Gayle Harper

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Sleeping in Opulence: Roadtripping with a Raindrop Moment #10

September 3, 2013 by Gayle Harper 6 Comments

Two things about this journey come together to keep me arriving in every new place as a blank slate. The first is that each day is so completely absorbing that it never allows time to look ahead to what is coming next. The second is that because all of my lodging arrangements were made by others, the incredible variety of places I have stayed has been a constant surprise.

In that life-changing moment when I first read that a drop of water falling into the headwaters of the Mississippi River in Minnesota would travel for 90 days to reach the Gulf of Mexico, I knew what was coming next in my life – I just didn’t know how. I knew, without a doubt, that somehow I would make this 90-day road trip, keeping pace with an imaginary raindrop on its journey to the Gulf. Since then, this adventure has literally created itself and I am a lucky participant.

Clearly, I could not afford 90 nights lodging, so I sent an email to Chambers of Commerce and Tourism Bureaus along the Mississippi’s nearly 2,500 mile route. I included a link to my website and described the project that I had in mind. Then I said, “If you are interested in having me visit your community and you can help me with lodging, please let me know,” and I waited to see what would happen. To my astonishment, invitations began pouring in and, in the end, there were actually more offers for lodging than there were available nights. Because of that amazing support, this journey was made possible.

Very often, while making the arrangements, I would be asked about my preferences and my answer was always the same, “Just a clean bed, please, and hopefully internet access – beyond that, whatever you chose will be perfect.” What they would choose, then, in many cases, is whatever is most interesting and unique in their community. As a result, an itinerary of fascinating places emerged that I could never have imagined or planned! I have rested my head in places as varied as a secluded cabin in the woods, a fishing resort, historic inns and B&Bs, a trendy downtown loft and a sharecropper’s cabin. There was even one unforgettable evening when I was handed the keys to a 30-room mansion and told that it was mine for the weekend!

Now, on day 81, I am on the Great River Road between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, Louisiana, a region legendary for its collection of antebellum plantation homes. I have been invited to stay at Nottoway Plantation, which I know is the largest among them and I know that  it  will be magnificent. Still, I am not at all prepared for what I find.

After checking in at a small building on the plantation grounds, I follow a staff member into the garden, still lush in mid-November. There, my first glimpse of the white plantation mansion stops me like a head-on truck! It is a 64-room, 53,000 square foot home surrounded by towering pillars and broad, curving balconies. I follow my guide into the house and we climb two flights of broad, graceful mahogany stairs, passing lavish rooms resplendent with period furnishings. At the top, he throws open a door and says, “This is your room – the Master Suite.” I am shocked, but I bite my tongue to keep from asking, “Are you sure?” and step inside.

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The beautiful, spacious suite is furnished with museum-quality antiques. The hand-carved rosewood bed, which is covered with luxurious linens and topped with an antique bed warmer, has hollow bedposts, he tells me, and is likely where the lady of the house hid her jewels during the Civil War. I nod and smile in stunned silence as he orients me to my home for the next two days.

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I take up my camera then and wander the halls, peeking into open rooms. There are countless bedrooms, a spectacular white and gold ballroom, a dining room set with hand-painted French porcelain, a music room, a library and even a bowling alley. It is a look into a lifestyle of wealth and privilege that is almost beyond comprehension. In the morning, I will join a tour and learn the history of the house, but for now I am content to wander and gawk like a kid in a candy store.

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As dusk settles in and golden light glows from within the mansion, I race with my camera gear and tripod from one vantage point to another, marveling at how harmonious and graceful the architecture is from every angle.

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Finally, as darkness erases the last hint of color from the sky, I slow down and then I feel for the first time the effects of a very long, full and amazing day. Lest I think that she might have exhausted her bag of surprises, Serendipity, our little raindrop, has pulled this one out and topped herself once again!

Happily exhausted, I climb the stairs (which feel considerably longer this time) and wonder how it might feel to settle into that elegant rosewood bed.

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Filed Under: LA - White Castle, Mississippi Great River Road, Roadtripping With a Raindrop #10 - Sleeping in Opulence Tagged With: Great River Road, Louisiana, Mississippi River, Nottoway Plantation, travel America

Tsunami on the Mississippi River? Roadtripping with a Raindrop Moment #9

August 26, 2013 by Gayle Harper 4 Comments

I slept like the dead after my first jam-packed day in Memphis and I’m coming back to life slowly. The city below my hotel room window is still fast asleep, but I have an early date with the River and the friend of a friend.

065d1027-013MemphisSmYesterday, at the end of a laugh-filled and surprise-filled day, my new buddy Diana Threadgill (who will be another day’s tale), suddenly said, “Oh my gosh! You have got to meet my friend, Joe Royer! I am calling him right now!” Then, quicker than I could say, “Serendipity,” Joe and I had made a plan to meet early this morning to get out on the Mississippi River in his sea kayak.

The River is nearly a mile wide at Memphis and it looks every inch of that as Joe and I settle into his 22-foot  sea kayak.  The dark water looks smooth and glassy, but I know very well the strength of the current underneath it. After a few quick instructions, we paddle out of the small harbor into the vast, open River. My heart clutches a bit – I’ve never experienced the River from such a perspective. Sitting at river level, with just inches of boat on either side, the commanding power of this great River is stunning.

“The River has a reputation for being dangerous,” Joe says from the stern, “but if you respect it and learn the proper skills, it is safe and fun.” Joe has done this hundreds of times and he is as comfortable here as I am behind the wheel of my car, so I relax into the soothing rhythm of our paddling. The kayak slices silently through the current and of all the ways I have been with and on this River, I have never felt such a sublime intimacy with it.

photo by Joe Royer

photo by Joe Royer

Suddenly, the quiet is shattered by the familiar moan of a barge horn. I can’t see it yet, but it sounds very close. In the next second, it appears – and the thing looks colossal! It looks to be racing right toward us at breakneck speed! I’m on full alert and ready for Joe to maneuver us closer to shore, but he paddles on at the same tranquil pace. I glance back at him and he smiles. There is no way he is not aware of its presence, so I wait. Another blast of the horn and my spine tingles and my hold on the paddle becomes a white-knuckled death grip, but still there is no reaction from Joe.

065d1027-410MemphisBargeKayakSmThe barge has rounded the bend now and is pointed upriver and we are clearly a safe distance from it. As it churns past us, however, I see the wake angling out from behind and it looks like a mountainous tidal wave! It rolls toward us and I quickly store my camera where it will be safe and brace myself. I hold my breath and prepare for the onslaught. The kayak makes an agile and seemingly effortless turn slightly toward the wake that now is looking to me like a freakin’ tsunami .……and……. with a gentle rise and fall, we are up and down and once again cruising on flat water. It was almost nothing! I nearly laugh out loud with relief and embarrassment. If Joe has noticed my greenhorn anxiety, he kindly makes no comment and we simply paddle onward.

065d1027-429MemphisTNKayakSmWith my heartbeat back to normal, we glide beneath the Hernando de Soto Bridge. Above us are six lanes of morning rush hour traffic on Interstate 40. I think about the hundreds of commuters in those streams of vehicles and the contrast between their experience of this moment and my own is so profound that it brings a rush of emotion. After 66 days of keeping company with this amazing River, I am still sometimes overwhelmed at my good fortune to be making this journey.

P.S. While you’re here – if you haven’t done so yet, I hope you will sign up to be notified when new posts go up, either by email in the box to the right or by RSS. See you next time!  Thanks for traveling with us!

Filed Under: Roadtripping With a Raindrop #9: Tsunami on the Mississippi?, TN - Memphis Tagged With: Great River Road, Memphis, Mississippi River, sea kayaking, Tennessee, travel America

Sauerkraut and Innocence: Roadtripping with a Raindrop Moment #8

August 17, 2013 by Gayle Harper 18 Comments

There’s something exhilarating about BIG skies – when I can stand in one place and see it from horizon to horizon, I think I can imagine how that hawk feels soaring above these Iowa cornfields. This morning’s sky is filled with pillowy clouds rolling in great waves across a background of October blue. Stretching in every direction is an endless sea of corn stalks swaying in the breeze, golden brown now, their work completed. At distant intervals, farmsteads dot the sea like emerald islands, with house, barn, sheds, and garden surrounded by trees, their tips showing the first tinge of fall. It seems to open up my chest, letting me stand taller and breathe deeper.

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The charms of the Mississippi Great River Road are often subtle – instead of clamoring for your attention, these River towns often seem to wait for you to settle in and be quiet a bit. Then, in their own time and in their own way, they begin to lead you somewhere or tell you a story.

I know nothing about Burlington, Iowa, except that a few people have mentioned Snake Alley. I don’t quite get what that is, so I start there. It turns out to be a brick street, reminiscent of San Francisco’s Lombard Street, that squiggles its way down a very steep hill. It was built in 1894 to provide more secure footing for horses negotiating the hill during Iowa’s snowy winters. It did that, it seems, at least on the downhill trek, but after enough horses and riders took a tumble on the way up, the city fathers declared that it would become a one-way street and so it remains today.

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As I’m getting my shots, there is a friendly “Good morning,” from a woman out walking her dog. In the unguarded, interested way of so many Iowans, she wants to know where I come from and what I am up to, so we stand on the sidewalk chatting. I’ve come on the perfect day, she tells me, to sample the German culture of the region and I absolutely must go to the Oktoberfest on the River. There will be a Polka band and dancing, German potato salad, brats, sauerkraut and plenty of beer. Now, truth be told, I’m not very fond of brats or sauerkraut (I think it helps to grow up with those things), but I love being where people are having fun, so I wouldn’t miss it.

Its early afternoon when I arrive, but the beer is flowing and the band is playing. People recognize me as being “not from here” and several immediately offer beer, food and conversation, so I join a table of revelers. There aren’t many grown-up dancers yet, so the floor is the domain of blonde, porcelain-skinned little girls twirling, stomping and giggling with full-out abandon.

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A strolling, lederhosen-clad musician dubbed, “The Happy Bavarian” is teasing people and playing with the little ones.

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He sings and plays his way into the food service area where he disrupts it all by flirting with the help. Peals of laughter follow him.

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The band downshifts and starts a slow, melodic ballad. The girls on the dance floor snuggle close to one another, smiling serenely and swaying back and forth, much to the delight of their audience. I hurry out to photograph them and when I look up, I see tables full of beaming faces, everyone smiling as though they are the proud parents.

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Much is said about separation, loneliness and alienation prevailing in today’s society. Here, surrounded by music and hearty laughter, watching innocence on the dance floor and warm openness everywhere, I wish that this moment could be shared with all who need it.

***

P.S. – Lots of new folks are joining the “raindrop journey” – welcome! If you haven’t done it yet, I hope you’ll sign up to be notified when new posts go up! There’s a box on every page where you can enter your email or sign up via RSS.  Thanks for traveling with us!

Filed Under: IA - Burlington, Mississippi Great River Road, Oktoberfest, Roadtripping With a Raindrop #8: Sauerkraut and Innocence, travel Tagged With: Burlington, Iowa, Mississippi Great River Road, Oktoberfest, Road trip, Travel

High in St. Louis: Roadtripping with a Raindrop Moment #7

August 7, 2013 by Gayle Harper 5 Comments

“Well, which one, dammit!?” I snarl at the GPS when it tells me to take the left exit and the traffic demands a quick and irrevocable decision. (Yep – on a long, solo road trip it is perfectly normal to have conversations with your GPS!) After weeks of dawdling on back roads, the downtown St. Louis rush hour traffic is hitting my nervous system like a splash of cold water in the face! Thankfully, the little machine isn’t programmed to get in a snit in the face of my bad behavior and she continues patiently directing me to my hotel.

In the morning, I start out refreshed, on foot and without plan, of course, but wide open to whatever Serendipity has in store. Just down the block from my hotel is Citygarden, three acres of walkways through whimsical sculptures, fountains, a giant screen projecting anyone passing by and a mesmerizing electronic image of a couple strolling with the grace of gazelles.

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It’s a quiet oasis surrounded by the awakening city and makes for some fun compositions juxtaposing the two. 051d1012-051CitygardenSm

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At the riverfront, I am amazed to be the only visitor at the Gateway Arch. I walk from one massive pedestal to the other, watching it transform with the changing light at each step. I’ve been here before, but it’s a different experience to be alone with it. The Arch is a monument to the pioneering spirit that fueled the westward expansion of our country and to that same courageousness in men and women in every era. For the first time, I see how the bold, soaring, simple shape of the Arch embodies that spirit.

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As I start down the stairs toward the River, a sightseeing helicopter lifts off in front of me and sets off an internal debate that goes like this…

–        Ooooh, I’d love some aerial shots of the city!

–        Forget it – too expensive

–        Maybe they would comp it?

–        Gayle! This is St. Louis. I’m sure they are deluged with requests from photographers for comped rides – forget it!

So, I walk on – and get about eight steps further before I am bonked on the head and hear this…

–        Stop! How do you know if you don’t ask??!!

I spin around, march in, give them a postcard and ask. “Sure,” comes the response, “if you want to wait for a couple or a single who want to ride, you can have the extra seat.”

Barely does my butt touch the chair when a couple walks in and buys the deluxe flight! The bubble-front helicopter has one seat beside the pilot and two in back. 050d1011-253StLHelicopterSmWhen the pilot asks the couple where they would like to sit, they look at me with my camera gear and say, “Looks like she should be up front!” Unbelievable! 

We soar over the River and all of downtown and I never stop shooting. A huge thank you to Gateway Air Tours and to the generous couple that I flew with – and, of course, to Serendipity for the bonk on the head. 050d1011-198archAirSm

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When I disembark, there is a message waiting from my hotel, the Hilton Inn at the Ballpark. Before I left this morning, I had asked about the possibility of getting onto the roof to shoot the sunset this evening. I actually have no clue if the roof is even flat or accessible, but it can’t hurt to ask (I don’t always require a bonk!) “Yes,” says the message, “we can arrange that. Just let us know when you are ready.”

As the day wanes, armed with fresh batteries, sparkly clean lenses and my sturdiest tripod, I meet Daniel from Security in the lobby. He leads me to the elevator and up to the 26th floor, where he unlocks a heavy metal door which opens onto a stairway. We climb several flights of stairs and Daniel selects another key from the ring on his belt as big as my arm and pushes open another heavy door – which opens out into nothing! The view on all sides is unobstructed and exhilarating – there is no barrier, only a foot-high ridge marking the edge of the building.

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My heart is racing – the city is first washed in warm, late-afternoon light and, as I hurry from one vantage to another, it shifts rapidly to a deeply saturated sunset and then to the purple-blue of twilight.

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Then, billions of lights wink on and the amber streetlights create valleys of gold between the buildings. As the sky continues to darken, each new palette of colors seems more thrilling than the last.

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Daniel, who has been watching quietly and smiling often, gently hints now that there is work waiting for him, so I begin to pack up. Suddenly, the enormous floodlights at the base of the Arch switch on and it shimmers in silver-blue magnificence against the almost-black sky. I glance at Daniel; he smiles broadly, steps back, makes a little bow and gives an emcee’s flourishing gesture, presenting the star attraction. It is sublime!

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In my bed, I’ve been smiling so long that my face feels stretched. The city glows through two huge windows, bathing the room in soft gold. Sleep tugs at me like quicksand, but another part of me tries to resist, like a little kid not wanting to miss a thing.

Filed Under: MO - St. Louis, Roadtripping With a Raindrop #7: High in St. Louis Tagged With: Mississippi Great River Road, Missouri, St. Louis

Raindrop News

July 30, 2013 by Gayle Harper 7 Comments

In case you haven’t had a chance to see this yet, Juliana Goodwin at the Springfield News-Leader did an awesome article and video about the 90-day journey of a raindrop. She captured the spirit of it perfectly!  Here’s a link Springfield News-Leader Story on Gayle Harper’s 90-day Journey Following the Mississippi River

BIG thanks to Juliana!

Filed Under: News Tagged With: Mississippi Great River Road

The Interlude: Roadtripping With A Raindrop Moment #6

July 30, 2013 by Gayle Harper 5 Comments

I’ve got clean windows, a full tank of gas and a mug of fresh, dark coffee and I am one happy woman. It might seem that by the 88th day of a road trip, a little road weariness might set in, but it is, in fact, the opposite. The miles that remain are as enticing as the last in a box of fine, dark chocolates – their centers a mystery until the moment of tasting.

This stretch of the Mississippi Great River Road between Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and New Orleans is a mix of gracious antebellum plantations sheltered by moss-draped live oaks and massive conglomerations of petrochemical tanks and pipes secured behind tall chain link fences. Pleasure boats and fishing boats have all but disappeared from the River, replaced by stocky, no-nonsense tugboats and immense, ocean-going cargo ships that seem as out of proportion in this environment as Alice in Wonderland. They have come from all over the world to the Port of Baton Rouge and while some of the flags and names are recognizable, others are mysteriously foreign to me.

Cargo Ship on the Mississippi River

Cargo Ship on the Mississippi River

After three sips of coffee and ten minutes of relaxing into the road, my attention is grabbed by a small, hand-lettered sign on a nondescript gray building that says, “Welcome Seafarers.” I can’t say why that is of interest and for a few seconds I try to resist what feels like an interruption, but it is a familiar nudge from Serendipity, so I turn around and go back.

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When I enter beneath another sign that says, “Port Ministry Center,” I am accosted by a squirrel-sized dog who seems to think she’d like to eat my leg. Her ruckus brings her humans, who offer a friendlier greeting and introduce themselves as Steve Corbin, the Port Chaplain and his wife, Ann.

The Corbins are accustomed to drop-ins and the dog has decided I am alright, so we tour the building as they explain their work with the sailors who come on the big ships. The seafarers can catch a ride to the store, use the computers or receive whatever practical or spiritual support they might need. It’s rewarding, they tell me, because the men are often surprised and touched to receive such kindnesses so far from home. We chat a few minutes and it seems time to move on. Meeting them has been interesting and has shown me how the international presence of the sailors has flavored this small community. As I begin to say goodbye, Steve says, “Actually, I was just about to go onboard a ship that is in harbor today from Myanmar. Would you like to come with me?” Aha! Now I see! 

I had, of course, been curious, but I had not even considered trying to get aboard a ship. I knew that the security would be tight and wending my way through it, if possible at all, would be time-consuming. In the company of Steve, however, who not only has the security clearance but is also well-known at the harbor, it’s a matter of an I.D. and a signature while having a friendly chat with the officer.

Seen from a distance, most of the ships had seemed gritty, some even rusty, but when we step aboard The Sophia, all is shiny white and blue. A smiling sailor in white greets us and leads us downstairs to a room where a handful of men have gathered.

Sailor Aboard The Sophia

Sailor Aboard The Sophia

Steve’s purpose today is to deliver gifts of warm hats, knitted by volunteers, and as that word spreads, the room begins to fill. The men are quiet and polite – they laugh softly as they try on hats and gesture their thanks.

Trying on hats

Trying on hats

We have very little language in common, but they are warm, curious and pleased, I think, to have the diversion of visitors. When our escort translates the story of the raindrop journey to the men, they laugh and nod vigorously and clap their hands together in delight. When I pass out postcards, the atmosphere is as jovial as Christmas. They gather themselves for a group photo before I think to ask and those with cameras in their quarters are sent scurrying to get them.

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Steve explains that our visit must be brief, but that we have a few minutes if they would like to show me around. “Yes! Yes, please!” is the enthusiastic response, and we set off immediately. In the engine room, the massive equipment is quiet now and the engineer stands straight and proud in his immaculate realm of mechanical power. He stands at attention, as if he has been expecting us and all is prepared for our visit, as our guide explains what we are seeing.

Engineer on The Sophia

Engineer on The Sophia

Then, we climb several flights of stairs to the bridge, the command center of the ship. Our guide respectfully asks permission and then we all step into a broad, bright, semi-circular room edged with inward-slanting windows.

The Bridge

The Bridge

A few people are at work stations in front of monitor screens, controls, gauges, levers, switches and microphones. One of them is the navigator, who lights up with excitement when he learns that I am following the Mississippi River. He wants to show me his maps and when he sees that I am genuinely interested, he becomes a mixture of childlike delight and proud formality. He points to his home, Myanmar (formerly Burma), and traces with his finger the route they have traveled. He lays each map out carefully, smoothing it gently, and shows me on a series of maps in progressively finer detail where they entered the Mississippi River from the Gulf of Mexico and the miles they have traveled since then. Language is cumbersome, but communication is fluent. I understand how devoted he is to his important job and how competently he handles it.

Navigator on The Sophia

Navigator on The Sophia

Next, I am invited to meet the Captain, who welcomes me into his office with the same courtly elegance that I have seen in everyone. His English is very good and there is an easy rapport between us within minutes. As we talk, his expressive face reflects every feeling and his openness touches me. He speaks about his job – what he loves about it and how he sometimes feels the weight of its responsibility. Then, with a tone and a look that tugs at my heart, he talks about the long months away from home. “It was easier,” he says, “before there was a child. Now, it is harder.” I feel his integrity and I see his dedication to both his crew and his family – and, now that I have met him, I see those qualities reflected in everything that I have seen and heard on board.

Captain of The Sophia

Captain of The Sophia

Steve and I have lunch in a small café and he talks about his calling to this ministry and about the loneliness he sees in the sailors he serves. He knows he is making a difference.

Back at my car, I dump the cold coffee on the grass. As I resume where I left off 3 ½ hours earlier, I whisper a thank you for being shown once again that this world is filled with goodness.

Filed Under: LA - Baton Rouge, Roadtripping With A Raindrop #6: The Interlude, travel Tagged With: America, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Shipping on the Mississippi River, Travel

The Birthday Surprise: Roadtripping With a Raindrop Moment #5

July 19, 2013 by Gayle Harper 12 Comments

It has rained incessantly since I arrived in Galena, Illinois, 48 hours ago. Just as I am leaving, I am granted a 10-minute reprieve, so I scurry like a crazed squirrel grabbing a few shots of the beautiful downtown historic district.

Galena, Illinois

Galena, Illinois

Back on the Mississippi Great River Road, after stopping at a river overlook and watching a pair of bald eagles spiral up from the misty valley below, I pull back onto the highway and surprise myself by turning north instead of south. It’s not confusion and it isn’t really a decision, it’s just my way of aimless traveling while on this 90-day journey of a raindrop – it’s just “surrendering to serendipity.”

It seems I’m headed to Sinsinawa, about 25 miles north and just across the state line into Wisconsin. All I know about the place, aside from loving the lyrical sound of the name, is that it is home to an order of Dominican Catholic Sisters who reportedly bake very fine bread. Once away from the tall bluffs that line the River, the sky clears and the land flattens out. Precisely cultivated rows, empty now of their bounty, stretch away to infinity on both sides of the road.

Sinsinawa Mound is a surprise – poking inexplicably above the tabletop of farmland around it. It seems, however, perfectly suited to be the home of Sisters pledged to a higher calling. I drive the quiet, shaded campus without seeing anyone and I am not moved to stop  until I come upon a cemetery. A s I walk among the long, orderly rows of simple white headstones, reading the names of the Sisters, I wonder about the stories of their lives.

On a small rise just beyond the cemetery, there is a brick pattern of concentric circles that I recognize as a labyrinth. A sign invites anyone to follow the path to the center while praying or meditating. I do, and when I stand in the innermost circle, there is a heightened awareness of all things being in perfect order. Refreshed and content, my visit seems complete.

Labyrinth at Dominican Sisters of Sinsinawa Convent

Labyrinth at Dominican Sisters of Sinsinawa Convent

Just as I reach my car, I hear someone say, “Come over here, will you, and help me a moment.” It’s a voice your mother might have used, or your third grade teacher – respectfully assuming that you will, of course, come immediately and do the right thing. I see her then – a petite woman with curly gray hair, standing beside an upturned bench. “This bench has blown over in the wind,” she says, “and we must set it upright.”

When our chore is complete, she beams up at me with an elfish grin and introduces herself as Sister Janette. We chat a few minutes, then sit together on the bench as she tells me about her community of Sisters and about her job here as the librarian. It turns out that while the Dominican Sisters of Sinsinawa are indeed bakers of bread, they are also bold activists who go wherever they are needed in the world to confront injustice. Since 1847, this order of more than 3,200 courageous women has fearlessly and quietly worked to eliminate racism, human trafficking and any behavior that impinges on  human dignity.

Sister Janette’s eyes sparkle as she talks and I feel her spunk and her quiet effervescence. There is a river of subtle, but irrepressible, joy in her that bubbles frequently to the surface in contagious laughter. When I tell her about the 90-day journey of a raindrop, she is so delighted that it makes us both giggle. She asks about places I have been and what lies ahead, relishing each answer. She is, as my grandmother would have said “just plain tickled with the whole idea.” We laugh and talk like old friends, catching up on each other’s lives.

When I give Sister Janette a postcard of the journey, she looks at it quietly for a long time. Finally, she looks up with glowing eyes and says, “You know, Gayle, today is my birthday. This card and this time with you is my birthday present.” The smiles that we share then make my heart feel like it could burst. So this is why I had come – to help a friend celebrate her birthday.

I give her a birthday hug then and ask if I may take her picture. She answers in that “teacherly” no-nonsense voice that leaves no space for disagreement, “Yes, of course. But I shall be holding the postcard.”

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Filed Under: Roadtripping With a Raindrop #5: The Birthday Surprise, WI - Sinsinawa Tagged With: Domenican Sisters of Sinsinawa, Galena, Illinois, Mississippi Great River Road, Sinsinawa, Wisconsin, Wisconsin Great River Road

Roadtripping With a Raindrop: Moment #4 – The Storm

July 10, 2013 by Gayle Harper 10 Comments

NOTE:   If you’re just joining us, this is the 4th installment in a series of “Moments,” selected at random from the “journey of a raindrop,” the road trip of a lifetime. I’m a travel photographer and writer in love with the Mississippi River, so when I learned that it takes a single drop of water 90 days to travel the entire Mississippi River from its headwaters in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico, I knew that I would make this journey. For 90 days, I kept pace with my imaginary raindrop, wandering back roads, meeting amazing people and having days filled with crazy, wonderful, serendipitous experiences. As the book of photographs and tales is being produced, I’m sharing these travel moments with you here. I hope you enjoy! 

The Storm

The Mississippi River is still young, agile  and pristine. On this 10th day of the journey, it has traveled 265 miles from its headwaters.

The Mississippi River near Palisade, Minnesota

The Mississippi River near Palisade, Minnesota

My home for a few days is a simple fishermen’s cabin on Lake Waukanabo, near Palisade, Minnesota. The small resort has no other guests and the lake no public access, so it seems to belong to Abby, the resident Golden Retriever, and me.

Last night at dusk we sat on the porch together, her head resting on my foot, and listened to the hauntingly beautiful call of loons echoing across the lake. When we walked this morning, the world was painted in baby pastels.

Lake Waukanabo, Minnesota, just after sunrise

Lake Waukanabo, Minnesota, just after sunrise

On our late afternoon walk, the lake had become a shimmering mirror for a brilliant September sky decorated with perfect, tiny clouds.

Lake Waukanabo in the late afternoon

Lake Waukanabo in the late afternoon

Now, I am on the porch, watching billowing, ominous clouds swallow up what is left of the blue. I’ve watched the lake transform from glassy azure to dull slate to nearly black and dotted with whitecaps. A fisherman is racing for home as fast as his small motor will propel him, the sound of its desperate puttering muffled by the dense clouds. Abby has gone home.

The surging mass of storm cloud has dark underbellies and churning white tops. It swells, then folds in on itself and then bulges out again, heavier and blacker. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I can smell the rain now and see it at the horizon, but the air around me is still and empty, the energy sucked out of it by the power amassing above. I wait – it’s like the moment when the symphony conductor raises the baton and the audience holds its collective breath.

I can hear the wind coming. The first deep rumblings of faraway thunder roll across the lake and the clouds congeal to seal off the last of the sunlight. The wind swoops in suddenly, swirling the trees like a blender. There is a sharp crack of blue lightning and the long, bass drum roll of its thunder. A wall of rain is sweeping across the lake.

The Storm

The Storm

The first huge drop hits the porch and in the next second, the great clouds are unzipped. There is no lake, no sky, no road, nothing but gray torrents of rain. I scoot back against the cabin, but the narrow eaves provide little shelter, so I open the door and set my chair just inside. A bolt of lightning cracks so close and loud that it makes me yelp like a puppy. Immediately, another follows that seems to rise up from the ground, making the cabin tremble and the porch light rattle in its base.  I am spellbound, a captive audience.

It’s cold now, so I wrap myself in a blanket, but I stay in the doorway, awed, entranced by the storm’s fierce majesty, thrilled by its dominion over everything until, finally, it begins to wane.

I am spent. The rain is soft and steady as I get into bed and the sleep that claims me instantly is silky, luxurious and dreamless.

Filed Under: MN - Palisade, Roadtripping With a Raindrop #4: The Storm Tagged With: Minnesota, Mississippi River, Palisade, thunderstorm, weather

HOODOO EYES – Roadtripping With a Raindrop, Moment #3

July 5, 2013 by Gayle Harper 4 Comments

Partly because I have the world’s worst sense of direction (cruel irony for a natural-born traveler) and partly because it’s just how I love to travel, I have no clue where I am. My daily routine while on this 90-day journey following a raindrop, is to have no routine, nor schedule, nor agenda. I follow any road that seems to beckon in any direction for any reason and often for no reason at all, trusting the GPS to find the way home at the end of the day. So, I don’t realize that I am heading into the small town of Leland, Mississippi, until I find myself on its main street – and I don’t remember having read about a small blues museum here until I see the sign, “Highway 61 Blues Museum,” which brings me to a stop.

Highway 61 Blues Museum Leland, Mississippi

Highway 61 Blues Museum
Leland, Mississippi

The straw-hatted man leaning near the door having a smoke grins at me and nods, as if affirming that I have made the right choice. As I approach, he says something which I can’t quite catch, but he is clearly inviting me inside. He follows me in and introduces himself as Pat Thomas, son of the legendary blues man and folk artist James “Son” Thomas and takes me to the display case of his father’s memorabilia. He comes here several times a week, he says, just to see who might stop by. It takes my ear a few minutes to grow accustomed to his speech and his deep Mississippi accent, but it takes no time at all to understand his smile and his piercing hazel eyes.

Since I am the only guest in the museum, we settle onto stools and he begins to talk about his father and the music and art that they shared. He didn’t need to know how to read, he says, “cuz you cain’t learn it from no book nohow.” His father taught him to sculpt and to find the clay along the river banks and taught him to draw using any materials they could find. He learned to play the blues, he says, just by watching his father’s fingers.

“Daddy always tol’ me,” he says, “they’s lots o’ ways you can have the blues. If you broke, that’s the blues. If you hungry, that’s the blues. If you got a good woman and she quit ya, that ain’t nothin’ but the blues.” “Sometime I get a happy blues feelin’,” he says, “and sometime I get a mad blues feelin’. It just somethin’ that come in ya – ya gotta feel it.”

Pat Thomas talking about his father

Pat Thomas talking about his father

He gets very quiet when he talks about his father dying in 1993 and says that for a while he couldn’t play and “just hadda leave that guitar alone. But then,” he says, “I started feelin’ kinda shamefaced and I knowed I hadda put my heart there for my father.” Now, he mostly plays the old songs, just like his father did. “Sometimes,” he says, “I go to the graveyard and play and  it seem like he kinda wakes up.” “But then,” he continues, “he just git back down in that hole o’ his.”

He takes up his guitar then and plays and sings for me and I know that I am hearing the “real Delta Blues” as it was heard on porches on sultry summer evenings. The simple, repeated lyrics tell of a love gone bad, but beneath that is a soul’s need to sing to sustain a body through a life of hard work and oppression. We can hear the stories, see photos and visit museums, but only those who lived it know what it was like to be black in a segregated South. This is the music of such souls.

Pat Thomas Playing and Singing the Blues

Pat Thomas Playing and Singing the Blues

It’s tough to describe Pat Thomas. He is some mixture of wisdom and innocence and keen perception. When he smiles, his whole face is transformed and when he laughs, his whole body participates; yet there is something more going on, something a little mysterious behind those hazel eyes.

Pat Thomas

Pat Thomas

When it’s time to go, Pat draws a “diamond-eyed cat” for me and says to keep it with me for good luck. “It’s got hoodoo magic,” he says with no trace of a smile. I can’t say I understand much about hoodoo, only that it is different than voodoo and originated here in the Delta among slaves. When he hands me the drawing, however, and looks into my eyes, I get goosebumps. So, I tape my diamond-eyed cat to the dashboard and let it ride shotgun a while.

My Diamond-Eyed Cat

My Diamond-Eyed Cat

Click here Pat Thomas to hear a bit of him singing “Highway 61 “Blues”

Filed Under: Delta Blues, Highway 61 Blues Museum, James "Son" Thomas, MS - Leland, Pat Thomas, Roadtripping With A Raindrop #3: Hoodoo Eyes, The Blues Tagged With: Delta Blues, Highway 61 Blues Museum, James "Son" Thomas, Leland Mississippi, Pat Thomas

Judy with the Golden Throat: Roadtripping With a Raindrop Moment #2

June 28, 2013 by Gayle Harper 8 Comments

Bulbous, heavy clouds split wide open yesterday, just after I climbed down from Randy Rivere’s tractor and left his sugar cane field. (ah, but that’s a story I’ll save for another day…) In the 24 hours since then, it has poured unabated, in a way that makes you forget that sunshine ever existed. Thunder builds again in the distance, rolling toward me, flattening the air as it comes, until it presses down on my little cottage. I huddle into my jacket and cradle a cup of dark chicory coffee, inhaling its woody scent. Enormous, shimmering leaves reach onto the porch and flap in the wind like elephant’s ears, while everything else dances like a scene from Fantasia.

The Rain at Houmas House Plantation, Darrow, Louisiana

The Rain at Houmas House Plantation, Darrow, Louisiana

Through the torrents, I can just make out one white pillar and one shuttered window of the Houmas House Plantation mansion, a jewel in the collection of magnificent antebellum homes that line this south Louisiana section of the Mississippi Great River Road. A sudden, wet gust makes me shiver and convinces me it’s time to move inside. I have caught up on emails, backing up photos and posting to the blog and I am content now to do no more than snuggle into the cloud-like bed and watch the shadows made by a row of candles ripple across the ceiling. I drift in and out of awareness, riding the waves of the storm.

When it finally stops, just at sunrise, the silence jolts me awake. The earth laps up the puddles, everything that can croak or sing does so and the squeaky-clean air intensifies every color. I prowl the grounds with my camera and then join in a tour of the ochre-colored, 21-room mansion – and that’s when I meet Judy.

085d1116-148Houmas

She is our tour guide, but unlike any you have ever had. She doesn’t just describe the history of the house, she animates it with a dozen different voices and accents. She sits down at the 1901 Steinway grand piano and accompanies herself in a rendition of “Desperado” that makes us beg for more. In the gentlemen’s parlor, she picks off a hustler-worthy shot at the billiard table without breaking stride in her narration. Twice, she leaves our small group doubled over, howling with laughter as she drops a quick-witted zinger, nods and walks away.

When the tour ends, the others drift away and Judy and I linger in the kitchen, chatting. When another tour group comes through, we take our conversation to the verandah. She tells me stories of her life, growing up in rural Louisiana as the child of a minister and then moving to inner city Detroit when her father took a church there. Some of her stories make me laugh until the tears roll and some make my heart hurt.

084d1115-376JudyWhen Judy tells me she is starting over now, healing from a divorce and learning to be a single parent, I tell her about my daughter, Natalie, who is doing the same. After a quiet moment, she says, with her dark eyes glistening, “I have a message for her – turn that recorder back on, please.”  What follows is a truly incredible moment as Judy pours out words of love and encouragement to Natalie. “I also have a song for her,” she says then, “this one seems to come to me whenever things get tough.” Then, in a powerful voice that flows effortlessly from deep within her, she sings “Don’t Cry Out Loud.”  When her voice soars with, “Fly high and proud – and if you should fall, remember you almost had it all,” I see with piercing clarity how these two beautiful and courageous women who will likely never meet are inexplicably but absolutely connected across the miles.

Click below if you’d like to hear a bit of Judy’s song for Natalie. (and let us know if you should have any trouble with the link!)

Thanks for traveling with us!    Gayle

Judy Singing to Natalie

Filed Under: Houmas House Plantation, LA - Darrow, Roadtripping With A Raindrop #2: Judy with the Golden Throat Tagged With: Houmas House Plantation, Louisiana Great River Road, Louisiana Plantation Country, Mississippi River

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