The Mississippi River has nurtured and supported a diversity of cultures and lifestyles that is astounding. I am just over 50 miles from the sweet, Southern social life of Charleston, MO and only 88 miles from the sturdy, tidy homes of the German-settled Cape Girardeau. But, it feels much farther. I’ve crossed back to the eastern side of the Mississippi to the Reelfoot Lake area of northwestern Tennessee and it’s a culture unlike anything I’ve yet experienced on this amazing journey. The accent has shifted to a much stronger twang that requires me to listen closely and sometimes ask to have things repeated or even spelled. I tried three cafes before I found one that wasn’t smoke filled, and each time I walked in heads turned, conversations stopped and it seemed to be a room full of “you ain’t from here” stares. There was an all-you-can-eat buffet of almost solid brown – nearly every item there was deep fried something or other.
High Cotton and Earthquakes – Or Not
The Mississippi Delta, which began around Sikeston and continues all the way to the Gulf, is cotton country and ‘tis the season for pickin’ it. It’s everywhere, smooshed into big round bales and waiting in the fields, wrapped in pastel wrappers like giant nougat candy bars.
It’s traveling down the roads in semi trucks, waiting in line at the cotton gin and blowing in white, frothy waves across the highway.
Although most of the fields have now been harvested, I found one still covered with little clouds of white.