Levee land . . .
July 10, 2013

Out in Mississippi delta country, everything depends on levees to keep back the river’s water.  Extensive populations and development reside below usual water level and are completely vulnerable to seasonal floods.   Except for bluffs along the river and an occasional hill, all is table-top flat with levees lining floodways.

In the Catahoula Parish section of northern Louisiana, every road is elevated from the surrounding ground; otherwise they would be impassable much of the time.  The water table is very high and much of the land is wetlands to one degree or another.

Hills . . .

I am writing as we traverse the interior jungles of Mississippi on a two-lane road that winds this way and that way over verdant hills, a relief after mostly flat.  To say this is thickly forested does not begin to convey the seeming impenetrable forest through which we are wandering.  Mixed timber rises high on each side of the road: tall pines are interspersed with deciduous giants of various species, most of which I don’t recognize.

When we pass isolated houses perched on their grassy mowed acreages, I spot some magnolia, crepe myrtle, bottlebrush  and others as landscape trees.  I’m actually a little surprised anyone would plant trees in their yard when they are surrounded by such forest, but I suppose some shade in this climate is always welcome.

It was 90 degrees this morning when we departed at 9 a.m.  Does that mean it will be 120 at noon? With the sky-high humidity, it already felt like that.

By the river, kinfolk . . .

We parked the past two nights on the west bank of the Mississippi River in Vidalia, Louisiana, just across that mighty waterway from Natchez, Mississippi.  We have previously stayed at that RV park, primarily because it is relatively near to my kinfolk in Harrisonburg.

This jaunt up north, relatively speaking, was to visit them.  Although it appeared we might not be successful in matching schedules, all worked out.  Although they didn’t know us from Adam the first time we appeared in their tiny town a decade or so ago after we located them while tracing my ancestral Kelley lines, they welcome us so cordially that we truly feel our kinship with them.  James and Renae are simply two of the nicest people I have ever known.

Their son and his boys are fifth and sixth generation Kelleys (they use the Kelly spelling) to live in Catahoula Parish.  James’ g.g. grandfather, John Kelley, and my g.g. grandfather, James Kelley, were brothers.  Other ancestral names there for me are Wallace and Means.  James lives near the small community of Wallace Ridge on Wallace Lake across the river from Means Lake.  Both those lakes are former oxbows of the Ouachita, an awesome river in its own right, and obviously both are named for my ancestors.

When we first found James, we were very excited, genealogically speaking: because of his residence in proximity to our forebears, we were sure he could tell us all kinds of family history.  As it turns out, we knew more about the family lineage than he did, a situation we have often found when other lines of the family have remained in the same place.

What we did gain, though, was so much more valuable - wonderful Kelley cousins and now we’ve met their son, another James, who was on leave from his station at Fort Bragg.  He expressed interest in our mutual family history, so I will send him my information.

Are my Wallace, Means & Kelley ancestors buried here? That seems to be unanswerable.

Wallace Lake, named for my ancestors.

Natchez, , Resting, Hot Shots . . .

When we have been here in the past, we did pretty extensive exploring in and around Natchez, a town of great historical significance; this stop was too short and I was too tired to pursue any additional exploration.  I used my partially free day to clean and relax. 

The Mississippi River from our campground

The great river from the Mississippi bank

Speaking of cleaning reminds me to note that we finally washed our trailer back in Luling, the first campground we came to that would allow it.  After six months of Mid-dusty-land and its grackle droppings, it was in frightful condition, so I was relieved to restore it to something resembling decency.

There is no doubt that the Vidalia/Natchez area has much more to offer us, it will have to wait for another time.  We would love to return to fish, kayak, bird and explore.  We did pop across the river for a look-see and drove down to Natchez-under-the-hill, a small section of riverfront that was once a lawless, violent river landing.

In more recent years, one saloon was the site of Jerry Lee Lewis’ first paid public performance; he was 13 at the time.  Lewis was born just across the Mississippi in Ferriday.

The Blue Cat Club where Jerry Lee Lewis first performed at age 13

Historic Natchez-under-the-hill

A goodly number of impressive antebellum mansions have survived in the region and many are available for tours, which we have previously taken and found fascinating.

The Natchez Trace is another of the local sites we have done in the past.  It is a historical trail that extends nearly 150 miles from Natchez to Nashville, Tennessee, linking the Cumberland, Tennessee and Mississippi rivers.  The route was first developed by Native Americans and later followed by European settlers coming into the region.  We hiked a section of it that use and nature have eroded down to about 15 feet below ground level - an awesome experience.

Our midafternoon was consumed by watching the live stream of the Granite Mountain Hotshot’s memorial service.  I am grateful that it was available to us; it helped me to feel not so alone in my sadness and Chris obviously felt the same.  A very well-done ceremony that I hope brings some comfort to the bereaved.

Homeward yearnings, different/alike, woodpecker . . .

I am feeling a strong yen to be back at home in Prescott, but at the same time wishing this particular journey could be prolonged.  It has been a while since we have embarked on the kind of trip we really enjoy - a true wander that lets us stay or go as we please, although I have to admit we have scarcely been anywhere that did not entice us to tarry longer.

At any rate, this day will take us from Louisiana, across Mississippi, across Alabama (at least a corner of it) and into Florida.  As always, I love seeing how the countryside changes from flat to hilly and back again, from forest to cleared plantations, from swamp to sand dunes, and hearing the accents vary from one parish/county to the next and noting how the food preferences differ from one region to the next.

Throughout the places we were in Louisiana this trip, doughnuts were ubiquitous.  Everywhere we turned, there were doughnut shops, doughnut drive-throughs, donut holes-(pardon the expression)-in-the-wall.

This morning when we stopped for a coffee fix at a convenience market, the munchies hit me, which led to a perusal of the offered snacks - very few familiar treats were on display.  Instead, most everything was flavored with something hot and spicy, but then there were dill pickle flavored potato chips, Uncle Bud’s deep fried peanuts (“so good you can it shell and all”) and peach soda pop, to name a few.  I opted for my first cracker Jacks in many a moon, although I have to say I miss the days when they included a real prize instead of a goofy little piece of paper.

When all is said and done though, we speak the same language (sort of), earn a living, grow gardens, raise families and work toward bettering ourselves and our families.  As I see us across the U.S. becoming more homogeneous with the advent of leveling personal technology and improved transportation, I continue to celebrate the fascinating differences.  Let’s hear it for deep-fried peanuts and pickled rope bologna (no, not really on that last one: I’ve tried to erase that from my consciousness, obviously without success).

One new trip bird for this short stop: beautiful red-headed woodpeckers.

We get wet . . .

Whee-doggie!  As we came into Mobile, Alabama, we began to get rain, which slowed our travel a bit.  Once we were on the bridge across Mobile Bay, a span of more than 7 miles, there was an accident, which slowed our travel greatly.  And then . . . and then . . . and then began the storm, a granddaddy of storms with visibility down to next to nothing, lightning, thunder and wind.  It was the kind of weather event that we like to say how glad we aren’t pulling the trailer through this.  Unfortunately, we were pulling the trailer through it.  Later, the news said we might have had in the neighborhood of four inches of rain; it was positively sheeting.

Nevertheless, we are safe and sound after pulling into our space at the Pelican Palms RV park or Pelican Pedro or Pelican something-or-other and slogging through ankle-deep water to get the trailer set up and into our thankfully (almost completely) dry Totee.

With this "RV", these folks are ready for the river to rise.