Day 59

Coffee at a plantation called The Myrtles. I’d wanted to find some of the live oak trees covered in Spanish moss, and there they were. The building was supposed to be haunted, and they had photos of “unexplained” things.

“Spanish moss” drapes the sprawling live oak trees of Savannah, Georgia, giving the historic city a hauntingly beautiful aesthetic. Yet, it actually isn't a type of moss at all! Spanish moss is actually a type of epiphyte, which means it grows on the surface of other plants but does not take nutrients from them.” — savannahproper.com

The Myrtles Plantation is a historic home and former antebellum plantation in St. Francisville, Louisiana, United States built in 1796 by General David Bradford. — Wikipedia

South to Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana. We thought we’d headed to an art gallery, but it was a public space full of street art. We climbed through the broken door panel to get inside.

Our hotel for the evening was by the sea. The next time we’ll see the sea (I think) will be Maine.

A dicey crossing across a dual-carriageway and a beach at sunset.

Day 57

From the hotel it was a short drive to the famous crossroads.

Around 1930, acclaimed bluesman Son House heard (Robert) Johnson play in Robbinsville, MS. He related how Robert "blew a harmonica and he was pretty good with that, but he wanted to play guitar.” Robert would watch House and his friend, Willie Brown, perform, and when they took a break he would pickup up one of their guitars. House remarked he was not good at guitar: “…such a racket you never heard!…get that guitar away from that boy” people would say, ”…he’s running people crazy with it.”

Then Robert disappeared for a season. Legend recounts that he found himself at a dark and deserted crossroads around midnight where he was met by a strange man. The man tuned his guitar and played a few songs and returned it to Johnson.

When he reappeared in 1932, the people were amazed at his unique and novel techniques and unusual voicing. When Robert played for Son and Willie; they were staggered by his improvement. “He was so good. When he finished, all our mouths were standing open.” The legend grew that he had sold his soul to the devil to become a famous bluesman. — www.clarksdale.com

From the crossroads we drove to the Delta Blues Museum. (No photos were allowed in the museum. Boo.) In the section about Robert Johnson it had a big panel on the wall saying he died at the age of 27, and on the other wall his death certificate that he died at 26. Wikipedia says 27 too.

Clarksdale has some nice big houses, but mostly it seems to be a pretty deprived area.

To Clarksdale library! Janice kindly gave me some bookmarks.

A quick five mile diversion to see a big Spongebob Squarepants, because it needed to be done.

Day 56

To Tupelo to see Elvis Presley’s birthplace, but breakfast at the D'Cracked Egg before we headed over to the museum.

The home Elvis was born in, in its original place.

And his church, which was moved to the site.

As were leaving someone wandered over and asked us if we knew where the toilet was. I ALWAYS know where the toilet is. We pointed him towards it, and he said “Do you do Bible study?” I said I did not, and a conversation ensued. Let the record reflect I didn’t start the conversation. I believe Jane would back me up in saying the guy was crazy (something for the prosecution would be his idea that England was wall-to-wall Muslim.) At one point he gestured to the clouds and shouted “You need Jesus.” I looked up. Just looked like rain was coming to me.

We crossed into Mississippi, and driving West (controversial) before heading South we drove through Layfette and saw many cotton fields, with loose cotton blowing across the road. At the garage where we picked up some snacks where Mark suggested we go to a place called Oxford (we didn’t, sorry Mark.)

As we got to the outskirts of Clarksdale the cotton was bundled up with pink wrappings which made them look like seaside rock.

Someone’s YouTube video on how it gets harvested.