Amanda: Life on the Mississippi

I drove a long way last night without really being too conscious of where I was. I was listening to the Sisters Brothers, an audio book. I had noticed a bridge with a few lights but thought it was somewhat inconsequential, so small and dull, that I didn’t pay it much mind. When I saw the sign for Davenport, I pulled off. No way did I want to miss the Mississippi, crossing in a veil of darkness. I thought I’ll just stop here and check out the Mississippi in the morning, stick in a toe, let the dogs brush with the mighty river of extreme lore, feel it. It was hot out, even at eleven o’clock at night. The fans in my camper made good white noise and nothing interrupted my sleep until the morning, when the dogs got me up. I went to the Starbucks in the dark. Two energetic women were womanning it. I was asking how to get down to the Mississippi. Kingston came up in the conversation and one of them had just holidayed there, at Loborough Lake. I am always proud of my home town, when a stranger brings it up like that. They gave me directions to get down to the water without backtracking but then, said don’t drive down there. “There are low underpasses.” Good tip. Who wants the roof of their camper ripped off, touring? They said the the mighty river was reduced to a mud creek by the drought and it was no particular source of wonder at present. Turns out that little bridge with the lights, was over the Mississippi. I had crossed it and hardly noticed. I will try never to let that happen again. Miss the Mississippi and you.