Gayle Harper

Photographer ~ Author ~ Traveler

Plupff!

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Have you ever watched a bubble rise to the surface of something thicker and heavier, like Mississippi River mud or Christmas fudge on your stove? That bubble has been working its way to the surface for some time before you could see it and then, there it is, full, clear, warm and perfectly shaped for just a second and then “Plupff!!” it bursts. It leaves a ring long enough for you to reflect on what you saw and then disappears again into the mud (or fudge or…).  As the raindrop journey percolates in my system, I’ve been watching bubbles surface in my consciousness, sensing their coming, feeling the surface swell with their inexorable rise and then marveling at their perfection, beauty and clarity. Then, “Plupff!” – they can only be watched, appreciated and released.

 This morning a bubble broke the surface that seems to want to be shared with you. The journey of a raindrop was a shared experience. Hundreds of people participated, each in their own unique way. Some provided lodging, meals, opportunities or contacts. Some opened their hearts and shared themselves in ways that touched our hearts deeply. Some followed the blog, supporting the project with time and attention. Some dear friends and one person I had only just met sent me off with gifts of cash for travel expenses. My experience, again and again, was that people went out of their way to be of help and then were sincerely grateful for the opportunity to participate. We all know it feels good to be helpful, but there seemed to be something more going on here. What was the magic of this little raindrop that drew us all to it like a magnet?

There was a wonderful photo in my hometown newspaper yesterday showing the organizing power of a magnet. Click here if you’d like to see it. In perfect symmetry, everything with the capacity to respond, does so. That’s how it seemed with our raindrop. Situations, opportunities, experiences, people all seemed drawn into perfect alignment. What is at the heart of all that movement? What was drawing us together in this way? How is it possible that every single moment was perfect? What is different about my life here at home?

Again, it seems surrender is the secret. Nature is perfect – always, without exception.  When we are not interjecting our judgments, demands and expectations, we are able to experience that perfection. Then, however the moment looks – happy, lonely, excited, tired, vibrantly healthy or sniffly and stuffy, it can be appreciated as perfect, because nothing else is actually possible. Surrender to “what is” is so freeing – it is a relief from the self-imposed burden of thinking we are in charge of it all. When we lay that burden down, there is only perfection.

That was easy to do on the road. It came so naturally that it simply happened that way, without any thought or intention.  I knew, as I mentioned in a previous post, that my challenge now is to live at home with that level of surrender.  On the surface, I was. But underneath I was only talking the talk. I found myself feeling uncomfortable. I told my husband I felt “awkward in my own life”, like I was wearing someone else’s clothes that didn’t quite fit. (Thankfully, he only listened without taking it personally or trying to fix it!) The source of the discomfort wasn’t clear, so I just let it be. I surrendered to it. It didn’t magically shift or disappear. When nothing changed in a few days, there was an opportunity to surrender my time frame for feeling better. Then there were opportunities to surrender “finding the lesson in all this”.  Then there were the rationalizations, the positive spins on it all, the attempts to distract myself with whatever – all opportunities to surrender. But, if I looked deeply enough, I was still there trying to grab the wheel and make things go as I thought they should. This imagined responsibility to control and direct our lives is the ultimate source of all discomfort and it is deeply imbedded in our conditioning.

On some level, my life at home seemed to require that I manage it. A lifetime of conditioning said, “OK, figure out what is next and figure out how to do it.” That’s what was running beneath all the surface surrendering. But, as long as our attention is wrapped up in arguing with what already is (in this case, feeling off), then we are not available to see or take the next step.

 The truth is we are like the little kids you see at the grocery store in the toy cars in front of the grocery cart. We can crank that wheel and make all the road noises we like, but the cart is going where Mama wants it to – all our gyrations have no effect. So it is with life. The only thing affected is how we experience it – it’s going to go where it’s going to go. By thinking, however subtly, that I know what’s best, I create my own discomfort. There is nothing different about living here at home than living on the road. The same choice is available in every moment – to surrender to what is and then move with the natural flow of life, without holding onto any conditions (I’ll surrender to this, but not this…), or to struggle against it. Then, in the next moment, that same choice is available in a new context.  It is, however, always the same choice with always the same result. Flow or struggle; flow or struggle.  When I looked deeply enough, I could see myself struggling, cranking that wheel and making those noises. 

The Power that kept drawing me to look deeper is the same Power that drew us toward each other and drew all “the arrangements” of life into perfect symmetry on the journey of the raindrop. People expressed sincere gratitude for the opportunity to participate because we were all given the opportunity to surrender our judgments and resistances and experience the natural perfection of life. In so doing, we saw and felt our Oneness. Alejandra in Argentina felt her connection with Randy, the sugar cane farmer in Louisiana.  Judy, the tour guide at Houmas Plantation, poured out her heart in words and song to my daughter, Natalie, whom she has never met. Ruben and Tina in Tiptonville, Tennessee, were drawn to connect with Jim Johnson to help effect change at Reelfoot Lake. It may have helped us all to let down our defenses that the Power appeared as a tiny raindrop in this instance. The raindrop seemed to wash away our resistance and let us experience the perfection of the moment. We felt our connection, our Oneness. That is why people said “Thank you!” 

On the last day of the raindrop journey, when I met the 90th sunrise on the levee, it was glorious. I told myself it was because I was so rushed for time that I didn’t post the photo of that sunrise. In truth, there was some judgment involved. I didn’t like the power lines at the horizon. Below a conscious level, I interjected my assessment of what perfection was and what distracted from it. That moment on the levee, like every other moment, wherever we each are, can be nothing other than perfection. We may decide from our human perspective that “this would be better if…”, but in so doing we are blocking the full expression of ourselves in that moment. Everything in the Universe is in its perfect order, whether we can see that or not. The Power pushing the cart has a much higher perspective. Once we truly accept where we are, then the next step comes naturally.

 Plupff!        

 Here is that beautiful sunrise from the levee, complete with power lines.

 May your day be filled with rising bubbles!

 Peace,   Gayle

What’s Next?

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Hello friends!  I’m beginning to reorient to my life here at home. After driving 7,174 miles in 95 days, sleeping in something like 48 different beds, being in the presence of the awe-inspiring Mississippi River for 3 months, meeting hundreds of interesting, open-hearted people, learning about their lives and about life itself, I am home. It feels wonderful and it is actually quite an adjustment.

Interestingly, I might have expected that I would be pretty road-weary, or at least that I might have been tired of the loading and unloading, moving every two days, lugging a 40-pound backpack of camera gear everywhere I went, getting lost, eating microwaved soups and vacuum-packed tuna and being constantly on the go from 5 am till 10 pm.  The journey was, however, so full of wonder, beauty and life, that those things were for the most part, easily accepted. Although the days were very full, they were never stressful.  Because I understood who was in charge, I could be fully in each moment, without concern of looking forward or backward.  The River taught me so much – it will be unfolding in my consciousness for a very long time.  My task now is to live at home with that same level of surrender.

It was also truly wonderful to be connected to all of you through this blog. The journey was a shared experience. Often I would meet someone, see or do something and immediately think of sharing it with you. Your presence here made the experience so much richer!  Thank you again for being with me.

From the start, this project has created itself and I am simply fortunate to be able to participate. What’s next seems to be organizing the mountains of information and untold thousands of images and then watching the project transform into its new shapes.

There are, at this point, a couple of possibilities for book publishers, but it’s not yet time to make that decision.   If you have any thoughts or suggestions for possibilities to explore, I would love to hear them! Also, once the book and the slide show are ready, I will enjoy sharing them wherever there is an interest. I welcome any suggestions for that as well!

I plan to keep the posts from the journey available here – so you can revisit or share them if you like – and will occasionally post new developments. Please feel free to email me for any reason at all or to continue to post comments. I love hearing from you!

I am creating a database of names and contact information of folks interested in knowing about progress toward completion and publication dates. If you would like to be included, just send me an email with your information at  gayle@gayleharper.com. Please put “Updates” in the subject line.

For now, I’ll leave you with this shot of a little friend I met in a south Louisiana swamp, but didn’t have the chance to introduce to you.  She seemed sweet enough, but it was probably a fine idea to keep those jaws securely closed! 

Merry Christmas and may your New Year shine with the Light of Serendipity!!

Love,    Gayle

There She Goes…

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The last days of this journey moved as quickly as the current in this majestic river.

The last time I was in New Orleans was 21 years ago. Mike and I visited and stayed in Jerry Zachary’s B&B in the French Quarter.  Jerry was such delightful company that we ended up talking and laughing together until the wee hours during that visit.  Surprisingly (and I think it’s even a surprise to Jerry and I), we have stayed in contact throughout all the years since then.  When he learned of my journey, he invited me to visit and I was thrilled to see him again. It’s another example of friendship that lives and flourishes regardless of time and distance.  This was a quick visit, packed with good people, fabulous food, lively conversations and gracious hospitality. Thank You!  I would have loved more time, but our raindrop was like a racehorse nearing the finish line and nothing could stop her now.

The Mississippi River undulates back and forth as it approaches the city of New Orleans, then dips to create the “crescent” which gives the city its nickname.  Then, it is done meandering.  From that point onward, the River stretches out and heads straight for home.  The Great River Road clings to this no-nonsense river, as there is nowhere else to be on this narrow peninsula, for another 85 miles through Plaquemines Parish.  

Just beyond Venice, Louisiana, the Great River Road ends unceremoniously. There is no definitive point marking the end, no sign or viewpoint of the River. The pavement simply ends and a gravel road continues a bit through a field of weeds to another complex of pipes and tanks behind a tall chain link fence. There is nothing that offers a moment of reflection, let alone closure. There was a moment of disappointment at that, a feeling of being left hanging, like listening to a piece of great music played without the final beat. Since then, however, the perfection of that moment has become increasingly clear – it could be no other way.   

To conclude this journey, I was invited by Domenica Sibilich to board her family’s 65-foot boat, The Sea Pearl, for a cruise down the widening river, beyond the end of the road. As Serendipity would have it, the Louisiana Historical Society had booked a tour to the mouth of the river on that day, and I was kindly included. The Mississippi River itself does nothing to appease our human longing for definition.  Where is the point it is no longer a river? You could arbitrarily pick one if you like, but the river has no need of such things. It gradually divides and spreads itself into the marsh, embracing its new form without hesitation.

When the Captain announced we were nearing the point called the “Head of Passes”, I excused myself from a conversation and headed for a little walkway along the bow to be alone with the River. There was nothing to see, really, just a vast expanse of water with low clumps of marshland visible in the distance. But, I knew from studying maps and aerial photographs that this is the point where the massive trunk known as the Mississippi River splinters into branches taking various routes to the Gulf.

I had no pre-conception of what I would feel in this moment, but I had a tiny ceremony I wanted to perform.  On day 2 of this journey, at the headwaters of the Mississippi in Minnesota, I was given a gift by Terry Larson, the first of so many river friends who have made themselves homes in my heart. Terry had made a leather pouch and filled it with dried sage.  As he presented it to me, he asked me to bless the river with small bits of the sage as I traveled.   I have carried the pouch in my camera case every day since then, and have blessed the river with it many times. It has been a way to honor the great River, which in my heart is a symbol and metaphor for life itself, and it has been a way to say thank you to the Creator of All That Is.

I took some sage from the pouch, leaned out over the water and dropped it in as I said a simple prayer of thanks.  A powerful ball of emotion rose from my heart to my throat and filled my eyes with tears. I watched the water twinkle with reflected light and imagined I saw our little raindrop bobbing happily away without a backward glance. There is nothing in Nature that resists change; there are no beginnings and no endings. Our raindrop wasn’t born when we began following her – she had been a part of Lake Itasca before that and part of a cloud and an underground spring at some point before that. Now she is part of the Gulf of Mexico, to be moved by the currents to some other continent until she evaporates again into a cloud and perhaps rains down on me, wherever I am.  All life is part of this never-ending circle of transformation.

Surrender is the key to all doors.  At every moment there is a Wisdom at work in our lives that wants to move us toward our greatest good. Among all forms of life, only humans have the capacity to get in the way of that Wisdom. We think we should be in charge; we tell ourselves it is our responsibility to try to direct our lives in the way we have decided is best. It is through that foolish arrogance that we create suffering for ourselves and others. Call that Wisdom whatever you like – for the purposes of this journey we have called it Serendipity – there are thousands of names for God.  It is the Source of All Wisdom and by offering up our personal will, we can flow with that miraculous perfection of movement.  Surrendering to Serendipity is simply another way to say, “Let Thy will, not mine, be done.”

There are honestly no words adequate to express my gratitude. To God, to the hundreds of people who have opened their hearts and been a part of this, to all of you who have traveled with me, supporting me with your love and encouragement, to my family, who are the wind beneath my wings  – thank you from my deepest heart. Thank you for helping me to honor the beauty of all life by surrendering to Serendipity.

Many have asked how to keep track of the progress of this project as it moves into its next incarnations as a book and a slide show. I’m figuring out the most efficient way to do that, and will let you know soon, so please check back if you are interested in that.

For now, thank you for the gift of your presence in my life.                        Gayle

Flavors of Friendship

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As in many families, it is a Thanksgiving tradition in ours to hold hands while expressing gratitude for our blessings. Relationships with family and friends are always high on my list. Some of the friends that bless my daily life have been a part of it for 2 or 3 decades now. That longevity brings a level of comfort and richness that I treasure – we know each other well and love and accept each other “warts and all”.  

As the road dust begins to settle around me and there is a bit more time for reflection, friendship is something I have thought about. There are many flavors of friendship, all unique and equally delicious. Some have the familiarity that grows over time and in other cases a deep and powerful connection is established in a very short time. My life on the road for 90 days was filled with friendships like the latter.   Often there was the sense that while I may not know all the details of a person’s life story nor they mine, we were connected on a level that made that immaterial. It felt as if we had always known each other and the quality of the relationship had nothing to do with the amount of time we had spent together. I fully expect that many of my new “river friends” will be in my life for decades to come, but even if they are not, the quality of the shared relationship is not diminished.  

South of Baton Rouge, in the small river town of Paulina, Louisiana, Michael Hopping had invited me to stay in his beautifully restored raised Creole plantation home on the River Road. As soon as I arrived, we climbed into Michael’s 4-wheeler to ride through the woods and visit a few of his favorite spots on the river. 

He took me to a broad, clean, sandy beach at a bend in the river, a rarity in many miles of wooded or marshy shoreline.  Rivulets of water flowing down the hill had drawn graceful, arching designs in the sand that expanded and came together again like the river itself. I knew I was with a kindred spirit when I asked him excitedly to stop so I could photograph the patterns in the sand, and he immediately joined me in appreciation of their beauty.

In this part of the Mississippi, between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, you begin to see huge cargo ships from home ports all over the world, moving up from the Gulf of Mexico.  Michael stopped the 4-wheeler at a small dock so I could catch my first glimpse of one of the behemoths. 

They are so massive; it boggles my mind that they can navigate so far up the river.  I was curious about the tugboats we saw there and wanted to understand how they fit into the picture I was seeing, so we went to the small “Office” trailer, and the guys there were happy to explain.  

“Harbor tugs” are made to cut through the water quickly and are surrounded with bumpers of tires, to protect them from banging against the big ships as they shuttle personnel and supplies back and forth.  Michael laughed at what he called my “boldness” in asking about the possibility of going out on one, but he laughed again in delight when the answer was, “Come back in the morning and I’ll take you out.”

So, at 8:00 the next morning, Donald “Duck” Mahl and I headed out in a slightly smaller version of the tugs I had seen the day before. It wasn’t clear to me at first whether or not we were on some mission, but it was a fine morning and I was thrilled to be out on the river.  We traveled under the bridge and passed close to some of the gigantic ships, letting me really experience their size. 

When I saw a shot I liked and tentatively asked if he could possibly angle the boat to one side, and the answer came back, “I can go anywhere you like.  Just tell me what you’d like,” I understood he had done this simply as a kindness to me. Amazing! 

He drives the boat from a little tower, looking backward over his shoulder, which somehow makes it easier when getting up close to a ship. He left the controls once, scrambled up the steps to a platform above his tower and pantomimed taking a picture from there, then pointed to me.  I was considerably more tentative in my scrambling, and kept a pretty good grip on the railing as the boat bobbed around in the waves, but it was a great view! 

There were ships from Poland and China and several flags I couldn’t recognize, carrying oil and grain and huge metal parts. As I watched an enormous onboard crane hefting bundles from a barge into the ship’s belly, I thought about how this river has changed since we first met it in Minnesota. On day 2 of this journey, I was on a Mississippi River barely wider than the canoe in which I was gliding and on day 86, this same Mississippi River is vast and deep enough to carry these indescribably huge cargo ships. What an amazing transformation! 

I called my friend Michael after the boat ride to tell him about it. He was truly delighted – in the way that good friends appreciate each other’s adventures. “Duck” didn’t know it, but he had a boat loaded with people who appreciate his kindness and his willingness to play with our little raindrop!

Next stop – New Orleans, where I’ll meet with another dear friend I’ve known more than 20 years, but with whom I’ve shared very little “face time”!   See you soon!      Gayle

Connections

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Hello! First of all, thank you to so many of you who wrote with kind words and good wishes for my safe travels home. It was great fun to check my iPhone whenever I stopped and see your messages. Thank you!  It feels great to be home.

As promised, I want to pick up where I left off and share the last week of this journey with you, because it was magic to the end!

The rain did eventually stop during my stay at Houmas House Plantation in Darrow, Louisiana – and I managed to pry myself from my cozy cottage and visit “the Big House”.  It’s a magnificent 1828 mansion which had declined into a pretty sad state of disrepair until it was purchased by Kevin Kelly in 2003.  Since then, it has been completely refurbished and furnished with splendid antiques. Kevin, an area businessman who grew up in New Orleans, had learned of my journey through a mutual friend and invited me to stay in the cottage.  I didn’t expect to meet Kevin as I knew he was out of town, so it was a pleasant surprise when the message came that he would love to have lunch together before I left.  

Over lunch, Kevin told me, in his jovial way, a bit about the transformation of Houmas House and his visions for the future. Although the home is open for tours daily, it is also his primary residence.  There is a wing for his mother and plenty of space for his beloved Golden Retrievers, Princess Grace and her pups. The gardens were luxurious, even in November, but I would love to see them in bloom!  After lunch we rode in Kevin’s golf cart to pick up Miss Gracie and took her to pose in a bathtub which Kevin told me had belonged to Napoleon. Gracie wasn’t too sure about the tub at first, but then posed like royalty for our little photo session!  Kevin was comfortable and easy-going and I enjoyed his company (as well as Gracie’s) immensely. 

I toured the mansion after lunch and it was stunning, with architectural details like this spiral staircase and rooms filled with priceless antiques. But, as often happens, it is the people I meet who live on in my heart and my memory. At Houmas House, in addition to Kevin, there was Judy. 

Judy Whitney-Davis was my tour guide and before I left, became my friend. Dressed as a slave, Judy guided, informed and entertained our small group. To tell her stories, she shifted through voices and accents, played a bit of billiards for us and periodically broke into song in a voice that gave me goosebumps. (and yes, I have recorded it for the slide show!) Her larger-than-life personality and her expressive face with its deep, dark eyes drew me in. Then her dry, quick sense of humor gave me several full-body laughs.  By the end of the tour, there was a connection between us and we stood talking until another tour came through, which moved us to the porch.

Judy talked about growing up as the child of a minister, living in places like inner city Detroit and how that taught her to think on her feet and be ready for what life gives her. I roared with laughter as she demonstrated “Playing the Dozens”, a sort of verbal volleyball of insults hurled back and forth.  She talked about recent challenges in her life and starting anew as a single parent and a student in nursing school. When I shared some recent events in my daughter’s life that parallel hers, she said she had a message of encouragement to give her. 

So, I took out my recorder and Judy spoke to Natalie about appreciating your own worth as a person, about taking care of yourself as well as your children and about keeping a firm hold on your own spiritual center.

Then she leaned back against the bench and said she wanted to sing for Natalie – and she did, in a powerful voice so full of love, it made me cry.  I will deliver that message when we visit in a few weeks. Thank you, Judy, for sharing your big, beautiful, open heart!

The world is full of beautiful people – and how it is that I have been blessed to meet so many of them on this journey I cannot say – I can only say thank you! 

I’ll be back soon to tell you about Paulina, New Orleans and points southward.

Love,  Gayle

The 90th Sunrise

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This morning I drove to the levee above Venice, Louisiana, where the road ends and the Mississippi River branches out like the roots of a great tree, dissolving itself into the Gulf of Mexico. I walked to the top with my coffee and camera and watched the sun rise on the 90th day of this journey.   My heart nearly burst with the gratitude I felt.

The last days of this journey have carried me like a leaf in the current, gathering experiences and emotions, building to this moment on this levee – watching the river and the moment come and go, holding on to nothing. The days since my last post could only be lived; there was no time at all to write about them. I promise to tell you all of it, but right now it’s time to go home.

In the morning, I will touch “Home” on my GPS and let it take me there in time for Thanksgiving. Be just a little patient with me, please, and I’ll be back to finish the tale!

For now, thank you, each and every one of you.  Sharing this experience with you has made it richer and more beautiful than it ever could have been without you.

With love and gratitude,       Gayle

Sweetness

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I awoke to the sound of rain on the roof and opened the door to smell it and record a bit of it for the slide show. By the light from the porch light, I could watch it splattering and running off the leaves of some enormous tropical plant. Each leaf is about 3’ by 2’ and bounces joyfully with the drops. It looked like something out of the movie Fantasia and I could almost hear the music. A bird of some kind joined in chirping to the beat, oblivious to or enjoying the dark and the rain. It might have been nice to sleep in a bit, but this body is far too accustomed to being out before sunrise to allow that. I am content.

Actually, I feel a bit naughty admitting it, but I am quite happy to have a day of rain. I am staying in “The Cottage” on the Houmas House Plantation in Darrow, Louisiana, between Baton Rouge and New Orleans.  It’s away from the main house and is truly lovely. Here’s what it looks like… 

The bed was like settling into a cloud; there’s a Jacuzzi and a fireplace log filled with tea candles. There’s a microwave for soup and plenty of “New Orleans Style Coffee with Chicory” – let it rain!  There is no internet, but by the time I bump into it again, I should have this ready for you!

A reader in Argentina posted a comment yesterday asking me to show what sugar cane looks like. I smiled a great BIG smile when I read that because just a few hours before, I had climbed down from a combine cutting sugar cane with a Louisiana farmer.  I knew it was harvest time and had seen some trucks loaded with the chopped pieces of cane, and although I had kept an eye out, I hadn’t yet seen anyone actually doing the harvesting.  Yesterday I did, so I found a place to pull over and walked back to get a few shots. 

When the combine stopped to allow the truck that had been filled to drive away to be emptied, I waved. I couldn’t actually see into the cab to know if anyone waved back, but I assumed so – farmers are generally a friendly lot. So, I tried walking toward them a bit. It was easier said than done because the ground was soft and lose and piled in high ridges and valleys. I don’t doubt they were chuckling at my less-than-graceful maneuvers, but once I got my technique down (walk in the valleys and avoid the ridges), things went better.  By the time I reached the combine, Randy Rivere was out on the little walkway beside the cab smiling down at me. 

Randy is the third generation in his family to farm sugar cane on this land in south Louisiana and he was happy to tell me about it.

The climate here is too moist for cotton, but just right for sugar cane. The plants they were cutting were at least 15’ tall and the combine platform seemed to be towering at least 20’ high. Harvest season began in late September and will continue until January. Randy said he will work ten hour days, seven days a week in all kinds of weather during that time, but then in the winter will sleep and relax! “It’s a good life”, he said, “and this is an especially good year. We’ve had great weather and the price of sugar is the best it’s been in quite a long time.” 

He climbed down and broke open a stalk to show me the “eye” at each joint in the plant. Sugar cane is not grown from seed, but from this eye.  A different machine will lay cut pieces in the rows and cover them and the eyes will sprout new plants. For three years, the plants are cut back and the root system remains to sprout again; after that the ground will be allowed to rest for a year before the cycle begins again.

When the empty truck returned, Randy asked me if I would like to climb up and ride with him. (Now what do you imagine that I said??) I passed up my camera case and climbed the ladder. 

It’s all pretty high tech. A GPS system takes you from point A to B and if you go beyond point B, it asks, “Are you alive? Are you awake?”  A camera mounted below lets him keep an eye on the row and a sensor tells him the height to set the cutting mechanism.  The cane is cut at two levels, and then separated from the leaves. The sugar cane goes into the bin behind the truck and the rest is blown back on the field to be plowed under later.  It’s a pretty resilient crop and can only really be “done in” by a hard freeze, which has only happened once that Randy can remember. Then, he said, “The factory just kept turning trucks away, saying we can’t make sugar out of that – can’t make nothin’ but gook with that!”

Randy pointed to the great billowing clouds of steam in the distance and explained that was the sugar factory. “If I had someone else to drive the combine today, I would just take you over and show you how it works”, he said.  (Now, how sweet is that!)

I told him I would at least have a peek at it as I left. At least 30 trucks were waiting their turn to deliver their sweet load. Randy had told me the clouds rising from the smokestacks were just clean steam, so that helped me see the beauty in them. The sky behind them was a soft, muted gray so they did look a bit like something Michelangelo might have painted.

That brought me here – to this warm, cozy cottage with candles glowing, thunder rolling and the rain coming down in torrents, like it can only do in the South. Life is sweet! 

Love, Gayle

Nottoway

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Just when I begin to think that the variety of remarkable places in which I have been invited to stay has surely about run its full gamut, Little Miss Serendipity asserts herself and says, “Not yet, girlfriend!”

I knew when I received an invitation to stay at the Nottoway Plantation that it would be spectacular. I knew that it was the largest antebellum mansion remaining in the South. But, I didn’t quite get it. Nottoway Plantation on the Louisiana Great River Road at White Castle, is a 64-room, 53,000 square foot home, completed in 1859, which seems to defy any superlatives you try to fit onto it.

When I arrived at Nottoway, preparations for a wedding were underway in the yard with the grand structure behind it. I looked around for someone who appeared to be “in charge”. My first try was a bull’s-eye  – the mother of the bride, who happily gave me permission to shoot the wedding. 

I was excited because it was a Jewish wedding, which I hadn’t seen before, and because it was beautiful late afternoon light in a gorgeous location. Also, the Rabbi explained many of the traditions as the ceremony progressed, so I learned quite a bit.

Family members hold a canopy, called a Chupah, over the couple; it’s a tradition that originated with the Biblical wedding of Abraham and Sarah and today symbolizes the new couple creating a home together. Men are required to wear the head covering called a “yarmulke” for prayer and in this case, they were all in purple to match the bride’s colors.

By the time the wedding was completed, it was dusk and Nottaway was looking jaw-dropping gorgeous. By the time it was fully dark, I found the small family cemetery in the corner of the property looking, I think, just like it should as well!

Then an amazing dinner of Eggplant Etoufee, which was a perfect combination of crispy eggplant on rice topped with crawfish etoufee and fresh asparagus all served on mashed sweet potatoes – wow! If you think I was living like royalty – you’re right!

To my amazement, I was given the Master Suite!  Here’s how it looks and here is the hand carved rosewood bed where I finally rested my bones and slept like a baby. Little Miss Serendipity had outdone herself on this day!

In the morning, I was free to shoot the interior and it was a pleasure. It is furnished with many pieces from the original inhabitants, the family of John Hampden Randolph, who came here from Virginia. The white and gold ballroom is said to be that color because Randolph wanted to “offset the beauty of his ladies”. I am quite sure it did.  In the dining room, each plate was hand painted with a unique scene and rested on a solid silver warmer. As I said, Nottoway dwarfs superlatives, but it is a look into another era and another world of almost unimaginable wealth and opulence.

It feels as if Serendipity is holding the pedal to the metal the last few days and it’s all I can do to keep up! There is much more to tell you – I’ll be back as soon as I can!

80 And Onward

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Day 80. It’s hard to imagine actually, that this journey is nearing the end. It’s been a marathon and I am occasionally bone tired, but thankful for every single amazing moment.  It’s also abundantly clear that it will not be over until it’s over, as they say. As you know, I generally don’t plan much, but some awesome invitations and opportunities are arising for these last ten days. Stay tuned!

By the way – one travel tip I failed to mention back on day 60 is that McDonalds all have free WiFi and no one seems to mind if you sit in a corner for a couple of hours, as I am now, and buy one cup of coffee. They just smile and ask, “How you doin’, M’am?”

I have now left Mississippi behind and it’s Louisiana from here on – and Louisiana is truly its own place. I have traveled this part of the country before, but never in depth enough to actually experience the distinct changes in culture. The accent is very different from what is heard in Mississippi; cotton fields have given way to fields of sugar cane and there are many miles of huge refineries and massive industrial installations.   Dishes like crawfish etoufee and gumbo are standard fare and the coffee is rich and dark and kicks the butt into gear even on the slowest mornings! It’s interesting to note – it has always grated a bit to have someone I have no relationship with, like waitresses or clerks call me “honey” or “sweetie”. Here, everyone is “baby”, “darlin’” or “sweetheart” and it somehow doesn’t offend at all – it feels like a hug and makes me smile.

The Great River Road in Louisiana is lined with gracious old plantation homes and in some cases the current owners are the 6th or 7th generation of their family to live there. Again and again I hear people speak of a very deep and strong sense of home. Many people I have met, from a wide range of socio-economic levels, seem to know their lineage well and can quote birthdates and details of the lives of their ancestors, often as far back as the 1700s.

Somehow the past seems very present here, even in the midst of modern development. In St. Francisville, I was invited to stay in two great historic homes. The Cottage Plantation is a series of long, low buildings that were gradually constructed between 1795 and 1879. It is remarkably intact, with many of the original furnishings and outbuildings. It’s quiet and secluded, on a long lane away from the road. The architecture of these plantation homes is always graceful and romantic, but what really gives them ambiance is the enormous live oak trees draped with Spanish moss. The massive, sprawling tree trunks and huge branches that often curve back down to the ground with curtains of Spanish moss swaying in the breeze seem timeless and mysterious. Miss Frieda, who checked me in and gave me a tour of Cottage Plantation, said the live oaks near the home were planted in 1810.  Just to think of all they have quietly witnessed in those 200 years makes me want to touch them reverently, which I often do.

Tara, the resident White Lab, greeted me at my car and was my bud from then on. She was there every time I opened my door and accompanied me on every walk, even if it was just to my car. Although this time of year usually produces many foggy mornings, which I love, there have been virtually none on this trip. So when I peeked out before sunrise to see things shrouded in mist, I was thrilled and threw on my clothes.

Tara was ready and we set off to capture it! By 8:00, our tails were dragging a bit and the fog had mostly burned off, so I headed back, knowing that coffee was being served.

The proprietor delivers a tray with coffee in a beautiful china cup with real cream, sugar and a fresh flower to your door at that time. Tara was ready to rest and Sparky, the black cat, came to join us for coffee as well. It was sweet and I felt quite pampered.

My second night in West Feliciana Parish was at the St. Francisville Inn, originally built in 1880 and operated as a popular B&B for 25 years.  

It was quiet and comfortable but the very best thing was the breakfast!  Spinach quiche, crab crepes, fresh pastries, beautiful fruit, eggs, grits, and that killer coffee – YUM!  I was good to go for the day!

Back upriver I remember seeing some very unique handcrafted jewelry made from antique buttons and pieces of vintage glass with the label, “Grandmother’s Buttons”.  When I learned they were made here in St. Francisville, I decided to visit. It’s a great story!  In 1985, Susan Davis paid a visit to her 95-year-old grandmother and together they looked through a collection of 30 boxes of old buttons her grandmother had collected over many years. Susan has always been artistic and when she saw the luscious shapes, colors and textures of the buttons, she imagined them made into jewelry. Her grandmother gave her the collection and Susan began experimenting. Twenty-five years later “Grandmother’s Buttons” buys 20,000 antique buttons a year plus vintage glass, pearls and other materials to create one-of-a-kind pieces of jewelry that are sold online and shipped to boutiques all over the U.S., Canada and several other countries. It all happens in a renovated 1905 bank building in downtown St. Francisville.

On the ground floor is the store filled with pretties and a button museum which includes Grandmother’s actual button box. Upstairs, amid stacks of boxes, piles of fabric, cases of buttons and supplies, several crafters were at work implementing Susan’s latest designs. Susan’s husband, Donny, was also at work as the business manager. I love the creative energy of the whole enterprise and love seeing something like that be successful – and I especially love imagining how proud Grandmother would be!

The Mississippi River is less accessible as we go south. Towns are either barricaded behind the levee or perched high on a bluff when there is one. There is lots of barge traffic, but hardly any pleasure craft are seen. Gone are the marinas filled with boats for cruising the river. There are fewer parks and riverwalks for sitting beside it and far more industry. The river works very hard here. It has been greatly altered from its natural state, so it’s hard to imagine what it was like before humans intervened. Still, its essence is unchanged. If I revisit the analogy used before and see how the river on this 80th day of the journey relates to a human in their 80th year of life, it seems to hold.  At 80, we see unmistakable signs of physical aging on the outside, but inside nothing has ever been changed. No matter how life has changed our appearance, our pace or even our health, who we really are is untouched by such things. Inside, we are exactly the same as when we came into this world. If you look, it’s easy to see that we are not our bodies. We are that same timeless, changeless and yet constantly brand new essence as this great river. At our core, we are all the same, whether healthy or sick, old or young. That’s what you see when you look at this river or the stars or really look into another’s eyes.

Peace,   Gayle

Whispering Secrets

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It’s the best of all worlds when I can be in my room takin’ care of business and STILL get some nice shots right out my window! In Vidalia, LA, I was a guest at Comfort Suites, right on the Riverwalk and heard the familiar sound of a towboat engine. 

Two seconds later I was snapping away in the beautiful late afternoon light. For the sunrise, I easily walked to the twin cantilevered bridges between Vidalia and Natchez, MS – Sweet!  No driving on rutted roads or trudging through the mud – just a stroll on the paved, lighted walkway! 

Then I drove out on the levee (truly my favorite places to be in the morning) and caught sight of a family of foxes racing for cover, and deer bounding as if their feet hardly touch the ground. 

There was a small, shallow lake filled with water birds like egrets and cormorants – so I left the car and got in my mud-trudging anyway. They let me get closer than I expected and posed rather elegantly, I think.

Then, as I drove into town I caught a glimpse of the Fire and Police Station with an Officer out front raising the flag in the warm morning light. I was already past it when it registered and by the time I turned around and went back he had already gone back inside. “Well”, thought I, “it can’t hurt to ask”. 

So I walked in to find 8 or 10 Officers in what looked like their morning meeting. They seemed startled to see me at first , but when I told them what I was doing, they chortled and patted the lucky Officer on the back. He didn’t hesitate, but cheerfully came out and lowered and raised the flag again. All in the line of duty, right? Thanks, guys!

Then I crossed the bridge to Natchez where my new friend, Tommy Polk, led me to Shantybellum, his fun, funky guest house. It’s filled with musical instruments and memorabilia and many of Tommy’s songwriting awards – and comes with Moon Pies on the bed pillows! 

Tommy brought by his computer and shared some of the songs he has written (and brought me the fresh-picked tangerine on the table from his mother’s tree).

I met lots of “Natcheezians” in two days and they were literally all warm, welcoming and friendly. I was swept in, without hesitation. I met a woman on the street who introduced me to a friend of hers, who then took both of us to see the stunning home of her brother, known as Magnolia Vale. (Natchez is filled with stunning homes with romantic-sounding names.)  I was invited to a cookout at a home on the high bluff above the river and stayed, bouncing from one conversation to the next, until the gorgeous sunset.

Tommy and his girlfriend, Elodie (who was also delightful to meet) had actually compiled a list of colorful people I might like to meet. The description I was given of “Miss Jones” made her irresistible, so a meeting was arranged. Still beautiful at 84, Miss Jones is the quintessential Southern Lady. She was funny, gracious, warm, and elegant in a very unselfconscious way. Her family’s history is intertwined with the history of Natchez for many generations.

Amid the stories of family, came the story of the Garter Girls. On her refrigerator was this photo taken during WWII, of herself (on the far left) with six girlfriends, posing glamorously in swimsuits. When the first girl married, she was given a garter made by a local woman with the instruction that it should be passed to each of the other girls when their turn came. Each girl wore it, and then passed it to her children and eventually to her grandchildren. The garter, now an antique, is still gracing the legs of descendants of the original Garter Girls. It has become so precious to them now, that Miss Jones kept it in the bank vault when it was in her care. 

It’s a fun picture and a great story of continuity. In most places around the country, families scatter in all directions as children come of age. I have no idea what the home that my grandparents grew up in looked like. It must be stabilizing and nurturing to have roots that deep.

It seems everyone has a story here – and can tell it in a spellbinding way.  Perhaps it grew out of long, warm summer evenings on the porches. “Everyone knows your business” I have heard more than once, and indeed conversations overheard are mostly about who did what, when.  As one person put it, “We don’t care what you do, we just want to know about it.” No wonder so much literary talent came out of the south – lifetimes are spent telling and listening to stories, in that slow, sweet, Southern drawl . 

I hear the river in their stories, even when it isn’t mentioned.  I hear that same ancient, constant voice that speaks below the level of physical hearing and says what words can never capture. I have heard that in the voices of river people since this journey began. It is the same underlying voice, whether the audible voice sounds like a Minnesotan or an Iowan or a Mississippian.  On the surface, there are great differences in culture, accents, foods and stories, but underneath it is all one story. There is actually only one story in all of humankind – the story of discovering our connections with each other – and ultimately our Oneness with all life. That’s the secret the river whispers.