We’ve been going to Clarksdale since we got within spittin’ distance of it. Since 2015, i think. Blues music has moved me for a mighty long time, and to set bare feet down on that hot delta dirt where it began, it’s a type of transformation. The first trip up we went to see all three of Robert Johnson’s graves. That trip is still memorable, as we crossed railroad tracks and countless sunflower fields, saw cactus next to corn next to a graveyard. It’s shadowed church standing sentry where they still sing some Sundays. Realized that cotton flowers come in different colors, grew accustomed to crop duster daredevils. The delta is a magic place to me, and every chance i have to go is a treasure. Here are some images from various trips i have taken, the most recent trip happened in June 2019. (If you ever plan to go, i’d be glad to send recommendations, please feel free to get in touch.)
ghosts