William Faulkner’s home, Rowan Oak
I saw two sides of Mississippi today.
First, I saw the Mississippi I came for. The charming, stately and sometimes grand old homes tucked along magnolia-scented streets. The sprawling campus of Ole Miss teeming with students sauntering toward summer classes, or touring the grounds as part of freshman orientation (aside: when did college students get so young looking?). The Mississippi of friendly southern hospitality, and soul food. The Mississippi that inspired William Faulkner’s prolific writing at his family home, Rowan Oak.
On the grounds at Rowan Oak
I loved this Mississippi and, for a moment, wished I had planned a longer stay. Loved it so much, in fact, that I decided to take a brief detour on my way out of the state to see more. I drove toward Clarksdale, in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. A place that, my guide book said, is all about music–it’s the place where the blues was born and still gives rhythm to life there. I was so enchanted by Faulkner’s Mississippi that I imagined I’d find a different but equally thrilling type of magic on the delta.
Instead, as I approached, I wondered if my GPS was leading me to the wrong place. This place was filled with rusted out cars, falling down buildings, boarded liquor stores and dirty streets. This was a place of deepest poverty, even though I had just passed miles and miles of crops growing in the fields all around–mega farms whose owners probably live far away. This was not the place I was looking for. Where were the music-loving people who fill this town, as Lonely Planet USA claimed? Where was the haunting mystique of the Delta blues and the juke joints that should colorful and hopping later tonight?
The deserted streets of Clarksdale were not a place I felt comfortable getting out of my car and walking around, so I didn’t. But as I drove away, I saw a few signs that, just maybe, the magic might be there–just not in the romanticized wrappings I expected to see.
On the street in Clarksdale, MS
THIS is a real Mississippi delta juke joint, which looks nothing like the Hollywood image in my head.
It was an important reminder that not all of America is a perfect postcard, or a write up in a tourist guide. As I journey on, I need to keep my eyes and my mind open to whatever there is to see, whether it’s what I dreamed of or not.
Leaping With Faith 
My husband and I visited Clarksdale (one year prior to hurricane Katrina) having learned about it through books and articles. We were unafraid but unsure of ourselves, awed, and very sad. Very sad upon leaving before nightfall. There’s a wonderful book, Escaping the Delta, by Elijah Wald about Robert Johnson and the Invention of the Blues. So much to learn on such side trips…
“Unsure” is the right word to describe how I felt as well. I never felt frightened, just uneasy because there were NO people out on the streets, in the middle of the day, near the Blues Museum where I had thought about visiting. It just didn’t feel like a place I wanted to be for very long…and was an important lesson for me. Just because I’m on vacation doesn’t mean everyplace is Disneyland, carefully staged for my enjoyment. Real life is sometimes not so picturesque.