Wanderlust (n.)- A strong or
irresistible impulse to travel.
For various reasons, I recently decided that it was high time for me to
jump in the car and go on a little unplanned adventure for a couple days. I
figured I’d share some thoughts and observations from my sojourn here.
First, a summary. This adventure ended up taking me South out of Memphis
down U.S. Highway 61 into “the land of the Delta Blues,” and then to Vicksburg
National Military Park. From there, I crossed over the Mighty Mississippi into
Northern Louisiana, and turned northward again at Tallulah up U.S. Highway 65.
I paused for the night in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, and then traveled the next day
on to Hot Springs and the National Park there. Finally, I turned east and made
my way back to Memphis, by way of Little Rock.
The first thing I was reminded of on the way out of town is that
Memphis is actually quite a sprawling city. It feels like a bunch of small
towns that decided to get together and call themselves a city. I spend so much
of my time in Midtown and East Memphis that sometimes it’s all too easy to
forget about the rest of the city. And, the rest of the city is where the real
need is. Besides the obvious poverty, much of the landscape isn’t all that visually
appealing. There was a great example of this that I didn’t get a picture of, so
a written description will have to do. On the outskirts of the city, I drove
past a Shell gas station that was now literally a boarded up, abandoned shell.
In the parking lot there was an African-American guy grilling away on a huge
barbeque next to his pickup truck. Classic Memphis.
A common observation along the trip was that there are subtle
differences between states. I first felt this when I thought, “this feels like
Mississippi now,” and, sure enough, around the next bend there was a “Welcome
to Mississippi” sign. Some of this can be explained by differences in road
signs. Mississippi welcomes you to each new town with a sign noting the “Corp.
Limit.” Louisiana somehow decided it would be a good idea to post mile markers
along the interstate every .2 miles, rather than the customary 1 (your tax
dollars at work). Arkansas notes the population on each town’s sign, while the
other states do not.
It seems to me, though, that there is a more intangible difference
between the states that goes beyond street signs and reaches into the realm of
the historical and spiritual. When I pulled off U.S. 61 into Clarksdale,
Mississippi I felt like I was taking a step back in time, and not in a good way.
From the old-school, but apparently still open, Greyhound station, to the lone
police car circling the deserted streets, the place reeked of a racist past and
possibly corrupt present. The place creeped me out and I couldn’t wait to
leave, although I paused long enough to see the Delta Blues Museum before doing
so. It was worth a visit, but just barely.
Much of the rest of the country looks down on Mississippi with barely
disguised disdain. It is one of the, if not the, poorest, unhealthiest, and
least educated states in the country, and its brutal racist past certainly
doesn’t help its image any. Unfortunately, my limited time in the Mississippi
Delta didn’t do much to change these perceptions for me. I stopped at a gas
station in some random place and felt painfully aware that I was the only white
person in visible proximity. Last semester I worked at a school that was 99%
African-American, and never once did I feel so uncomfortable there as I did at
that little gas station. The woman working the cash register inside gave me
what might well be the worst costumer service, if you could call it that, which
I have ever experienced. She treated me as though I clearly did not belong and
as if she had half a mind not to serve me at all. Some of the African-American
teens loitering around outside were shouting what sounded as if they could have
been racial slurs. Once again, I felt creeped out and couldn’t wait to move on.
I don’t think I’d ever want to live in the Mississippi Delta. And yet,
the place has a certain seductiveness beneath its darkness that is undeniable.
I understand why people would want to go there, and stay there. And I certainly
recognize the region’s undeniably prodigious contributions to our nation’s
history, literature, and music. Maybe my perceptions were colored by my
knowledge of its dark past and my solitary mind playing tricks on me. I don’t
know, but I am glad to have spent a bit of time in the region, even if I won’t
be running back anytime soon.
Vicksburg National Military Park was great. If Gettysburg marked the
turning point of the U.S. Civil War in the North, Vicksburg surely was the
turning point in the South. One of the highlights for me was the Cairo, the first ship sunk by a torpedo
during the battle, and which has since been raised and restored (photo below).
I can see why the Confederacy chose the city as a major defense point.
The city sits atop a high bluff, and the terrain is quite rugged. Honestly, I
am surprised that the Union was able to capture it at all. Surely their victory
is a testament to raw courage and perseverance, and possibly to just being on
the right side of history. Such victory came at quite a cost, as the cemetery filled
with unmarked graves reminded me.
Tallulah,
Louisiana and the surrounding rural bayou settlements were like the Mississippi
Delta in their poverty and in the tangible weight of their past, yet somehow
intangibly different at the same time. Maybe it was just the road signs. Maybe
it was something more. I drove through various small towns, one of which was
actually called Transylvania and had a water tower with a bat on it.
I exited Louisiana and entered Arkansas in the dark, crashed at a
roadside motel in Pine Bluff late Saturday night, and continued on my way early
Sunday morning. At the motel I met a man who had taught elementary school for
39 years and was now retired. We chatted briefly about teaching.
Pine Bluff, Arkansas earned its name for a reason. The surrounding landscape
was pine forest, a change that seemed sudden to me after driving several hours
in darkness the night before.
The terrain and scenery around Hot Springs (boyhood home of Bill
Clinton- did you know?) reminded me a bit of Western New York. It turned out that
the woman working at the Visitor’s Center was from Western New York originally,
and we chatted a bit about this and how the area looked similar.
Hot Springs is probably the most interesting National Park I have yet
visited. I have to admit, I was a bit skeptical of the place on the way in. A “national
park,” the country’s smallest, with some used-up old bathhouses in the middle
of a city? An important life lesson is that when you approach something with
lowered expectations, you are much more likely to enjoy it. So, Hot Springs
National Park also turned out to be one of my favorites of those I’ve visited
so far.
There is the row of very well-preserved old bathhouses (two of which
are still functioning) in the middle of the city, sure, but there is also
surrounding natural scenery and hiking with some great views. Hot Springs is
probably the only place on this little trip that I’d consider living in, but it
would be more the place I’d want to retire to than live as a twentysomething. I
wouldn’t mind going back some time before then, though, and just relaxing there
for a week.
The view of Hot Springs, AR from atop West Mountain
After
I left Hot Springs, I meandered my way over to Little Rock and enjoyed the nice
park area around the Bill Clinton Presidential Library, and had a tasty dinner
at the Flying Fish. And then I took the scenic route (U.S. Highway 70) back to
Memphis.
The last couple hours of the trip between Little Rock and Memphis were
the hardest. I think part of the problem was that I drove through sorry little
towns that rivaled the Mississippi Delta in their poverty. There was a town
called De Valls Bluff that might have been about the most miserable place I’ve
ever seen. On the way in there was, wait for it, a sign for a minnow farm (yes, you read that right-
farmed minnows! Apparently they are farmed to use as bait). The town itself was
almost completely shut down and boarded up, apart from one gas station and mini
mart. Even the school’s windows were mostly boarded up. There were a few kids
playing basketball in the school’s overgrown courtyard. Maybe the residents of
De Valls Bluff had to learn the hard way that there probably isn’t much of a
market for farmed minnows. Or, maybe, they are just the victims of the economic
forces that have ravaged so much of rural America for so long.
I feel like too much of this road trip report reads too harshly, as
though I am disparaging the fine folks who live in places like Clarksdale,
Mississippi; Transylvania, Louisiana; and De Valls Bluff, Arkansas. If there is
one word I would use to describe this past year living in Memphis, it would be “humbling.”
Like so many young, idealistic people I know, I moved here feeling like as a
co-teacher in a little classroom in Memphis I would be able to change the world.
I certainly haven’t done that, and I’m not sure I was actually able to teach my
students much of anything. But I’ve definitely been changed. I’ve rethought a
lot of my views about what changing the world looks like and means- a topic for
a separate blog post I suppose, but my point is that I have been forced to
recognize that I have my own upbringing with its own culture, its own values,
that so frequently have differed from those of the people I have encountered in
this part of the world. My views are no better than theirs, they are just my
views- no more, no less. Who am I to try to change anybody? The best I can do
is try to live, and love, imperfectly- wherever I am and whatever I am doing. That’s
all any of us can do. Maybe the people of Clarksdale, and Transylvania, and De
Valls Bluff love their communities and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else even
if given all the money and choice in the world. Maybe if one of them drove
through any one of the places I’ve called home (i.e. Joshua Tree, Big Bear,
Varysburg, Lewisburg, or Memphis) they would think and feel similarly about
those places. Maybe they’d pause just long enough to laugh at whatever the
local attraction is, complain about the poor customer service they received
there, make a little small talk with the locals, and then rush back home, as I
did. But I digress.
This trip was the first time I’ve ever traveled alone for pleasure
before and I realized that two days alone is about my upper limit. Although I
don’t think I could ever tire of seeing new places and having new experiences, I
was getting quite sick of driving and becoming very desirous of some, any, meaningful
human companionship by the end of the two days. Too much time alone and your
thoughts can start turning toward some very dark personal places that perhaps
aren’t worth visiting. So, while my weekend was quite fun and worthwhile, I was
glad to finally be crossing the bridge back into Memphis last Sunday night.
Crisscrossing the United States on various road trips to see all the
states, National Parks, and significant historical sites has long been on my
Bucket List. I have thought about taking a more extended road trip this summer,
likely from Western NY to California, up the Pacific Coast, and then back to
Western NY. However, this weekend revealed to me that good companionship is a
key piece of fulfilling your wanderlust and having a good sojourn. So, if
anyone out there reading this might be interested in joining me for a piece of
this proposed summer road trip, or having me stop to visit you along the way,
let me know! The itinerary should be quite flexible.
To my small handful of devoted readers: stay tuned for another post
soon with some important life updates and transitional news!
