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The Muddy Miss T
BY NATALIE JACKSON
here wasn’t one morning I woke up and didn’t want to paddle. The glide of the
canoe along the swift Mississippi current had me dreaming I was on a conveyer belt in the airport onto my next destination. With my paddle in hand, dipping my tool in the water resembled spreading soft butter over bread while effortlessly moving us forward. It was the 2,200-mile adventure my boyfriend, Lucas Will, and our dog, Tischer, began at the head- waters—I joined downstream with 1,100 miles left to the Gulf of Mexico. When Lucas expressed interest in paddling
the Mississippi River I thought, “Would there be any scenery? Isn’t the Mississippi just a boater’s highway and dirty?” Paddling the river firsthand
allowed me to discover it wasn’t as dirty as I anticipated. Sure there were days where we passed swirls of chemicals, floating car tires, and as many milk crates as a girl could want, but the physical debris had truly been cleaned up in the last 20 years. It was the invisible debris in the water that later hit home about the truth of the Ole Miss. Finding potable water to refill eight gallons
each day was a challenge. Partway through out trip, our canoe traced the shoreline near homes, with no prospect of clean water as we came closer. Try again. The next opportunity came as we began to round a bend and realized a boat ramp with multiple trailer homes could be promising. After dancing the tango with a 32 cargo barge, we ferried across the half- mile-wide river. Lucas jumped out to scout the camp but no one was there. Again, nothing. Really believing some good ole southern folks were somewhere and could help refill our water containers, I turned my head downstream and had a bit more vigor in my paddle stroke to find our next possible
source. An agricultural port came next but was a dicey option due to the lack of safe exits off river. With huge docks and boulder walls built up along the bank, we pulled out a quarter mile upstream on sand, only to realize the trek on foot in crocs wasn’t a smart idea. Back in the boat, we decided to pull up right next to the office and scramble up the rocks to see if any- one was around. Success! The spirit of the river finally brought us to a place with clean water. As we paddled away I couldn’t help but
think how frustrating and silly it was to go on a hunt for fresh drinking water when water was below us all along. What would it take to bring the Mississippi River back to drinking water standards? A whole lot, that’s for sure. There wasn’t one person who lived on the river who didn’t make a face, as if drinking sour milk, at the thought of consuming river water. But let’s shed some real light, there was ample beauty. The magic and spirit of the Mighty Mississippi lives on and I was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse.
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