Gayle Harper

Photographer ~ Author ~ Traveler

A Deeper Surrender

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There are precious few communities in our comparatively young country where structures from the mid-1700s exist today.  Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, less than an hour south of St. Louis, was the first European settlement west of the Mississippi.  To touch the rock-solid wall of a vertical log home that a French Creole settler built more than 250 years ago is a rare experience. Although it can be hard to imagine what life was like for these families, Ste. Genevieve seems to be loaded with knowledgeable historians who can help. If you come here, take the time to tour as many of these homes as possible and then just walk around – there are fine examples of architecture from the 1800s and early 1900s as well. Many residents of these historic homes can trace their own ancestry back to the early settlers.

Townsfolk of Ste. Genevieve understand what a treasure their unique history is, and they love sharing it at events like Saturday’s Rural Heritage Day.  Dressed in period costumes, people were demonstrating everything from lace making and blacksmithing to apple cider pressing and soap making. You could learn to juggle, make a rag rug or visit the cemetery and make a rubbing from a headstone.

And you could eat!  My dear friend, Kay, drove from Springfield, MO, to join me for the weekend and since I promised her I wouldn’t make public all that we ate, suffice it to say we didn’t leave much unsampled!

It was wonderful to have company from home and our time together flew by.

When Kay left early Sunday morning, I knew that while she would be in our hometown by lunchtime, I wouldn’t see it again until almost Thanksgiving. That brought pangs of homesickness. As I loaded my car for the 32nd or so time, there was a strong road-weary loneliness.  This River isn’t done with me yet. I had expected to feel this at some point – it’s a long journey.  So here it is.

Just take it to the river, I thought. This is a journey of surrender to “what is”, not of putting a positive spin on anything or distracting myself to make it better.  Just be with it. The sky was still inky blue and the horizon just starting to glow orange. I sat on the rocks and watched. There was no resistance to the feelings – they were accepted. There was no struggle going on inside me – no suffering – just an allowing of this moment and these feelings to be just as they are – a full experiencing of them.

It’s easy enough to be fully present with a moment of joy, but another matter to be present with a moment of sadness and loneliness. For much of my life, I met such moments with a toolbox of ways to fix it, change it, make it go away. But like a wound that festers under cover, it persists. It needs fresh air and the light of our attention. Sadness is as much a valid human experience as happiness.

I watched the river. It doesn’t care what emotion I bring it – they are all just emotions. They come and they go. The river is eternal and constantly brand new. A philosopher named Heraclitus said, “You cannot step into the same river twice.” And yet, it is eternal. There is a Stillness that is completely unaffected by anything. I sat quietly and meditated and felt that same Stillness in me and in everything.

Eventually I felt the sun shining brightly and opened my eyes to the day. I simply stood up and walked to the car in peace and drove without intention.

I drove out to the levee and as I reached the top I could see a vast backwater slough several miles long. It was completely covered with white fluttery movement.

As I came closer, I could see the shapes of birds and flashes of black when wings were raised. It was thousands  – I don’t know how to guess, but it must have been as many as 8 or 10 thousand White Pelicans completely covering the water.  Tears of absolute awe sprang from my heart. I could barely breathe.

I took a couple of shots and watched as a few birds lifted off, then a few more, then a great cloud of White Pelicans filled the air, many passing right over my head.

I have never experienced anything like it.

Then they were gone. I stood smiling and crying and saying a prayer of thanks. And yet there was more.

If I didn’t have these photographs to show you, I would probably not tell you this part. It seems unbelievable even to me.

Just over my head, a Bald Eagle appeared. It was doing some sort of aerial acrobatics, twisting and turning summersaults in the air.

It wasn’t holding any prey but its talons were splayed out wide. Then it righted itself, stretched out its wings and flew in a big arc over my head and then out over the wide valley below. I have no words.

Lead on, little raindrop.

I am yours.

Better Than Spinach

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Popeye, the beloved spinach-guzzling sailor, was born in Chester, Illinois, in the mind of native son, Elzie Segar, who was himself born here in 1894. Popeye and Wimpy, the hamburger fiend, were reportedly based on real life Chester characters and Chester has not forgotten!  There is an annual Popeye Picnic, Popeye statue, park and murals, and a “Spinach Can Collectibles” store with more Popeyes and Olive Oyls than I ever imagined existed!

After 52 days on the road, I was in need of just the kind of super-rejuvenation that crusty old sailor got from popping his can of spinach. I was long overdue to wash my car, do laundry, catch up on emails and back up images. Plus, I was craving some “riverbank time”, to just sit, watch and listen. I found all of that in Chester.

Sandra Starr had invited me to stay with her at the Stone House B&B, perched high on a bluff overlooking the river. The beautiful setting, our conversations and the great food worked wonders (way better than a can of spinach could have done!).  Recharged, I was ready to meet the next sunrise!

A reader recently wrote to share some childhood memories of visiting her grandparents in an Iowa town on the Mississippi. Going “uptown to get the mail” with grandpa was a social event and all the old gents passing time at the post office greeted each other not with the usual comment on the weather, but with an assessment of the mood of the river that morning. She remembers hearing, “The Mississippi is always a woman, but not always a lady.” (I love that one!) Or they might say, “She’s ridin’ pretty high this mornin’”, or “She’s smooth as a baby’s bottom today.”

When I paused beside the Chester bridge to say good morning to the river, the surface was indeed “smooth as a baby’s bottom” and the soft colors of the pre-dawn light shimmered and glowed quietly. I know that if you watched a lifetime of riverside sunrises and sunsets, no two would ever be the same. I am thankful for every opportunity.

In stark contrast to the high bluffs and hills on the Illinois shore, the land on the Missouri side is flat and low in this area. The last lock and dam on the river was at Granite City, Illinois, near St. Louis.  Most towns south of that point have built levees and floodwalls to protect against flooding. In some places, it is possible to drive out on top of the levees and it’s one of my favorite places to be.  Sometimes they are steep and narrow and turning around can require a 10 or 12-point turn, but they offer great vantage points for fields of rich bottom land and backwater bayous.

 The Mississippi constantly changes, creating new channels, land locking some towns and moving toward others.  Its power is incontrovertible and it will periodically remind us of its supremacy.  Mark Twain once said, “The Mississippi River will always have its own way; no engineering skill can persuade it to do otherwise…”   That power can be heard and felt when you sit quietly beside it. Sometimes it is deep in a whisper and sometimes it seems to roar inside your head, but always it puts things in perspective and washes trivial concerns away.  The next time you cross a bridge over the Mississippi, look for a road that will take you to its banks and when you find it, sit and be open to what she has to say to you. It is a gift you will treasure.                               Peace,     Gayle

Up and Over St Louis

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St. Louis. It’s a bit daunting to think of deciding what to cover of St. Louis in just two days. One could spend months exploring this great city. I’m a guest at the Hilton Inn at the Ballpark and my room on the 17th floor has a wall of windows with a great view of the new Citygarden which opened just over a year ago and the Civil Courts Building, a gorgeous 1927 art deco structure.

If you have been with me for any length of time, you know I seldom plan or decide to do anything. I just walk out the door and see what Serendipity has in store.

I walked the two blocks to the arch and since it was a Monday afternoon, I was able to get some shots of it sans people. It’s nice to focus on just that sleek, graceful arch.

At the waterfront below the arch, a sightseeing helicopter was landing. “Hmmm”, I thought, “do you suppose?” Then the thought, “This is St. Louis. I’m sure they are bombarded with photographers asking for comp rides all the time. Not likely.” I walked about six more steps and Serendipity bonked me on the head – “You don’t know if you don’t ask, Gayle!”  So, I turned right around and went in, gave them a postcard and told them of my project. The answer was yes! I just needed to wait for either a couple or an individual that wanted to ride and I could take the extra seat.

Ten minutes later they walked up the ramp and I was good to go! There is one seat in front with the pilot and two in back. When the couple was asked where they would like to sit, they looked at me and my camera and said, “It looks like she should be up front.” Amazing!

The whole front of the helicopter is one clear bubble and it was clean! 

 I was told we were traveling as fast as 120 mph, soaring over downtown, the waterfront, the Anheuser Busch Brewery, Busch Stadium and the river just in front of the arch – beautiful! Thank you Gateway Air Tours and a BIG thank you to the kind couple I rode with!

Before leaving the hotel, I had left a message for the management, asking about the possibility of getting up on the roof at dusk. While I was at the waterfront, I received a call saying yes – they would arrange for a security guard to escort me to the roof whenever I was ready!  I was thrilled! 

After signing the appropriate release forms, Daniel from Security and I went to the rooftop, 26 stories above the city. The view in every direction was stunning!  First the late afternoon light glinting off the buildings, then the sunset, then the magic of a few billion city lights turning everything to gold. 

I shot in every direction in every light and loved every second of it.  Then, just as we were ready to pack it in, lights came on illuminating the arch against the darkness. Again, I could only whisper, “Thank You” and keep shooting.

I fell into bed, tired and happy with the golden glow of the city filling the room.  Life is good!  

Gayle

Movin’ On

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I’m a bit behind! Things have been happening so fast since I stepped off that barge, I’m running to keep up with myself, much less finding time to write and process images. But, I’ll try to catch us up this morning!

I spent two nights in the pretty little river town of Louisiana, MO, at the quiet, country home of John and Karen Stoeckly.  John is a talented artist who does beautifully detailed pen and ink drawings (click here if you’d like to see them).  Karen is an amazing gourmet cook and together they own The Eagles’ Nest Winery, Bistro and Bed and Breakfast in downtown Louisiana. (charming place, great food and the business is for sale if that catches your fancy!) 

With all they have going on, they still found time to share themselves and their home with me. I’ve been eating very well lately – the second night I was invited to the home of their friends, Dr. Ned Glenn, a retired physician, and his wife, the Reverend Patricia Glenn, an Episcopalian Priest,  along with their son, Wes, and lifelong friend Martha Sue Smith, who interviewed me for her radio show on WBBA. It was a night of lively conversation with bright, creative folks. Thanks to all of you!

Of course, I had to visit the place where the memory of Mark Twain lives on, perhaps more than anywhere else – Hannibal, MO.  His boyhood home, his father’s law office, Becky Thatcher’s home and the infamous Mark Twain cave are all there. If you’re a fan (and who isn’t to some degree?), don’t miss the Mark Twain Museum which includes the original Norman Rockwell paintings created as illustrations for Huckelberry Finn.  

Then I made fast tracks to Alton, Illinois, where my husband, Mike, joined me for the weekend. We had a great time in what I expected would be a quaint, quiet town. Not so! On a perfect, sunny fall weekend, it was a happening place! It’s a favorite spot for motorcyclists and I have honestly never seen so many big bikes in one place in my life.

In order to keep pace with our raindrop, I move on every two days. It’s the honest truth that every time I leave a community, there is the thought, “I could really enjoy spending more time here.” I could spend nine years on this journey and still not follow up on all the interesting stories and people I encounter. That was certainly true in Alton.

The world’s tallest man grew up (and up!) in Alton. Mike and I snuggled up to the life-sized statue of Robert Wadlow, all 8’11” of it! He was, by all accounts, a sweet, gentle man who lived in an era when there was no treatment for his overactive pituitary gland. Although he and his family did their best to keep life “normal”, there was no avoiding the notoriety that came, so his response seemed to be one of gentle good humor. Still, it must have been a very challenging life and Mike and I empathized with its daily details like having to walk sideways on stairs not made to accommodate his size 37 shoes.

There are a dozen stories that presented themselves in Alton that I would love to follow. In the tumultuous years of the Civil War, Alton was an important stop on the Underground Railroad.  The region of Missouri just across the river was known as “Little Dixie”, having been settled largely by slave-owning families from the South. Missouri was a slave state at the time and although Illinois was a free state, there was much pro-slavery sentiment in Alton. There are vivid tales of mob violence and stories of escaping slaves being secreted to freedom that either died with the people who lived them or have been kept quiet by the families involved. Judy Hoffman is an author and historian who spent 12 years researching and writing a book called God’s Portion: Godfrey, Illinois 1817-1865. She is the wife of the first mayor of Godfrey, an adjoining town incorporated in 1991, who now lives in a gorgeous loft in the heart of downtown Alton. She graciously invited Mike and I to visit and shared some of the intriguing stories she has uncovered, which gave us a unique look into this aspect of Alton’s past.

There is an amazing 33-mile stretch of road here known as the “Meeting of the Great Rivers Scenic Byway” which travels beside some magnificent river bluffs between the point where the Illinois River joins forces with the Mississippi to the point where the Missouri River does the same. At one end is the largest State Park in Illinois, Pere Marquette State Park, where we found a drop-dead gorgeous view with the first signs of fall color showing in the treetops below. 

At the other end is the Lewis and Clark Confluence Tower, honoring the point where that famous journey began up the Missouri River.  We let no moss grow on us this weekend!  At the National Great Rivers Museum, Mike tried being a barge pilot at the simulated exhibit. (It might not be his calling as he crashed into the wall three tries out of three!) We toured the Melvin Price Lock & Dam, one of the largest on the Mississippi and were able to be in the observation room as a towboat and barge passed just below us. It looks even bigger from that perspective than it did from the towboat!

We visited a flock of White Pelicans who just arrived last week for their annual visit to the Riverlands Migratory Bird Sanctuary.  We had some great food, including a lunch at the lively Grafton Winery, full of folks enjoying live music inside and views of the river and the parade of traffic passing by on the outside decks.  We also scoped out a few spots to hit on a return trip at some point, like the Tara Point B&B, where the view of the confluence of the Illinois and Mississippi took our breath away.  

It was glorious to have Mike with me for the weekend. I’m thankful to him for coming and for his sweet, supportive, loving presence in my life. I am one lucky woman!      

Love,     Gayle

24 Hours on The Phyllis

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A dense fog had caused The Phyllis to be running behind schedule Tuesday morning, so in order to meet her we needed to travel a bit farther south than had been planned, to Lock & Dam No. 25 at Winfield, MO, which is about a 100-mile drive from where I was at Quincy, IL.  Carol, an Administrative Assistant at Alter Barge picked me up in a crew van and drove as fast as she could get by with to make my date. We got there just in time, as the boat was making its way into the lock. I handed my gear down to the deck hands, put on a life jacket and climbed down the ladder on the inside of the lock onto the barge platform, then we made our way onto the boat. 

The Guest Quarters are spacious with a big picture window that looks straight out over the barges. I was introduced to Pilot Jeff Keller, who was on duty at the time. 

He and Captain Ross Marcks alternate at the helm in six-hour shifts. Nothing was off-limits; I was welcome to wander the boat and photograph whatever I liked. As Jeff told me some of the basic statistics of the boat and the load it was pushing, I started to feel more and more like Alice after she took the shrinking potion! Everything is so over-the-top enormous, it’s hard to comprehend.

Here are a few stats. Tows in this part of the river often push the maximum of 15 barges, five long and three abreast. That means the load out in front is 1,000 feet long and 105 feet wide. The boat burns 2,000 gallons of diesel per day, refueling about every 10 days with 2 semi loads of fuel. The engine is 6,000 horsepower. When loaded, each of the 15 barges weighs 1500 tons and carries the equivalent of 15 jumbo hopper train cars or 58 large semi loads.  See what I mean? Just hard to wrap the mind around!

A crew of eleven makes it all happen, changing shifts every six hours around the clock and working for 30 days on and 30 days off. It’s a bit like family, living and working in fairly close quarters. Although I didn’t get to meet everyone, those I talked with made me feel very welcome. People seemed to like their jobs, but admitted it’s hard to be away from home and family that much. Several people shared stories of missing important events and feeling out of touch with family.

It’s also hard not to put on weight, they say. The food is great, plentiful and always available and some told me they sometimes eat out of loneliness or boredom.  Marilyn Deam is the onboard cook responsible for all that good food.  Her groceries are ordered every 7-10 days by fax and then delivered to the boat by a “boat store”. Delivery day is exciting because it usually brings a fresh newspaper as well!

Everything is cleaner and homier than I expected – not fancy, but I imagined it might look bleaker or more industrial or even gritty. “It’s not for everyone”, said the Captain, “people either love it or hate it.” The pace is slow and deliberate and there is lots of waiting; these behemoths take time to maneuver. It’s definitely not the job for a Type A. Southbound traffic always has the right of way, because it takes much longer to stop while moving with the current. Since we were traveling upriver, several times we pulled into designated “wait spots” along the shore to allow a southbound boat to pass. “Locking through” at a Lock and Dam usually takes 1 ½ hours, unless you have to wait your turn and then it can be much longer. Our upriver speed was around 3mph; southbound it might be as fast as 6 to 8 mph, depending on current, weather, traffic, etc. I was on board for almost 24 hours and we traveled 85 river miles.

When we pulled up to Lock & Dam No. 24 at Clarksville, MO, it was dusk. The load is too long to be in the lock at once, so the first 9 barges are pushed in, then unhooked and the tow backs out. The water level is then raised and the barges pulled out the other side by a winch. Then the remaining barges and the tow go through the process, the barges are hooked up again and we can be underway. By the time that was completed, it was dark.

I was standing behind the Captain watching as we pulled away from the brightly lighted lock into the blackness beyond. I was already amazed at the skill required to maneuver something this enormous into the lock with only 5 feet of leeway between the barge and the walls, but pointing it out into the night made my heart clutch.

There is a giant spotlight mounted on top and the Captain or Pilot sweeps it back and forth – everything else is darkness!

I tried to go to bed several times, but I would sense a change in speed, look out the window and see something happening – a drawbridge or another tow or a tug coming to take one of our barges and I would throw my clothes back on and run outside to shoot it. I finally gave up and stayed dressed. On the back deck away from the spotlight, the stars were brilliant in the dry air of a perfect autumn night. The river was black and silent and seemed bottomless. When we passed lights from a bridge or a building, the water would sparkle with spun gold interweaving with the black. The engine churned and rumbled like a deep heartbeat, not straining, just consistently doing the job. It was magical.

Just when I had made peace with the fact that it would be a sleepless night, the hypnotic movement, rhythm and vibration overtook me and I slept a deep, sound, dreamless sleep. At 4:45, I heard voices and smelled coffee and bacon, so I got up and showered. Although I was at breakfast by 5:45, I was told I was the last one to eat!

The sky was just starting to show light at the horizon and the rest a bowl of indigo blue.

The deckhands were lifting the hatch covers on every barge to check inside for any signs of leaks and then hauling the gigantic ropes to the opposite side preparing for the next lock. No one was hurrying, but jobs were being done steadily and thoroughly.

Just a few more hours and we would be back at Quincy. I had hoped for a foggy morning, partly because I love to shoot fog, but partly because it would buy me more time on the boat. It had gone very fast and since everything was so new and interesting, there hadn’t been time to settle into the rhythm of this life on the river. But the day was bright and clear. 

I am enormously thankful for this opportunity. I understand even more clearly now how rarely this experience is available to those not working on the boats. It has allowed me a glimpse of a unique life of hard work on the river and I have great respect for those who do it. It is an integral part of the story of life along the Mississippi River and one we can usually only wonder about from afar. Thank you, Jeff Goldstein of Alter Barge, for making it possible and to all of the Alter Barge employees for being so gracious and helpful. Thanks to my buddy Ellis, and thanks, of course to Serendipity! It was an experience I will never forget.                                                 

Gayle

The News!!

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Watching a towboat push its massive load of barges up or down river is a source of endless fascination to all. Watching it angle around a sharp bend or fit perfectly into a lock makes us marvel at the captain’s skill. Learning even a little about the tonnage that they carry, as we talked about in the post called “All Things to All Creatures” on September 23 (click here if you missed that) makes us marvel that’s it’s even possible.  But, they are not accessible to us and we know very little about what it’s like out there.

In the six years leading up to this 90-day journey, I have traveled somewhere on the Mississippi Great River Road whenever there was an opening in my schedule.  I have met towboat captains, deckhands, lock and dam personnel and others connected with the industry. I have hinted and asked outright about the possibility of getting onboard a towboat and the answer was always some version of, “Well, security has been tightened so much we just aren’t allowed to have anyone onboard anymore.” But, I always knew it would happen someday.

When my friend Ellis Kell and I were having coffee a few days ago, he mentioned that he and his wife had been given an opportunity to be on a towboat. “What a thrill that must have been!” said I, “I’ve been trying to make that happen for a long time.” He gave me that little twinkly smile and said, “I might be able to help make that happen.” I’ve been holding my breath ever since!

Ellis contacted his friend, Jeff Goldstein, CEO of Alter Barge Line, and Jeff has made it happen! Tomorrow morning a van will pick me up in Quincy, IL and deliver me to Clarksville, MO, where I will board “The Phyllis”, who is heading upriver. I will spend the night in the guest quarters on board and roughly 24 hours later be delivered back to Quincy!!!  I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am!

This is such an important part of the story of the Mississippi River and such a rare opportunity to experience it, photograph it and share it with you – I am thrilled and very, very thankful.

So, I am packed and ready. The forecast is perfect – mid 70-s.  Such is the magic of our little raindrop!

See you soon!       Gayle

Kraut and Crystals

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From the mid-1800s to the 1920s, huge numbers of German immigrants settled in this part of the country and many of their descendants are still here.  About 800 of them showed up for the Burlington, Iowa, Lions Club Oktoberfest on Saturday.  They were dishing up boatloads of brats and sauerkraut, cabbage rolls, German potato salad and apple strudel.

 The “Happy Bavarian” was flirting with the help while showing off his cute knees in his lederhosen and couples were sharing the dance floor with little girls dancing with the total abandon that little girls do best!

Burlington’s “Snake Alley” was created as an experiment in street design in 1894 and battles with San Francisco’s famous Lombard Street for the “Crookedest Street in the World” title. I’ll bet it’s very interesting in snowy weather! 

I am blessed with a very strong, healthy body – AND this was day 40 of hoisting a heavy backpack of camera gear onto my back a gazillion times a day, having a heavy camera hanging from my neck for countless hours, sleeping in a different bed every two days and driving 3,500 miles (so far).  The body was begging for a little TLC. Amazingly, I made one phone call and found Tammy at Massage Cool La Vie and she was willing to come in on Sunday morning to work me over. Pure Heaven!!  If you ever find yourself in Burlington and anything aches, call Tammy!

From there I moved on to the home of Vickey and Harold Henson in Hamilton, Illinois, just across the river from Keokuk, Iowa. Jim and Pat Rossman, friends back upriver in Elk River, MN, had “passed me along” to Vickey and Harold and it took about five seconds to feel at home with them. Vickey is an awesome cook and I was coming off an especially long run of microwaved soups, vacuum-packed tuna and crackers, or as an alternative, peanut butter and crackers! It felt like visiting my Mom! I was fed and nurtured and fed some more – thank you Vickey and Harold!

As I was driving this morning, there were at least 6 different stories in mind that I could tell you about the Keokuk/Hamilton area. It’s loaded with fascinating history. Clearly, I can’t do them all justice here, but if you come this way, slow down, ask questions and listen. Everything you learn will simply pique more curiosity! I’ll pick one for today – the story of the geodes.

If you are a rock hound, you will likely know this story, but I had no idea! Most of us have seen geodes from various parts of the world. They are roundish lumpy rocks that when split open reveal sparkling crystals. Each one is unique in its shape, textures and colors. Most are surrounded by a volcanic exterior, but “Keokuk geodes” are encased in sedimentary rock, and are sought after by collectors around the world. No one knows for sure why geodes are concentrated here and there is apparently much difference of opinion as to what occurred during their formation. Nevertheless, they are found only right here – within a 35-mile radius of Keokuk.

Vickey and Harold took me to their “secret” gathering place – a shallow creek bed where geodes appear in abundance after every rain. The lighter weight ones are often hollow and more prized, although I did see some beautiful specimens that were filled solid. Harold cracked some open and we ooohed and aaahed at the surprises inside. Some we put into a backpack and took downtown to the Keokuk Convention and Tourism Bureau, because Kirk Brandenberg, the Executive Director had offered to split our treasures open for us. Kirk had a contraption designed just for this purpose, which wraps the geode with a heavy chain filled with round blades, then he pushes down on the long handle until it pops open. He hauled it outside and we worked right on the downtown sidewalk! Vickey would grab the two pieces and say, “You must be the first to see inside your geode – no one has seen this for 300 to 500 million years”.  Wow! They are beautiful, mysterious, ancient and each completely unique.

Last weekend was the annual Geode Fest, which brought more than 800 rock hounds from nearly every state and a half-dozen or so countries to hunt for the lumpy balls in creek beds and walls on private land opened just for that weekend. Hunters pay by the bucket and then usually pay to have them split on the spot and have great fun admiring each other’s finds.

Then we went in search of Woodie, aka Stephen Woodruff, one of the local experts on geodes. Woodie has a rock shop next door to his barber shop and he is also the Mayor! The shop was closed but Vickey knew where to find him.  When we drove into Woodie’s back yard from the alley, we found him sorting through a huge pile of geodes. He took time to show his impressive collection and the process he uses to cut and polish them for sale. He even sorted through our backpack of treasures and declared we had done very well!

So, as you might guess, my car is a bit heavier this morning! I have a backyard art project in mind and luckily Mike will be meeting me soon and can take them home for me! (:-) Thanks, honey! 

So, that brings me here – to this picnic pavilion on the river at Quincy, IL. It’s a bit nippy this morning, so I’ve had to be bundled up some, but it’s worth it to be here beside the river (besides it’s way too early to check into my next lodging).

There is a VERY EXCITING possibility brewing in the next few days. I can’t tell you yet, but stay tuned…if this works out it will be WAY COOL!!!

See you soon!                  Gayle

The Music of the River

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A reader who grew up in this area recently posted a comment, remembering her thrill as a child crossing the long bridge across the Mississippi.  My first crossing of the great river is indelibly stamped in my own memory and has floated to the surface of my mind many times on this journey. I was seven years old and in the back seat of my family’s blue and white DeSoto. I can hear the rattle of the iron bridge and smell the earthy scent of the river. I can feel again how it stopped my heart and filled me with wonder and questions. I can hear my Dad teaching me to spell its name with the little singsong chant, “M….i….crooked letter…..crooked letter…..i…crooked letter…crooked letter…i…humpback…humpback….i”.  In all the years since then, that chant still plays in my mind whenever I approach a bridge across the Mississippi. And the thrill is not even the tiniest bit diminished. In fact, it might be greater.

It might seem strange that a woman with a notoriously bad sense of direction would undertake a 3-month road trip. But, “getting lost” works very well for me (and my GPS pulls me back when needed). I have no clue how many times I have crossed the river so far – many times intentionally and a fair number of times because I got turned around and found myself funneled into an approach onto a bridge back to the other side. That’s just fine with me. I just smile at the opportunity to be suspended again over its breadth and to feel that combination of soaring exhilaration and draw into its deep mystery. When I have been out of sight of it for a while and it suddenly appears again, it makes me catch my breath and smile every single time. I am thankful for every moment that I am in its Presence.

Davenport, Iowa is one of a foursome known as the Quad Cities clustered on both the Illinois and Iowa banks of the river. I came here once several years ago for the Mississippi Valley Blues Festival. (You can see some of the shots from that trip on my home website if you like – click here.) I met a friend on that trip; one of those meetings that, at least from my perspective, felt like a very old connection from the first instant. I had wandered into the River Music Experience, a non-profit organization dedicated to the music that is inseparable from the Mississippi River itself. RME provides lessons, workshops and live music venues for virtually every genre of music for every age and taste.

Ellis Kell is the Director of Programming and Education and although he was in the middle of “Rock Camp” when I arrived that first time, he welcomed me warmly and I enjoyed every minute we spent together. We have been in touch several times since then and there was never any question I would stop to see him again on this journey.

Over coffee, Ellis talked about music, what it has meant in his own life and the lives of others, from slaves singing in the cotton fields of the South to the urban kids and adults he sees in the programs at RME. And he talked about his daughter, Karli Rose, who died in a 2002 car accident at age 17 – and how he and his family and Karli’s many friends have channeled their pain and grief into helping others through the Karli Rose Kell Music Scholarship Fund. “You never know”, he said, “where the next Eric Clapton or Bonnie Raitt might come from. It just might be one of these kids who don’t have the money to follow their dream.”

After some running around Davenport, I came back to RME to catch a bit of the live music over lunch. It was a happy surprise when Ellis showed up again and invited me to lunch at the Woodfire Grill  next door. Not only did I have the best chicken pot pie of my life, but there was the pure pleasure of meeting the owner, Toby Christianson.

As an infant in Korea, Toby was left in a basket at an orphanage and then adopted by a loving American family and raised in Minnesota. The Woodfire Grill is one of several restaurants he owns and operates and although he loves the work, he sees it all as an opportunity to do something greater. “I see it all in my mind right now, but watch for it – someday you will hear about ‘Eat Well’.  When families have suffered some loss and have friends and relatives coming from all over”, he said, “the last thing they should have to worry about is how to feed them.”  His idea is to have as many of the 400 restaurants in town as possible join him in pledging to offer free catering and facilities to those families. He is certain the program can then spread to other communities, and as I listened to him and saw the goodness and the fire in his eyes, I am too!

Although my bed for the night was nearly two hours drive away, I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to hear Ellis and two buddies, Tony Hoeppner and Mike Frank, play at a little Barbeque joint last night.

I wished I could stay for every note! Their talent, their obvious enjoyment of playing together and the original songs and old favs made it worth every second of the dark drive. (besides, I had some great new CDs to listen to!)

So, we’re in Burlington now – gearing up for this afternoon’s Oktoberfest – oom pa pa!              Gayle

A Family Affair

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You know that comic strip in the paper “Family Circus” that periodically shows the little kid being sent on some errand and traces his path over-behind-through- around-under-in-and-out of everything imaginable? That’s me when I am traveling. If you tracked my path some days it would look pretty crazy. For instance, yesterday I noticed one of my tires was low, so I stopped at a convenience store to ask where I might go to have it checked. The clerk was having a hard time giving directions, so another customer stepped in and said I should follow her as it was on her way back to work. As we started to pull out, I asked her to wait a second while I got out and gave her a postcard as a small thank you. She looked at it and said, “I think you just need to follow me to work!” She explained that she worked at the Muscatine Center for Non-Profits where they had recently established an Art Center and my project is just the kind of thing they would like to let people know about. I agreed to come by when my tire was repaired.  

When I arrived, they were expecting me, and I was introduced to Carlos Duran, the “Artist in Residence” who is organizing the Art Center. We toured the Art Center and the exhibits of local artists, including Carlos’ own excellent paintings. I was invited to come back at some point to exhibit some work. After we chatted a bit he said, “Muscatine needs to know you are here. I’m going to call the newspaper.” And so it happened, that a reporter and photographer from the Muscatine Journal visited me at the Strawberry Farm B&B where I was staying and this article appears in today’s newspaper – click here……because of a nail in my tire.

If you’ve been with me a while, you will remember the post back in Little Falls, Minnesota (click here if you missed it) where I was handed the keys to a huge mansion and invited to stay for the weekend.  That mansion and the one right next to it had been left to the town of Little Falls by Laura Jane Musser. When I saw the name Laura Musser appear here in Muscatine on the library and an Art Center, I was very curious about the relationship. It turns out that the Muscatine Laura Musser was aunt to Little Falls’ Laura Jane Musser, that they had been close, had visited often and were both musically talented and sang beautifully together. It’s a family affair! 

The staff at the Muscatine Musser home kindly arranged for me to get some photographs of the magnificent interior before I left this morning.

While we were working, the “Regina” played an accompaniment! I had never heard or seen such a thing, but it’s basically a huge music box. They have a collection of the 27” round metal discs punched with holes that play a variety of tunes. I recorded a bit of it for the slide show – so you can hear it too!

There is a small park on a hill in Muscatine called “Mark Twain Point” where a quote from Twain says that the sunsets here exceed any he had seen “on either side of the ocean”. I found my way back there at sunset and Twain’s promise was good.

I love that kind of pillow-top sky and when I had it again in the morning, it seemed perfect to top off one of the vast cornfields with it.

Movin’ on – see you soon!

                                                                                                                                                                         Gayle

Listening

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A while back I talked about noticing how this journey of 90 days seems to relate to a human lifespan of 90 years. There are aspects of the river at each point that seem to match the stages of a human’s development. This is day 36. The river is working hard here. From my current vantage point on the Riverwalk in Muscatine, Iowa, I can see a lock and dam in one direction and a big industrial installation with silos and smokestacks in the other. As soon as I left the rugged “Driftless” area, the land flattened out and became seriously agricultural and industrial. The air is frequently pungent with the smell of grain processing plants. The river banks are frequently lined with strange-looking conglomerations of tanks and silos connected by giant tubes, the purposes of which are mysterious to me.

So think of yourself at 36, whichever side of that number you are on. For most of us, there is still a sense of being invincible, of being ok without much sleep or vitamins or planning for the future. We’re not careless or oblivious to those things, but there is still a sense of there being plenty of time. So, it’s often a time when we push ourselves, we keep going and keep using our resources because there is more where that came from. Often, we are becoming well-established and well-connected, feeling effective and powerful, getting the job done well, whatever our job may be. And, even though there is that little voice that says, “You really know better than this…” we multitask, over schedule, occasionally indulge in excesses and pat ourselves on the back for handling it all just fine.

That’s how the river feels to me now. I have no idea which of these industries are being responsible stewards of the resources. I’m sure some are and some are not. The river is being used hard, it is handling it, but it would be wise to listen to that little voice and take care of its health now.

Please know I am referring to how humans relate to the river. The river itself – its essence is untouched, unchanged by anything we do – just as the essence of each human is unchanged from birth to death. And please also know – I am not talking about the citizens of any particular town. I am talking about humanity. The story of human history is too often a story of greed. Before Europeans showed up, the Native peoples lived with the river and received its abundance daily. The difference, I think, is that the natural response to gifts of abundance from the Native people was gratitude. Very often, the response from the rest of us is greed – how much more can I get for me? 

The vast forests of Minnesota and Wisconsin were virtually obliterated by greed. The fresh water mussels that thrived in the river were nearly wiped out by the pearl button industry. Such is the history of human development everywhere, but it doesn’t have to be. There is that little voice in each of us that knows what’s right, what’s fair, what’s healthy. It can’t effectively be legislated or coerced or demanded by any voice outside of ourselves, but we can choose to listen within.

I’ve been told that the river is healthier now than it has been in the last 60 years. People are listening. That makes my heart sing. The Mississippi River is truly one of our greatest treasures. It is the aorta of our continent. This is a very good time to do the right thing.

Thanks for listening.                                                Gayle