Sometimes, as I roll southward along the Great River Road, the changes in geography, culture and accents seem to happen subtly and gradually. At other times, it feels like I might have nodded off during a play and missed a complete set change. The Midwest has abruptly been left behind. Here, in “the Bootheel” of Missouri, everything, even the heavy, humid air, feels decidedly “Southern.”

This is cotton country and the fluffy white stuff is everywhere. It’s smooshed into huge round bales and waiting in harvested fields. It’s blowing across the road in frothy waves and it’s riding down the highway in the backs of semi-trucks, like the one I have been staring into for miles now. I’ve had a few chances to pass, but now I’m intrigued. I’ve never seen cotton like this, in such enormous bundles, so I’ve decided to trail along a bit and see what I can discover.

When the truck leaves the highway and makes several turns on side roads, I follow like a duckling behind its momma until we turn into the L. Berry Cotton Gin at Holland, Missouri. The truck falls in line with its comrades and I turn into an expanse of orderly rows of bundled cotton, looking a lot like giant nougat candy bars in their pastel green and yellow wrappers. They are even bigger than they looked from a distance, perhaps eight feet in diameter, tightly compressed and neatly sliced at each end. I walk among them, picking up stray boles, fingering the silky threads and the seeds buried within.

There’s a cacophony of machinery noise roaring from a huge building and a smaller, quieter one that must be the office, so I opt for that. The woman at the counter looks surprised to see me, but she smiles when I tell her about the journey of a raindrop and asks me to wait a moment. A minute later she returns, smiling broadly and says, “Mr. Sonny Berry, the owner of the company is here and would be happy to talk with you.” 

Mr. Berry is a silver-haired gentleman who seems not the least bit bothered by my surprise visit. “The process of ginning cotton,” he explains as we walk, “is basically the same as when Eli Whitney made the first gin in 1793. It’s just easier and faster now.” The big, round bales, which are each the equivalent of four 500-pound bales, are called “modules” and are the latest evolution in streamlining the process of separating the seeds and hulls from the cotton.

I’ve passed into the Mississippi Delta, he tells me proudly, and Delta cotton is among the finest anywhere. His roots are deep in this land, he says, as his family has farmed here for many generations and they have weathered many changes. The cotton industry suffered when synthetics were preferred, but that tide has now turned. “It’s a good year to be in the cotton business,” he says, unable to contain a brilliant smile, “and the price of cotton is at an all-time high.”

Back on the road, I pass mile after mile of empty, harvested fields. Only random wisps of cotton cling to the stubs of plants and litter the ground like the morning after a party. Then, surprisingly, there is one field that is still covered with a blanket of white. I pull over and walk the impossibly straight rows and marvel at how pristinely white the boles are amidst all the dust. I break off a brittle stem and touch the sharp, prickly hull and images arise of all the bare hands that were sliced by such plants.

It’s day 63 of this amazing 90-day journey and it seems perfectly fitting that as I transition into the South, I would be walking in a cotton field. Cotton is the backdrop for most of the South’s stories – it’s the very fabric from which many are woven. The stories will be different from those of other parts of America and yet they will be the same. They will tell of oppression and freedom, cruelty and kindness and joy and sorrow – and they will tell, as they always do, of Love that survives and transcends all circumstances.

It’s snowing here in the Missouri Ozarks and crazy cold for May 3rd. (And, yes, I can hear my friends up north sneering that this is nothing compared to the 10 inches of new snow they are slogging through!)

Spring Snow

The dogwood blossoms are drooping like wet toilet paper and the already heavy wisteria blooms are reaching for the ground. “It’s not normal!” people say – which makes me think about “normal.”

When I made my 90-day road trip following the Mississippi River from the headwaters to the Gulf, the River levels were described as “normal,” meaning they were neither in flood stage nor drought. The following spring, the River sprawled over so much surrounding land that it was deemed one of the worst floods of the last century. Nine months later the worst drought conditions in 50 years threatened to bring the entire barge industry to a standstill. Now, many of our River friends are again dealing with or bracing for floodwaters. The real definition of normal is constant change.

Heraclitus, a 5th century Greek philosopher, once said, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.” We humans can be a bit arrogant – we decide on parameters and expect Nature will stay within them. She smiles at us and goes her own way.

That’s something the River has to teach us that can ripple down to the really small things in life – like the fact that my plans for the weekend have changed. My husband is thrilled that it’s not window-washing weather – although it’s not really bike-riding weather either. By foiling our plans, we are offered a gift of humility and an opportunity to pick up our feet and go with the flow of life.

Anyone know of any good movies?

Hello River Friends!

It’s been a while since “Surrendering to Serendipity” appeared in your mailbox. It’s time to give you a progress report!

Occasionally there is a moment in life that on the surface seems ordinary, but beneath that is the feeling that every cell in your body has come to full attention because something really extraordinary is actually going on. I had one of those moments when I first learned that it would take 90 days for a single drop of water to travel the entire Mississippi River from the headwaters in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. Before I had taken another breath, I knew I would be embarking on the road trip of a lifetime alongside America’s greatest River, keeping pace with an imaginary raindrop.

From that moment onward, this project has created itself and I have simply participated – and felt like the luckiest person I know to be doing so. I watched as plans for the 90-day journey effortlessly (magically, really) came together. Emails were sent to Chambers of Commence in River communities announcing the journey and before I knew it I had more invitations and offers of lodging than I had available nights. I plotted my stays to keep pace with our raindrop, loaded my car and left in August of 2010. For the next 3 months I wandered the Mississippi Great River Road and a gazillion side roads all around it. Nothing was planned except my lodging and every day – every moment really, I was wide open to whatever Serendipity had in store – and it was amazing! Many of you traveled with me every step and read about the people I met who opened their hearts and shared their lives with us and about the days filled with experiences that one could never plan. The Mississippi is America’s River and this was a journey through the heart of America in every way.

Since I came home, the magic has continued. Life seems to have organized itself so that I can spend most of my time writing the book and selecting the photographs and the perfect people to help with this part of the project have shown up at the perfect time. The way it is being written is in a series of individual vignettes – each one is somewhat self-contained and tells the story in words and photos of an experience, a day, a place or a person. Each vignette is unique, almost like a short story, and they string together to tell the whole story. My job seems to be just to show up at the computer and see what wants to be said – I never know where it is going until it takes me there.

What has astounded me about this is just how much fun it is! The details and feelings of every day come so fully alive as I write, it is honestly almost as much fun as the traveling was. My friends watch in disbelief at how content I am to stay home and keep working on this. They had gotten so accustomed to me traveling that the most usual question wasn’t “How are you?” but rather “Where are you off to next?”

It feels as if there is a muse sitting atop my computer monitor who simply waits. She isn’t impatient or critical, but neither can she be influenced or persuaded to fudge even a teeny bit. If there remains one awkward phrase or weary adjective, she just waits. Finally, when every last tweak has been accomplished and she is satisfied, I get a great big “YES!” I usually have a big belly laugh at that point, then share it with a couple of “readers” and that vignette is wrapped up!

So, I am really happy to tell you that I have just passed the 2/3^rd mark!! I just finished writing about Day 60!! That puts me having just left New Madrid, Missouri and rolling next into Tiptonville, Tennessee. The changes in geography, cultures, lifestyles, accents and foods  have already been enormous. “Northern” was left behind long ago and “Midwestern” has now given way to “Southern” – and there is so much more to come!

So I’ll get back to work now. I wanted you to know how it’s coming and to thank you again for being a part of it. It has always been a shared experience and even if nothing else ever came of it, the connections and friendships that have been made in the process are a treasure! I’ll keep you informed as we move along!

As a River friend taught me to say, “See you downriver!”

Love, Gayle

Hi friends! I’ve missed you!

It’s time to fill you in a bit – our little raindrop continues to be busy!

When I came home, I had no idea how this project would move into its next incarnation as a book and eventually, a slide show. As always, I just take the next step and things unfold.

As you can imagine, there is an enormous body of work to choose from. Thousands (no, I haven’t counted) of photos and 90 days worth of incredible experiences surrounded me. How would they be narrowed down? There was kind of a “messy” period of fumbling with a couple of different approaches, but fairly quickly both the method and the approach to the book became clear. Once that happened, and I was able to answer some of the “bigger” questions, then the fun began.

Now, my days are spent re-experiencing the journey – and how fun is that!!!  The process is this – I went through the blog (I am SO very thankful for that resource now!) and tagged moments or experiences that stood out as “gems”, and then I work with those. I read the blog, look at the photos, read whatever material I have and immerse myself in that moment and then write from there. It comes alive again sitting right here at my computer!

It will be a long process, but I am enjoying every minute of it. The perfect people with the perfect skills have come forward and offered to help. I wake up most mornings with words and descriptions trying to form in my head and can’t wait to get started!

There will no doubt be many more rounds of editing, tweaking, reshaping, etc., but I am very happy to say that I have just completed Chapter 1 – “The First Ten Days”               WHOHOOOO!!!!!!!

Thanks, again, for being a part of it! It seems that things are falling into place perfectly. My job now is to stay here at the computer until it tells me I can get up. I’m investing in a better, more ergonomic chair, but I am happy being here. So, I’ll keep working – thanks for hanging in with me!!

Happy Spring (it really is just around the corner!)                 Gayle

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 90^th 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

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

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 90^th 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