Journey to the Mississippi Delta

The rain had been falling all afternoon. The windscreen wipers on the hire car were screeching in noisy unison. I was a long way from home. It was getting dark and I was still not there yet. I hoped to get off the road soon. Driving south out of Memphis, on the famed Highway 61, the road of songs, dreams and freedom. Right at that point in time it was like any other road, a strip of shiny grey with a white ribbon down the centre. Three hours earlier I had crossed into the Magnolia State past a sign that said ‘welcome to Mississippi-Litter free by 2003’, as if litter was its greatest problem. I love these long drives. I love the space, the endless landscapes, the petrol stations with their friendly attendants. Without fail the parting words were, ‘no yew come back and see us agin, yew hear?’
There is always something to see- a swamp, some river three times the width of the Murray that I’d never heard of, an abandoned shack, a board-up motel. There are great tracts of empty land. I had left behind the rolling hills and headed across a flat, black, alluvial earth landscape that stretched away to the horizon.

This was the start of the Delta … I had come half way around the world, seriously risking my sanity on a 27 hour flight with its sleep deprived torment. I was driving into the Delta on a wet and rapidly darkening day. The former flood plain 300 kilometres long and 100 kilometres wide that flanks the Mississippi from Memphis to Vicksburg. I had once heard the Delta described as 'the most southern place on earth’. The rich alluvial deposits over the countless centuries had created in the Delta some of the richest farming land in the world. Through the rain streaked windscreen it sure didn’t look like the richest place on earth …

Well I knew from my hours of history, geography lessons as well as the occasional ‘Sale of the Century" quiz questions that the abundant wealth of nature had not been shared equally amongst all of the inhabitants. The colour of ones skin for centuries had been the sole determiner as to whether a person was ‘to have’ or whether they were ‘to have not’. Had time since the mid 60’s erased the inequalities of the past? That was part of my quest. The outskirts of Clarksdale loomed up in the darkness.

It was still raining steadily. I was tired and hungry. I pulled off the road into a petrol station and asked the attendant for directions. " bout halv a mile down the road on the right, can’t miss’t". He was right. It was only half a mile down the road and I couldn’t miss it. There it was with its bright neon light shining in the darkness. The illuminated coke sign was just as welcoming.

The legendary local diner The Ranchero was my destination that night. After an evening meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, beans, cabbage cornbread and apple crumble all for $4. Now that was what I call value for money. Despite the second cup of strong coffee tiredness was rapidly overtaking me. Maybe I had tried to cram too much into the last three days from leaving Adelaide on a foggy July morning to driving into Clarksdale on a rainy evening 20 degrees warmer than it would have been at home.

I looked with interest at the walls covered with faded photos of local football teams, high school graduations and local identities. It seemed to me that they tended to be divided into the two groups. Or was it my tired imagination? A large section of the wall nearest the door was devoted to what had drawn me to travel to this corner of the world. The Blues. The Delta Blues. The Mississippi Blues. Walkin Blues. Classic Blues. Country Blues. Framed as well as tattered photographs, autographs, old album covers plastered on the wall. I knew for sure I was in the heart of Blues country. The brief moment of antcipation overcame the nagging tiredness. Tomorrow would be another day but a day that would be my first in the land of the Blues. I went next door to the motel and booked a room that looked like a million others. As I fell asleep that night with the rain still falling I could have sworn I heard the faint riffs of

If I send for my baby, man and she don't come

All the doctors in Hot Springs sure can't help her none.

Then sleep overcame me.