Orange Beach All Stars
Posted: May 15th, 2012
Since walking-across-America colleague Andrew Forsthoefel & I parted in Franklin, Louisiana, each of us proceeding in opposite directions, we’ve each covered hundreds of miles of the other’s preceding paths, with Andrew discovering my eastbound miles, and my unzipping Andrew’s westbound miles. We’ve also put each other in contact with several of the people who hosted each of us before meeting in Franklin. Since leaving Franklin and walking west, Andrew has stayed with friends of mine in New Iberia, Rayne, Lake Charles, Huffman and Goldthwaite. Since leaving Franklin and walking east, I’ve stayed with friends of Andrew in Gibson, New Orleans, and now Orange Beach. Just as I’d heavily recommended that Andrew spend some days with some of the hosts I’ve stayed with, he was very emphatically recommending that I spend a few days in Orange Beach with the Grey Family. The Grey Family had also given me a phone call and a warm welcome shortly after I’d reached Alabama.
Last Thursday, as I made it to Orange Beach, where hosts Willy & Teresa Grey met me on the road to guide me in on foot. Willy runs Whiskey Willy’s Bloody Mary mix from his beautiful home on the Orange Beach waterfront. Twenty years my elder, he’s shared endless fascinating stories with me about growing up in central Florida, moving to Alabama, tending bar, and ultimately bringing his bloody Mary mix to Market, in 1985. As he works from home, and is a culinary genius, he also prepares absolutely delicious meals seven days a week.
Willy & Teresa detailed the experience of what it’s like to live in this area, ups and downs. Their waterfront home is in a hurricane risk area, and they’ve had to evacuate multiple times over the course of the years. Describing what an intensely laborious job it is, Willy showed me nail holes around the windows of where they’ve had to place 3/4″ plywood before any threat of hurricane comes this way. Given that the home is three stories tall, boarding up windows would be no easy job for anyone, and I see his head tilt at the hardship it’s caused him over the years. That said, they appear to love Orange Beach, and spending just a handful of days with them on the water, I understand how quickly one can fall in love living here.
Their kids are outstanding students at a local private school, and as Will the high school junior, had just completed his comprehensive junior year U.S. history exam, I figured I’d ask him what he felt the “Civil War” was about. I say “Civil War,” because I’ve recently learned that so many here refer to the conflict by a different name. Teresa tells me her high school teacher found the term “Civil War” to be strongly offensive, instead opting to call it “The War Between the States.” Others call it “The War of Northern Aggression.” Teresa, now in her 40’s, remembers being instructed to tear out certain pages from the high school history books, and cross out other places. Many here are taught that the war was simply a “states’ rights” issue. Others clarify that the chief “states’ right” being fought for was slavery. Will, fresh out of his history exam, had quite the comprehensive answer, covering all of this. Being from the “neutral” state of Washington, which joined the Union in 1889, nearly twenty-five years after the end of the war, it’s easy to not be seen as having any sort of heritage in the face of the brutal, years-long conflict.
Though I’m about to leave Orange Beach, and I’ll be reaching the HUGE milestone of the Florida border, it’s most likely that I’ll ultimately end up re-entering Alabama as I exit the Florida Panhandle, walking north. I may end up walking over a hundred more miles within Alabama. This will likely be the only time throughout my entire Walk that I cross through any given state twice– all while not breaking the route at all!
After spending days personalizing them, I’ll be sending out nearly 80 postcards today, before reaching the Florida border.
Today’s 30% chance of thunderstorms sounds “exciting.” The positive is that it gives me plenty of cloud cover from the hot-and-getting-hotter Gulf Coast May sunshine.
All is great and getting better!!
George
Gulf Shores, Alabama :)
Posted: May 8th, 2012
Zana, the energetic & lively local who is well in touch with the entire east shore area of Alabama and beyond, met me at the end of today’s ten miles, at the beaches of Gulf Shores. I’d purchased scores of postcards, more than enough for the Alabama batch, and she told me that nearby Souvenir City, local tourist behemoth, would probably give me a few postcards as well. I didn’t need any more, so I wasn’t very interested at the time in stopping into Souvenir City, but I was happy to follow Zana in to meet the people she knows who run this tourist trinket emporium. Zana promptly introduced me to Paul & Tina, who manage the store– and are both very friendly. Tina brought me a handful of postcards, and after talking for a minute, Paul peered down at my feet: “Would you like some new sandals?”
Really? “Sure– Thanks!” I wasn’t sure if the what appeared to be some sort of Wal-Mart of tourism would have anything better than cheap ten-dollar sandals– which they actually did sell– but they also had the exact model of Tevas that had been serving me so well since Houston. And of the 2 pairs available, one pair was my size!
Paul proceeded to expand his kindness further: “How about shades– need some shades?”
I’d recently lost the roadside pair I’d found near the Mississippi-Alabama border, and figured I’d simply wait till I found another roadside pair of sunglasses, as I find a pair every couple hundred miles or so. Paul gave me a much nicer, polarized, better fitting and more comfortable pair of sunglasses than I’d ever found on the road. Great timing– it’s really been getting bright out there!
Finally, Tina wanted to replace a sun-blocking, long-sleeve, breathable athletic shirt I’d needed to toss. She steered me away from the color white, explaining to me that it would reflect solar rays and burn my face. “Light blue is best for what you do.”
–Great!!
Within a few minutes, a small handful of postcards had turned into well over a hundred dollars worth of very useful road gear gifts for me. Then Zana hosted me to a delicious vegetarian lunch at a popular local restaurant.
Funny thing: I had no intention on walking through Gulf Shores to reach Orange Beach. Gulf Shores actually added some miles to the route. But Ann, my current host, recommended it, and it felt right, so here I came. And now I understand why!
The Long Way Around
Posted: May 1st, 2012
Government Street in Mobile runs right through downtown and into the Bankhead tunnel, underneath the Mobile River and into a merge with Highway 90, taking drivers east across the Mobile Bay. The tunnel is only 2/3 of a mile long, and feels very quick to all drivers. I-10, a stone’s throw away, tunnels underneath the river as well. If the tunnels were to suddenly become unavailable to cars, it would turn into a nightmare for drivers, who instead of spending a quick minute going underneath the river in less than a mile, would have to divert seven miles up and around the towering Cochrane-Africatown Bridge. As the tunnels are off limits to pedestrians, I had to walk all of those miles today.
Going north along the western banks of the Mobile River took me up confusing roads through endless rail yards. Nearly an hour into the day’s walk, underneath the hot sun (yesterday’s 91 F broke a local record for the date), I found the pavement drying up to a dead end, and a small rail bridge passing over a nearby river channel’s natural barrier. I studied the bridge for a moment: it would be easy to run across, taking me only 10-15 seconds– especially given that I was without all of my stuff today (being held and ultimately brought to me by Kenneth Jones, my current host). But, I’ve heard of people getting $2,000 fines and/or being arrested for such stunts. In the middle of nowhere I could act without hesitation, but there were plenty of workers scattered about the rail yards, especially during business hours. I did NOT wish to walk all the way back to my starting point (the only way out), so I flagged down the next passing pickup truck to ask him for a ride. I quickly explained the Walk to him, and though he told me he wasn’t supposed to, he invited me to hop into the truck with him.
“Hop in,” he said. As we were pulling away, he told me that the quickest way to where I was going would be to cross that railroad bridge. “The bridge is closed to rail traffic for the evening, too,” he explained.
“Can I do that?”
“I’m not telling you that you can cross it.”
“I see a tower nearby. Is there anyone up there patrolling?”
“There is a guy up there, but I wouldn’t doubt if he’s sleeping.”
“Would you mind taking me back to where you picked me up?”
“Sure,” as he enthusiastically embraced the idea.
I hopped out, thanked him, and started walking toward the bridge. I pulled out the camera to film it, was about to kick into gazelle mode to fly across, and suddenly I hear a voice calling out to me from behind. Another rail worker has arrived in another pickup, and he’s telling me that I can’t be filming. He also stopped me from crossing on foot. I explained my mission to him, and a very polite man, he told me he’d call his boss to ask for permission. His boss denied my request, adding an explanation that the neighborhoods on the other side were too dangerous for me to be walking through. It helps to feel that they care. Rail worker #2 kindly shuttled me back to my starting point for the day, explaining that such actions could land one in jail.
“The Port Police don’t mess around here,” he explained.
I thanked him as he let me out, and continued forward, now on the right path, to the big bridge to the north.
AFRICATOWN:
An hour later, shortly before reaching the big bridge, I came across some signs that said “Africatown.” I spotted a rather neglected cemetary, with many of the partially above-ground tombs tilted at a variety of angles. A historical marker sign told me this was a slave graveyard. Shocking. I’ve never seen such a thing!
At the end of today’s walk, I was told more about Africatown, the site I had no idea I was visiting. This is actually where the last illegal shipment of African slaves was brought to America, in 1860. Over a hundred Tarkbar from Ghana were brought in by some wealthy and ultra-greedy local brothers. The feds found out and prosecuted the “investors,” and 32 Tarkbar were sent to this wild site and left to fend for themselves. They survived, and after the Civil War, were joined by other Tarkbar. Their community thrived for decades, speaking their native languages, observing their traditions, having a chief and a medicine man.
Ultimately, younger generations became more assimilated into local African American culture. This part of town is still very African American.
BIG BRIDGE:
The big bridge across Hwy 90, tall enough for large ships to pass beneath and well over a mile long, was intimidating to spend a half hour walking onto opposing traffic, but I just remained busily moving forward and determined all the way till the end of it.
THANK YOU KENNETH:
Especially after the big bridge, miles of Hwy 90 had little or not road shoulder, and traffic, much of it truck traffic, was screaming by at 60mph. Shortly after passing the sprawling USS Battleship Alabama Memorial Park, Kenneth swooped in to retrieve me for the day. He’ll be returning me to my exact stopping point at 6 AM, on this way to work (out of his way, actually). The intense sun and exhausting sustained winds in my face across today’s 11 miles will transform tomorrow into sustained winds in my face of 10-20mph, and a 60% chance of thunderstorms. Tomorrow’s 20 miles will surely keep me on me toes!
My fifth and final night here with host Kenneth Jones, I’m so thankful to him for hosting me, feeding me well, introducing me to his family and friends, and becoming a great new friend across the miles!
Reaching Mobile’s Waterfront
Posted: May 1st, 2012
Unfortunately, Monday morning’s “Welcome to the New Week” delivered some lightning strikes of low back pain as I emerged from bed. Sunday night’s goal was to walk over 20k– perhaps as far as the other side of Mobile Bay. Veteran host Kenneth Jones, who last year hosted a woman running across America, agreed to transport me back and forth to any given marker I was to reach on Hwy 90. The rude reverberations from the vertebrae changed those plans.
While the back was feeling very weak, and this type of pain (shooting, not aching) has happened before, intuitively I knew that ultimately walking at least a handful of miles would actually do me well. I did some very helpful stretches over the course of a couple of hours and deemed myself ready enough to return to the road. My back was feeling a bit fragile, but I was simply going to not push beyond any reasonable level, and ideally make it through downtown to the waters of Mobile Bay.
Following Kenneth’s advice, I walked through historic Government Street’s live oaks and antebellum mansions into downtown.
Downtown Mobile was a place I wished I could spend more time. Pretty place. Good vibe. Some of the architecture reminds one of NOLA’s French Quarter.
I reached the waterfront an hour before dusk. Peaceful fisherman were everywhere, and very active pelicans were cruising the waters just beyond them. Large naval ships were being finished on the other side of the water.
Despite awakening with the pains, the day’s 10k walk truly helped me. I think some stress I’ve recently experienced was directly related to the pain, and walking not only got my muscles moving, it got my mind moving forward in the right direction as well, ready to power myself beyond the internal challenges facing me amid the miles…
Onward!
Forward!
Mobile Music for my Miles
Posted: April 26th, 2012
Having awoken with a sore body this morning, after nearly 60 miles from Monday-Wednesday, I used today’s afternoon off to load a ton of new music onto my mp3 player. This is my first music update since leaving home in Washington, and I’m pretty excited about the company of all these new tunes.
Music has been one of my greatest companions across the miles. On countless days and nights, after having been tired for hours, having reached the point of exhaustion, yet still having two more hours of walking ahead of me, pulling up the perfect combos of energizing songs consistently provides one of the greatest boosts of energy to power me through those remaining miles.
The mp3 player has been a tried and true companion across the many long, open stretches of rural America, with music and audiobooks that embrace, empower and enlighten me… 
24-mile Wednesday to Mobile
Posted: April 26th, 2012
I awoke this Thursday morning in a comfortable bed– first time that’s happened in a few days. Good timing too– for as I made my first effort to rise and shine, I felt serious muscle soreness throughout my body. No surprise here– I’ve walked just shy of 60 miles these past three days, making it from Ocean Springs all the way to Mobile.
The map told me that I had over 22 miles of walking ahead of me, yet what I took little time to investigate was road quality. A handful of street views of the internet map showed a two-foot shoulder throughout most of the rural miles, which isn’t ideal, but is definitely better than no shoulder at all. Normally, once a metro area is reached, roads expand, sidewalks appear, and a much different feel arrives as each and every mile is filled with homes & businesses. Many of the fast-food chains that I’ve totally avoided eating in for many years suddenly feel welcoming with their McBathroom’s, water, ice, and sometimes wifi. (I typically don’t buy anything– all the endless $ I spent there years ago is now paying me back, I figure.)
En route to Mobile, I passed through the small towns of St. Elmo, Irvington and Theodore. Once I reached Tillman’s Corner, the outer edge of the Mobile metro area, the line of businesses began and Hwy 90’s shoulders disappeared. There were no sidewalks to replace them– Yikes!! Hwy 90 continued this way for several miles, and I had very few sidewalk opportunities between Tillman’s Corner and the home of Robin, who is hosting me on the west side of Mobile. I often just timed my walking with traffic flows. Stop lights lined the miles, so I often just proceeded forward for quick 30-60 second bursts before pulling my cart off the road for another wave of speeding automobiles. To my good fortune, the weather was good, the road had been freshly paved, and occasionally frontage roads or neighborhood side streets would loop out for me to retreat to. I had to reroute the final 3-4 miles due to poor pedestrian conditions.
I didn’t arrive to Robin’s till about 10 PM, long after I’d hoped, but as I’d stayed in touch with her throughout the afternoon, she remained very welcoming and met me on the street a couple of blocks from her home, to easily guide me in. Robin is a truly wonderful person with a shining heart and an energetic 10-month-old Irish Setter resembling dog, Odie, who anyone could fall in love with instantly.
I’ll remain at Robin’s for two nights before shifting over the home of Kenneth, another Mobile CSer who has invited me to spend the weekend at his place. I’m excited to spend a few days in Mobile before continuing east!
Sweet Home, Alabama!
Posted: April 24th, 2012
After some 13 sunny and breezy miles down highway 90, I reached the Alabama border at a few minutes before 6 P.M. Just as I was crossing the road, approaching the WELCOME TO ALABAMA sign, some cyclists appeared from around the curve. Fred & Linda, a baby boomer couple from Seattle, are currently riding a tandem bike from San Diego to St. Augustine, FL. We stopped and chatted for a few merry minutes, took pics, and then returned to the road, as they had fifteen more miles to ride before dark, and I still had a handful of miles to walk– in addition to finding a safe place to rest my head for the night.
The closer I made it to today’s final destination of Grand Bay (a town whose name I keep saying wrong), the friendlier the passing motorists seem to become– many honking and waving. No invitations for hosting, however. So I proceeded into town, where I knew that a handful of churches were to be found. I had less than an hour before dark, and there was no time to rest. I was calm and my heart was in the right place, yet the survival-mode part of me kept me very focused on finding hosting as soon as possible. After passing a unfamiliarly-named church with a minivan out front, I saw at least half a dozen cars in the nearby First United Methodist Church parking lot, where a young man was shooting hoops in the parking lot. I headed right in. I actually wanted to stop and shoot hoops with him (I love basketball!), but my focus was unshaken, and I quickly explained to him what I was doing and what I was seeking.
“The pastor and a delegation just began a really important, closed-door meeting. They’ve locked the doors,” he told me, “they could easily be in there for an hour or more.”
Had I been hearing this at 2 PM, I would’ve simply waited around, but since the sun was setting, I persisted: “Do you think they’d mind if I knocked on the door and asked them for a safe place to camp or sleep on the floor?”
The young man seemed quite reluctant about the idea, but not willing to make any such decision on his own. “I don’t know– I suppose you could always try it.”
It would be dark before long, and this could be my best prospect, so I was willing to give it a shot. Worst case scenario, I’m told “no.”
The young man pointed me to a white door, on the other side of which everyone was meeting. I approached the door and put my ear up to it. I heard serious conversation, but then I heard some good laughter. Well trained by now, I acted immediately: Knock! Knock! Knock!
The polite gentleman who answered the door led me to Reverend John Baxter, seated with about ten others at an important church committee meeting. I explained the Walk and my overnight request to them. They listened sincerely, and asked me to please step outside so they could quickly discuss it.
Reverend Baxter emerged within about three minutes, told me they were all satisfied with me and my request, and showed me where I could camp. He also left open a section of the church for restroom and kitchen access. “Everything is very safe around here,” he assured me.
Thanking the reverend and breathing relief with the accomplishment, I moved on to the local grocery store, grabbed an affordable dinner, and met several more sweet locals before returning here to the FUMC for the night.
Another day of nearly 17 miles walked. I’m about 22 miles out from Mobile, and despite walking above-average mileage counts the last couple of days, I’m confident I’ll still have enough good energy to make it into Mobile by tomorrow evening. Then it’ll be time to spend a few days in Mobile, get to know the city and its people, and take care of more personal biz in the process.
So far, so good in Sweet Home Alabama– and I’m ready for more!
Spending the Night at the Pascagoula Police Station
Posted: April 23rd, 2012
“There has to be a reason for all of this. A fascinating experience is about to come,” I kept telling myself.
Typically, when I’m referred by a friend of a friend to be hosted at a future destination on the route, very rarely does the referral fall through for any sort of reason. After a smilingly lively weekend with the quartet of marine biologists in Ocean Springs, I left this morning for Gautier/Pascagoula.
1) Arthur & Cathy, the airboat tour operators I spent a night with last month in Des Allemands, Louisiana, told me they had a friend in Pascagoula I could stay with. 2) Fellow walker Andrew Forsthoefel hooked me up with Michael L, a friendly man who had hosted him while walking through Pascagoula. And before I left today: 3) Ocean Springs hosts Jeni et al told me they thought their friend George would probably like to host me in Gautier, the town just shy of Pascagoula. Stepping into a day with three referral connections is one of the most promising ways to start any day on the road, and I don’t know that there’s ever been a time that three promising pitches have led to a strike out– till today.
As the day’s miles were beginning, Cathy told me that their Pascagoula friend just sent them a message from Colorado. Upon reaching the outskirts of Gautier, Jeni texted me that Gautier George is also out of town. And Michael L wasn’t responding to three phone calls and a text message over 24 hours.
From afar, the people of Pascagoula weren’t welcoming me in with open arms– yet the day’s weather was beautiful– perfect 70-something weather with wind at my back. A 17-mile day didn’t pull much sweat from me at all.
All options exhausted, including a couple of calls to local churches, I felt impelled to simply continue forward, into Pascagoula. Such uncertain end-of-day scenarios really used to stress me out through the first few hundred miles. Where would I end up staying???
3,500 miles into this Walk, however, wisdom was on my side. Something always works out. It may not be the something I most hope for, but even when it ends up being a tougher evening than anticipated, I always end up experiencing and learning something important.
Though I know by now that “it will all work out,” I still feel my subconscious shifting into more of a hyperaware survival mode when facing these situations. Finishing off the day’s miles by walking across the large bridges of the west & east forks of the Singing River, I had to focus on staying calm, with the faith that these other three hosting opportunities had fallen through in order to simply open a door for a new and yet-to-be-known opportunity. I just typically prefer to know what those new opportunities are as soon as possible– especially when there’s only an hour of sunlight remaining.
I’d quickly seen Andrew Forsthoefel’s blog this morning before I left Ocean Springs, and I remember reading that upon arriving to Lampasas, he walked straight into the Police Station to ask for their assistance. They placed him in touch with a local ministerial alliance, who rented him a motel room. I’d only walked into a police station seeking assistance once, in Willits, California, and they offered me no assistance. I’d never tried since– but as the other opportunities has fallen through, I felt inspired to stop into the police station in Pascagoula.
Google Maps showed me that the Pascagoula police station was close to the Hwy 90 bridge, and I was inside their front doors within five minutes of stepping into town. I approached the window and I explained my story and my desire (a safe place to sleep) to the dispatcher, Ms. Angie. Angie told me she’d contact her lieutenant, who’d be returning in 20 minutes, to see if he could help me with options. Angie sounded sincere, which felt promising.
Lieutenant Barnes showed up with a large, enthusiastic smile on his face. My normal modus operandi is that I only ask for something as simple as a place to camp, yet I’m always ready for floor space or more as well. Lt. Barnes showed me some space under the nearby bridge where I could camp, and though I was ready to accept it, he could tell I was also enthusiastic to explore other options. He welcomed me into his office, sat me down, and got busy on the phone. He called people he knew, including owners of a local B & B, which he knew would be a great hosting experience for me. But they were full. Lt. Barnes was prepared to continue making calls on my behalf, but having told me that he’d find a spot for me within the station if nothing else worked out, I was ready to take him up on this offer sooner than later.
I’ve been hosted in a number of motels and B&Bs, all of which are nice, but being hosted for a night in a police station promised to be a unique and memorable experience indeed!
Lt. Barnes introduced me to the staff, and requested an officer take me to the grocery store and a nearby restaurant– far better service than most motels give their guests! I was taken on a tour of the jail portion of the station, and invited to sleep in one of the cells, if I wished. My other option was to sleep on the exercise room floor. Option B simply was easier, and felt more inviting too. The cells felt creepy. I’m sorry for those who have to spend days and nights within them. No windows. Scary.
Lt. Barnes normally supervises police activity from the station; however, he gets out and drives around some every shift as well– to keep from feeling stuck behind an office desk for 12 hours at a time. He invited me with him, and took me on a through-police-lieutenant’s-eyes nighttime tour of the town. He showed me the shipbuilding plant, the oil refinery, the natural gas storage facility, and Mississippi Phosphates. He drove me along the beach and showed me the multimillion-dollar waterfront homes, many of which have been constructed next to still-vacant lots with residual concrete foundations after Hurricane Katrina.
Though over a mile into town, Katrina’s storm surge still flooded the police station. Up to ten feet flooded Pascagoula, and the surge pushed water in for miles, up to Interstate 10 and beyond. Everyone was flooded to some extent, and sadly, as was the case from New Orleans to the east, many who chose not to evacuate perished in the storm.
As he told me of the 12-hour shifts they worked for 30 days straight during Katrina and the aftermath, as he described the knowledge of the city and the efforts they make to keep it safe, and as I could tell that he genuinely served to create a better world for himself and the people around him, my gratitude and respect for the police profession grew. Many times I’ve received small forms of assistance from police across the miles. And now that I’m being hosted for the first time in a police station, especially when left with no other simple option at the end of the day, my gratitude for Lt. Barnes, the Pascagoula police staff, and the good cops of the globe really shot through the roof.
Now I understand why all three of those friend-of-friend referrals were all unavailable to host me!!
How Awesome!!
Hanging with the Masters of Marine Biology in Ocean Springs…
Posted: April 23rd, 2012
Not only was it great to have been suddenly sidetracked with a 4-day detour in Biloxi, the Biloxi opportunity also ended up opening a free weekend window for the fun house of four in Ocean Springs.
Jennifer McKinney, friend of walk-across-America veteran Skip Potts (Skip had originally advised me before I began my Walk), had written to me months ago, after Skip showed her this video. She invited me to stay with her & her roommates in Ocean Springs. As the Ocean Springs quartet are all marine biologists, they spend the weekdays out at sea, in the lab, or doing other related things, so arriving Friday night opened up the perfect opportunity to spend a fun weekend with them all. Jennifer is originally from California; Jeremy, her boyfriend, is from Chicago via Kansas; Sara is from Sevilla, Spain; and Will, the dreadlocked twentysomething “youngster,” is actually a native of Mississippi.
Though I’ve walked over half of my Mississippi miles by now, with brief exceptions in Pearlington and Gulfport, I’ve still spent almost no time with people who are actually from Mississippi. This is in no way by design– I’m simply accepting whatever invitations I receive from many great people along my route.
Will explained to me that this small strip of coastline I’ve been walking is a very distinct part of Mississippi. “North of Interstate 10, it’s like a whole different state. The Mississippi coast has much more in common with New Orleans,” Will explains, “there’s a large Catholic population here; it’s a more relaxed atmosphere; there’s a constant flow of people from other parts of the country and world; and there isn’t the great reliance on agriculture as there is in most of the rest of Mississippi.”
Though there are only a handful of miles between I-10 and the coastline itself, the Air Force base in addition to shipping and other port-related industries on the Gulf Coast ensure a constant influx of people from all over. There are also people who came shortly after Hurricane Katrina to help with the rebuilding efforts, and ended up staying (Julie in Biloxi, for example). Many coastal residents who left after Katrina destroyed the area never returned. Given that I’ve been walking the coastline for most of my Mississippi miles, I’ve been fully immersed in this cultural melting pot.
Will is from central Mississippi, Madison, a “white flight” suburb of Jackson, as he describes it. He went to college in Hattiesburg and is just now completing his graduate studies here on the Gulf Coast. Will has endless stories about Mississippi culture and differences. Though there are still black churches and white churches throughout Mississippi, in addition to “voluntary” residential segregation in most cities, the most extreme racist attitudes that Mississippi was known for decades ago have slowly been evaporating over the generations, Will explained to me. Will’s generation would never dream of using separate bathrooms or drinking fountains for different races– whereas his mother was spanked as a child for once drinking from a fountain labeled “colored.” Born in the 1980’s, in the early years of integration, the concept of separate water fountains “blows my mind,” Will explains. Will tells me that even though many of the whites of his parents’ generation are no longer overtly racist, many also would not be able to see themselves working for a black man. Many people of his grandparents generation generally have (had) sweet and lovely personalities, but it seemed to simply be ingrained in them that whites were superior to blacks, and were to be separated and treated superiorly.
Sadly, it doesn’t surprise me to hear this, for throughout America, especially within older age groups, it’s not at all uncommon to find a very hardened, ingrained attitudes about political ideologies or about faith/religion. (I’ve found myself really having to remain “on guard” about this sort of thing as I continue to age!) So many of us have the only “correct” answer, and we’re commonly open to being heard, yet rarely open to being kindly debated– as we (sadly) often don’t ask the most critical questions ourselves before fully subscribing to specific religious and political ideologies– making them a core part of our personal identities– identities (ego) which may feel “in danger” if we suddenly decide to ponder the issues deeply after many years. The ego often feels safer by just following the fellow singing sheep. Collectively, we all have a long way to go…
The fun trio of nights in Ocean Springs draws to a close this morning, as the marine biologist quartet returns to work, and so do I. I’m to walk at least 17 miles today, to Pascagoula, where Michael L, a friend of Andrew Forsthoefel, has told Andrew he’d like to provide me with a room and meal at his motel and restaurant. I contacted Michael last night, and still haven’t heard back. I’ll try him again today, and if I don’t hear back in time, I simply need to arrive before sunset, which makes it far easier for me to make cold calls and knock on doors out of the blue, should I need to.
The rain clouds of this weekend have departed, welcoming a bright and shiny morning and new week. At this point, it’s completely unpredictable how today will end. That said, I’ve been on the road long enough by now to simply “feel” that from start to finish, challenges and all, today will be a great day!!
4-day detour in Biloxi!
Posted: April 20th, 2012
I awoke on Monday morning, April 16, 2012, expecting to walk 19 miles through headwinds and seashore sidewalk sand mounds to reach Ocean Springs. Any day with strong, consistent headwinds has me feeling like I’m walking many more miles. Pushing my cart through countless large, disabling mounds of beach sand on the sidewalk has me feeling like I’m walking more miles. To add to this all, Ocean Springs host Jennifer was set to be busy throughout the business week, and I’d wasn’t sure I’d even get the chance to meet her. So, when Julie Kuklinski suddenly phoned me out of nowhere and invited me to be hosted on her Benachi Avenue block full of bubbly souls, it didn’t take me long to accept her offer.
Julie’s house was no more than 13 miles from Bernie & Barbara’s, in Gulfport, a reduced total which released the burden of stress from my shoulders. Daryl, her roommate, came to meet and walk with me on the Biloxi beach sidewalk. Before he arrived, nearly a half dozen other fun local youths approached and walked with me for about half a mile– curious & cute local high school students and a nice man in his early 20’s.
Daryl & I arrived to Julie’s a few minutes before her, and it didn’t take long to feel the presence of a great community all around this sweet little home. The roommates get along really well; the neighbors are not only familiar with each other, they’re more than welcome to just let themselves in the front door; they all have friendly dogs; and, each in their own unique way works to contribute to making the world a better place. Julie, for her part, helps homeless women gain skills to find decent-paying jobs.
My invitation was quickly extended from one night to two, and the next day, from two to four. Each time, it just felt so right to be sticking around and accepting the invitation. I feel so fortunate to have spent a full four nights with them. They remind me a lot of Josh & Laura and all their sweet neighbors in Lake Charles. Not only did I gain a special familiarity with them all, as it turns out, they’re remotely familiar with Ocean Springs host Jennifer as well.
As Friday was only a 7-mile day from Julie’s home to Jennifer’s, I left after Julie was finished with work, so she could join me on the road for a while on my way out of Biloxi.
The short-sleeve spring weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Perfect conclusion to the 4-day detour. I’m confident we’ll all stay in touch, as I especially hope they’ll come camp with me somewhere in the miles ahead. Such sweet people– and now that Jennifer & her roommates have the weekend off, Ocean Springs awaits!!