in Natchez – larger and more elaborate than all others, which were owned primarily by other cotton magnates.  He hired a Philadelphia architect and quibbled over details for more than three years, expanding the original design from 25,000 square feet to 32,000 square feet. Construction began in 1860 and proceeded for 18 months, then stopped because the onset of the Civil War resulted in blockage of shipping on the Mississippi (remember Columbus, Kentucky and Belmont Missouri?). Building supplies and furnishings for the house couldn’t be delivered.  Construction was never finished; Haller Nutt died during the war, leaving his widow barely able to pay the taxes on Longwood and feed the children. The family (and succeeding generations until 1938) lived on the ground floor only (photos of the ground floor living quarters, restored with original furnishings, aren't allowed).

Construction of the upper floors was never finished, and they’ve been preserved in their unfinished state. 

Before we left Natchez we were treated to something we’d been searching for since we arrived in Mississippi: a performance by a real, down-to-earth bluesman. We had dinner at the Rolling River Bistro, and were seated smack in front of YZ Ealey. 

YZ is 80 years old, and is a very nice, gracious, talented man. There are signs around town in Natchez and up and down the river, from Memphis to New Orleans ("The Blues Trail") with notables featured, and YZ is on one of them. 

He’s in the Blues Hall of Fame at the Delta Blues Museum in Louisiana. But you'd think from hearing him talk that you're doing him a huge favor to listen to him. Had we been blues fanatics, we probably could have seen him perform right in our own back yard. After a stint in the Navy, YZ lived in Oakland for twenty years, retiring back home to Mississippi about fifteen years ago.

Mississippi, like Texas, proved hard for us to leave. When we arrived we expected to spend a couple of days in Memphis, a day in Oxford, and then head east to Savannah. By the time we were through, we had spent more than two weeks in the state, and felt we could spend weeks more before we’d seen even some of the places we’d like to see. In fact, no sooner had we left Mississippi than we found a reason to return and spend even more time there (more on this later). Not only did we discover interesting and beautiful places, we came to realize that Mississippi was the birthplace that nurtured many, many iconic figures who were (or are still) writers, musicians, activists, athletes, and more. A very partial list: Elvis Presley, William Faulkner, Richard Ford, Walker Percy, Alice Walker, Medgar Evers, James Meredith, Opra Winfrey (we drove through her home town), Tennessee Williams, BB King, Morgan Freeman, Jim Henson, John Grisham, Jerry Rice, Brett Favre, Leontyne Price, Jimmy Buffet, Archie Manning (and Payton and Eli), Walter Payton, Eudora Welty, James Earl Jones, Faith Hill, Tammy Wynette, Robert Johnson, Mose Allison, Five Blind Boys of Mississippi, Sam Cooke, Muddy Waters, Mississippi John Hurt, John Lee Hooker, Ike Turner, Howlin' Wolf, Bo Diddley, R.L. Burnside, Mary Wilson, W.C. Handy.

On our way from Mississippi to Louisiana, we camped at Percy Quin State Park in Macomb, Mississippi. A sign at the park entrance said "Beware of Alligators."  

I asked our camping neighbors if they'd seen any alligators that day. They said no, they didn't think they'd come up into the campsite. One of the campers mentioned that the alligators were an annoyance, though -- she had run over one on the road the other day. Our neighbors gave us some advice: "If an alligator attacks you, just stick your fingers up his nostrils. They don't like that." Good to know.

In Louisiana we spent some time at Fontainebleau State Park, on Lake Pontchartrain. A very peaceful place with lots of seemingly ancient trees dripping Spanish moss. 

When we arrived at Fontainebleau, the ranger admonished us to put our trash in the dumpster and not leave it outside, because they have a 250-pound pig in the campground. I was a little disoriented, arriving at a new place and all, so I suppose I just thought "Oh, Louisiana. They have 250-pound pigs in their campgrounds." Later though, I overheard a conversation between campground neighbors. "Last night around midnight my wife came hotfootin' it back from the bathroom and said, 'There's a big pig in the women's bathroom!' I went over and shooed it out, and today he came over and laid at my feet like a dog, and let me scratch him." He went on to tell me that when they were camping here last week, a black panther and her cubs walked through their site one night. I mentioned alligators, and he said, "They'll come after you. If you're water skiing and you fall down, them gators will be right on over. Just slap on the water real hard to scare 'em away." Note to self: No canoeing, no water skiing, lock the doors at night. 

Kate meets the camp pet.

In danger of developing an alligator complex, we asked some locals about the alligator situation. 

They were blithely unconcerned (I suppose that’s how we seem to Southerners visiting California, worried about earthquakes and sharks). One young couple suggested that we canoe out into Cane Bayou to see alligators up close. Given our recent canoeing track record, we demurred.

We hadn’t really planned to visit New Orleans, but since Fontainebleau was only an hour’s drive from the French Quarter, we decided to drop by Café du Monde for a beignet before heading eastward to our next destination. In keeping with our usual M.O., we picked the morning of the Storm of the Century for our trip. Well, it wasn’t quite Katrina, but momentarily it gave us a small idea of what hurricane season might be like. 

We spent a pleasant day in New Orleans, mostly walking and eating. 

Kate at Jackson Square.

While we were in New Orleans, the city was in the midst of removing statues of Confederate heroes from public places. We didn't see any evidence of this -- not too surprising, since it was being done in the dead of night by city employees wearing masks to conceal their identities.

In the space of a few hours in town we managed to consume beignets, crawfish etouffee, red beans and rice, seafood gumbo, and home made bread pudding. 

While walking the French Quarter, we saw the paddle wheeler “Natchez” in port. 

Kate, the Natchez, and my thumb, 

which is desperate for a starring role. 

From New Orleans we drove along the Gulf Coast through Biloxi (home of Jefferson Davis), to Ocean Springs, Mississippi, where we camped at Gulf Islands National Seashore, Davis Bayou Campground. 

We included Ocean Springs in our itinerary at the recommendation of Steve, a new friend we met while camping outside Tupelo. 

Steve calls Ocean Springs home these days. He has traveled widely in his rig, kayaking his way through rivers, lakes, oceans and bayous, and hiking whenever he gets the chance. Now retired, he had varied careers, including turns as a stained glass artist and entrepreneur in Seattle, as a power station operator in the Aleutian Islands, and as a cross-country truck driver.

While we were in the area, Steve introduced us to the Walter Anderson Art Museum, featuring the work of an amazing local artist. Anderson was an eccentric and apparently a troubled soul who produced an extensive and unique body of work. He spent the better part of two decades late in his life rowing 10 miles or more out to the nearest of the Gulf Islands, living off the land, and painting what he observed in nature. 

Steve also loaned us his “spare car” while we were in town.

We tooled around Ocean Springs in BMW Roadster style, and took a drive to the seashore in Biloxi at sunset. 

Even the beaches are decorated with 

American flags in Mississippi. The sand is trucked in; there are no natural sand beaches in this area.

While at the bayou campground, we hiked one day to the visitor’s center and took a ranger-guided boat trip into the bayous.  We thought of ourselves as being on the Gulf of Mexico, but learned that we were actually on the Mississippi Sound. The Gulf Islands are barrier islands, protecting the coast to some extent from the ravages of weather from the Gulf. The true Gulf shore is formed by the southern beaches of the Gulf Islands. On the boat trip we learned about some of the ecology of the area, and got to see local wildlife, including a solitary brown pelican -- at a distance. 

Really. It's a pelican.

Near our campground there was an alligator viewing area. There are about thirty alligators living in Davis Bayou. Since they’re cold-blooded animals they surface from time to time to sun themselves and warm up. We caught a glimpse of a really large gator, and later found one of her babies, catching some rays on a log with a couple of turtles. 

Heading for Florida from Ocean Springs, we had one of those slice-of-life days (Warning: The following is another first world problem rant. It helps me to get it out of my system). 

First a doctor’s appointment, requiring an hour for ten minutes with a nurse practitioner.

Then to Walgreens to pick up prescription meds. ("This one prescription costs $453.00. Are you sure you want it?" "I think I'll take it, because I'd like my heart to keep beating.")

Back to Walgreens because they had screwed up my credit card payment, somehow resulting in Kate’s completely unrelated credit card being canceled by the fraud department. Back on the road an hour later.

Visited a Pensacola RV repair place to try to figure out what to do about the latest rig problems. We turned on the A/C to demonstrate that it didn't work. It worked fine. Spontaneous recovery.

On to Fedex to pick up very special shoes for Kate that had taken hours to order. 

Finally, having covered 150 miles in a lightning fast 8 ½ hours, we arrived at the Fort Pickens Campground on Santa Rosa Island (another barrier island – this one in Florida), only to find that our rig wouldn’t fit in the space we had reserved. Finally we were assigned an “emergency campsite,” and found that the electricity hookup wouldn’t work, so we couldn't test out our newly risen-from-the-dead A/C. This latter was a problem, because summer definitely was a comin’ on in the Deep South. It was getting hot and humid, and the bugs were waking up from their long winter’s nap. Kate forbade me from including a photo of my bites in the blog (too gross), but suffice it to say I counted 32 bites on one arm alone, between the elbow and wrist. End of rant.

Santa Rosa Island was stunning. White sand beaches, blue water, abounding wildlife. 

We might have stayed on a while, but we decided to begin our escape from the heat and the bugs, and to begin to head north. Besides, the weather forecast was for several days of thunderstorms. 

Before leaving Santa Rosa Island, though, we paid a visit to Fort Pickens itself. 

Fort Pickens

Fort Pickens was built in 1823, one of 40 forts built by the U.S. after the War of 1812 to protect the perimeter of the country. In the 1812 war, the British had taken several U.S. cities, but could not capture Fort Henry in Baltimore (the flag was still there in the dawn’s early light). The 40 new forts were all designed along the lines of Fort Henry, to be impregnable to the wooden warships of the day. 

Fort Pickens was the largest fort constructed to defend the U.S. mainland. This enormous construction project was completed in five years, largely through the work of slaves, whose owners were compensated for their labor. The fort’s greatest importance was not in defending the U.S. against foreign adversaries, but against the Confederates during the Civil War. The fort was notable also as a place where Geronimo and other Cherokees were imprisoned for a time after the Civil War, during the late 1880’s. 

The fort was active through World War II, but in the late 1940’s it was abandoned by the Army, and eventually became part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore.

Setting out for Savannah from Fort Pickens, we stopped at the Pensacola Public Library to catch up on some wifi-connected computer work and to experience freezing air conditioning (perfect!). Next we crossed part of the Florida panhandle, veered north into Georgia, and spent the night at a nice venue: Seminole Lake State Park. Here we found pretty vistas and the inevitable alligator warnings. 

I was always aware of alligators in Florida (Florida Gators Football!), but who knew there were gators roaming the countryside in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia? Where will this end?

Crossing Georgia in the Savannah direction, we stopped in at the Okeefenokee Park in Waycross, Georgia.  

We took a stroll around, looked at the swamp. 

We ducked into the visitor center and looked at the skeleton of 12-foot-long Oscar, said to be the ancestor of all current alligators in Okeefenokee Swamp. 

We planned to have a picnic lunch at the tables overlooking the swamp and possibly take the boat ride to see alligators up close and personal.  “Y’all better slather on the bug spray – it’s yellow fly season.” “What’s a yellow fly?” “They’re like horseflies only kinda yellowish-green. When they bite you, you know it. It hurts, it itches, and it swells up.” “Can we just walk around on the boardwalk?” “Sure, but you’ll have to sign a waiver. If you run into a gator, just come back here and tell us, and we’ll get one of the guys to move it.”

So far my hundreds of bites had come only from mosquitoes and no-see-ums. Much as I was tempted to go for a trifecta, we decided to picnic in the rig with the doors closed and move on down the road.

Next up: Savannah, Georgia.

Miles to date: 17,213

States: California, Oregon, Washington, Montana, Idaho, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, Georgia (18)

Countries: U.S.A., Canada, Mexico (3)