I-40 E: Jeff Buckley

Eating a pastry and enjoying a beverage, that surely contained some mix of espresso and steamed milk, a song started playing on the patio of a coffee shop in Norman, OK. The song was familiar, but this time sounded more beautiful than before. I had to find out who the artist was and what else he had done. The artist was Jeff Buckley. The song was Hallelujah. A man crush followed, as he became one of my favorite musicians.

In May of 1997 Jeff Buckley went for a swim in Wolf River Harbor, a  slackwater channel 

of the Mississippi River, in Memphis, TN. He drowned at the young age of 30. For years I wanted to make the 8 hour drive from OKC to Memphis to visit the location. Inevitably, I would talk myself out of it thinking, “You want to drive 8 hours to look at a river and listen to some songs? Crazy.” Fortunately, the move to the East Coast provided the perfect opportunity. I-40 E would take me directly through Memphis.

           A large sign welcomed me to Tennessee as a huge bridge set me down safely on the other side of the Mississippi River. Led by plenty of research and map memorizing, I found my way to Mud Island. It rested between the Mississippi to the west, and Wolf River to the east. While walking towards the mouth of the Wolf River, I found myself more confused than anything else. The romanticized ideas that were in my mind did not align with the rows of condos that stretched behind me, or the small yacht club that floated in front of me. As I walked along the banks my thoughts were anything but focused. I wonder where he entered the water. Why would he choose this built-up area to swim? Was this island under water from the May floods? I think that I am getting a sunburn. Confused and unsatisfied, I decided to find my way back to I-40.

            Crossing the bridge from Mud Island, over Wolf River and back to downtown Memphis, I took one last glance at the skyline. There it was! Why had I not seen it before? I parked in an abandoned parking lot at the base of the bridge before quickly continuing back up the steep incline on foot. At the peak, high above river, I stopped. Pouring with sweat, I couldn’t help but smile. It was perfect. To the left the Memphis skyline stretched down the shoreline. Below, the Wolf River flowed to open into the Mississippi downstream. To the right, the island. An island, that until over a decade after his death, was not covered with condos or surrounded by docks. I tried to picture it as it was in 1997. Condos, gone. Yacht club, gone. Just a nice, calm island with a great view of downtown just beyond the tributary. It made perfect sense. This is what I stopped for. Satisfied, I said my last goodbye and made my way back down the bridge.

Full circle: As I was writing this post in a spiral notebook, sitting in a bagel/coffee shop in Durham, NC, who comes to revisit? Jeff Buckley, singing Lilac Wine quietly over the speakers. It was nice seeing you too Jeff.

I-40 E: One Way

            A journey of 1200 miles begins with a single step getting your car out of the body shop then staying up until 4:30 am with your mom and sister. Yes, that sounds about right.

            Until 4 pm on Friday it was uncertain whether or not I would be able to begin my cross county adventure or postpone it, once again, to the following week. Exactly one week after my first planned departure date, and one hour before the body shop closed for the weekend, I got my car back. After months of planning, weeks of readjusting those plans and what seemed like an eternity of trying to be patient, it was time to start driving. 

My first stop would be my mom’s house near the Oklahoma/Arkansas border, about 2.5 hours from OKC. There I would see my mom and youngest sister once more, get a good nights rest and leave before the sun rose the next morning. As I have become well aware over the past couple of months, plans change. We stayed up laughing, talking and carrying on until 4:30 am. After 3.5 hours of sleep, and a couple cups of coffee, I finally hit I-40 E. It probably wasn’t the best approach to take before setting off across the country, but it was something that I would never trade.

Oklahoma quickly turned into Arkansas. Arkansas turned into Tennessee. Just over the Mississippi River I stopped in Memphis to stretch my legs and visit where one of my favorite musicians, Jeff Buckley, had drowned 14 years earlier. Several hours later, as I approached Nashville, I called Jack White’s Third Man Records for their hours that day. I was only slightly disappointed that they would be closed by the time I passed through. I knew I needed to continue driving. 11 hours after leaving Oklahoma I pulled into Knoxville to refuel and assess the situation. Though it was late in the evening I decided that I would push through, at least to the next town. Or two. Or three. The clock struck midnight as I approached the Smoky Mountains. (The Smoky Mountains experience is a story all its own) Tennessee turned into North Carolina. The relief of getting into North Carolina soon gave way to pure exhaustion. 2.5 hours from my final destination, with 16 hours of I-40 behind me, my mind and body simultaneously decided that they were going no further. At 3 am I stumbled into the nearest motel and slipped into a small coma.

I pulled into Durham the next day with the satisfaction of what I had accomplished coupled with a surreal feeling of knowing that I would now call this new city home. After recovering from the long day before, I had to laugh at what was on my camera. I hadn’t taken much time to stop and take pictures. I had places to be and people to see. However, I did take short clips of different stretches of I-40 E. As the miles passed, the states and scenery changed. Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina. As the miles passed, emotions changed. Relief, excitement, nostalgia and exhaustion. Apparently as the miles passed, the music changed as well… Yes, I rocked some blue grass in Eastern Tennessee.

Maybe a journey of 1200 miles ends with a short video of the same interstate highway and the amazing memories of that time you drove across the country to live.

Madeline

          My job is to plan, set deadlines and make sure all of the jobs in the agency get completed on time. Sometimes the workflow hits a hiccup. Sometimes in life, you hit a speed bump. Sometimes the speed bump hits you. Sometimes the speed bump is an SUV. Adjusting to hiccups is part of my daily routine. Negotiating speed bumps… well that is another matter.

          

OK vs NC

            Visiting family in the Northeastern United States has been a regular occurrence since I was a child. The difference in the terrain, as well as the differences in the people, has always intrigued me. The misconceptions between the Northeast and the Great Plains continue to be entertaining, but also endearing. Though, with those particular impressions, there remains a bit of truth… even if it is sometimes exaggerated.

Papa's Farm

When I decided to move across the country it began to sink in that my time remaining in the area was ticking. I had to quickly determine how I wanted to prioritize that limited time. There was never a question that one of my last stops would be Papa’s farm. Everyone seems to have a “happy place”. Growing up, this was mine.

To a young boy, the barbed wire fences that circle the land might as well have been the edges of the Earth. 72 acres has somehow contained a farm house, multiple barns, several ponds, cattle, chickens, goats, ducks, horses, turkeys, cats, dogs, a llama and on and on.

Growing up it always amazed me that, somehow, Papa always knew when the cows were hungry, when the eggs needed gathered, when the vegetables were ready to pick from the garden or when Nana had lunch ready. I wouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on it because Nana’s meals were always the best. Country cooking from scratch. Vegetables from the garden. Though, it took me a while to realize that bacon grease wasn’t a primary ingredient in green beans.

Papa's farm is where this little boy learned to fish. “A quarter for the first and a quarter for the biggest,” he would say. Though I don't ever remember catching the first or the biggest fish with Papa, he never made me pay. I learned to shoot guns there. We had it out for those aluminum cans. Climbing through the barns, playing with the animals and riding the tractor made me feel like I was in a rural amusement park.

To a kid with an imagination, it might as well have been a whole new world. And now, to a much older kid, it continues to be one of my favorite happy places.