grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Canoeing the Mississippi River at Helena

By 34 Comments

(Note: Helena Advertising and Promotions Commission sponsored this blogger trip. Opinions are my own.)

Mississippi River, Osceola River Port

Never swim in the Mississippi River. EVER.

My sister and I heard this warning over and over again from Momma and Daddy and Papa Creecy. Although the Mississippi River was our very own natural wonder, we knew better than to dip one toe into his churning current.
Please, can we go see the river?

After a trip to the grocery store, Momma often drove us over the levee to make sure he was still there. We always took out-of town visitors to see our river at the Osceola River Port. And crossing into Memphis, we held our breath on the bridge spanning the water, a game we played in route to the Zoo or Goldsmith’s or the Mid-South Fair. It was a l-o-n-g way over.

The Mississippi River flowed through our veins,  yet we never swam in it. EVER.

When a classmate drowned, we understood and respected his power.
I recently stepped a toe into the Mississippi River. Both feet in fact. The cool water felt marvelous, yet forbidden. As I pulled my life jacket tight, I felt Papa Creecy shudder from the heavens…

I was part of a small group of Arkansas Women Bloggers invited by the Helena Advertising and Promotions Commission to spend a few days in their delta town overlooking the Mississippi River. Although Helena is directly downstream from our farm near Osceola, this was my first visit.

And a cram-packed, entertaining visit it was. One of my favorite activities—canoeing on the Mississippi River.
Led by the Quapaw Canoe Company, we canoed to Buck Island (also known as Island 63). And for those of you from Mississippi County, Island 63 is NOTHING like our infamous Island 35… not in the least…
Canoeing the Mississippi River at Helena
The spectacular autumn air held a freshness I’d yet to feel in Dallas since the prolonged, hot summer. A sense of nervous excitement grew, for me anyway—being on the river, feeling the tug of water against the oar. We laughed and talked and row, row, rowed, landing on the island just before sunset.

Buck Island was remote.

Mississippi River at Helena, Island 63, Buck Island
Arriving at Buck Island

Uninhabited, the only signs of life were animal tracks stamped in the sand.

Buck Island, Island 63, Helena, Mississippi River
beautiful white sand

In only moments, our guides built an impressive fire from sticks and driftwood gathered from the nearby woods. As the sun sank into the riverbank, we ate dinner by bonfire glow, debated the perfect way to roast a marshmallow, and drank the finest boxed wine from hefty coffee mugs.

Buck Island, Island 63, Mississippi River at Helena
Kyran Pittman demonstrating marshmallow perfection

 

I wanted to stay on that island forever.
Canoeing back in silence, Venus shone brightly above the tree line, and the Milky Way cut a bright swath in the night. Like a great whale, a barge slipped by moving the black water. I imagined rafting the river at a different time, in a different world, one without lights from the nearby bridge or the hum of soybeans being loaded onto nearby barges.
Mississippi River at Helena
Mississippi River barge

 

Underneath an endless sky surrounded by the mighty river, I returned to shore awestruck.
It is not a commonplace river, but on the contrary is in all ways remarkable. –Mark Twain, Life on the Mississippi
talya
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

 

Musical Pairing:

Ol Man River, Paul Robeson

 

The Sonic – Parking on the Cool Side

By 16 Comments

When I was a kid in the 1970s, our Sonic had a cool side and an extraordinarily uncool side. If Momma parked on the uncool side, my sister and I moaned, dunked in the back seat, and laid low until our Frito chili pies arrived. We truly believed our character and reputations could be boosted or ruined during the few minutes it took to wolf down an order of tater tots in a parking spot at the Sonic in Osceola, Arkansas.

When I began driving my own car, the highlight of Saturday night was circling the Sonic until a cool space opened. My best friend and I ordered giant Cokes, emptied them onto the sidewalk and refilled the cups with Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. Or sometimes Kountry Kwencher. We thought drinking Boone’s Farm was a cool thing too.
Today I am much older. I realize I was far from hip. Even so, I can’t pull into the Osceola Sonic (now bigger, brighter, and new) without wondering if the coolness factor still exists.

And if so, could someone tell me which side is cool?

Grace Grits & Gardening

Musical Pairing:

Foreigner, Feels Like The First Time

Cottonwood Corner

By 17 Comments

J. Montrell-Stark Photography – Cottonwood Corner

Once upon a time there was a race track on the corner. Only a mile from our home, the weekend racing noises filtered into our bedroom window making sleep difficult. Daddy and Arthur Bullion took me with them one muggy summer night. Seeing cars crash and smash was thrilling.

Across the street, an outdoor auction house hummed. People came from near and far to buy and sell junk. Buying and selling junk made folks hungry, so we peddled homemade chocolate cupcakes to raise money for the Halloween carnival. We always sold out.

One magical week a year, the Ferris wheel and bright carnival lights were visible across the field. We watched and waited and pleaded, listening to muffled laughter and music late after suppertime. At last we went.  Momma puked as soon as the Tilt a Whirl stopped whirling. 
We each have one of these places, a wide spot in the road unnoticed by most, a place vibrant only in  our memories.

When the whistle blows, factory workers drive past, thankful another shift has ended. Farmers haul grain to the river without a glance to the rubble where the grocery story stood—the grocery store where Daddy sent me off driving, alone, to buy cartons of Camel, before I was old enough to have a license.

Wrong on so many levels…but oh so right.

Although there’s nothing much to look at now, the weary sign marking the empty spot is a historical marker  to me.

talya

“This is what happened when one left one’s home – pieces of oneself scattered all over the world, no one place ever completely satisfied, always a nostalgia for the place left behind.” ― Tatjana Soli, The Lotus Eaters

Musical Pairing:

Hometown Glory, Adele

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!