I remember the moment I took this photo.

I had just bent down and scooped up a handful of the water of the Mississippi River. Watched it puddle in my palm and run through my fingers.

I had in my mind finally got to shake the hand of Mark Twain.

As a child my Aunt Irma read to me the adventures of Tom, Huck, Jim, always followed by her explanation. She bought a map once, used a crayon to color the Mississippi River blue so I could see how long it was. That night when I was in bed her husband, my Uncle Jim, got ahold of the map and drew in stick figure people and paddleboats.

Sure, I had as an adult flown over that squiggly blue line so far below many times, would always look for even on the “red eyes” heading back home.

The University didn’t teach me about “Character Development,” an aunt in a stuffed flowered couch in Snyder, New York did…with stick figures as a bonus.

Later in life at the kitchen table Aunt Irma would talk about “the adult stuff” as she called it, about the book.

Neither Aunt Irma or Uncle Jim ever saw the Mississippi River in person, from the ground or the air, both had passed before I saw it.

Both where with me that night I took this photo. I could feel the stuffed couch, smell the cut flowers that were always on the dinning room table. It was as it should be.

To most this photo means not much.

To me it means Mark Twain when I was young, Mark Twain when I was not, it means Tom, Huck and Jim, big boats and childhood make believe adventures…

…but most importantly touching the Mighty-Miss-A-Sip meant to me Aunt Irma and Uncle Jim saw it that night too with me. I know that.

Columns I should Have Written

Moonlight on the Mississippi River