Bolivar, Tennessee over the river and through the woods to the Little Rock of Arkansas.

Bolivar, Tennessee was a town with a bit of a blur bound in blessings and truth be told so was the majority of west Tennessee.  I left the library heading towards the Walmart to get another food restock when a guy pulls saying, "Need a lift?"  My friend Katie would really love this guy and might have had as good a conversation as I have had.  When I looked at the fellow in his car I thought is that John Goodman, and as he talked I felt like I was talking to the "Dude" from the Big Labowski.  Regardless of these points which I didn't bring up in the conversation, Jim Zeigler is a heck of a nice guy who decided to give me a lift because he noticed my guitar.  A fellow music lover, he has a band called Casting Our Pearls, which can be found off my facebook page and based on our conversation I think it must have some raggae and rock'n roll roots.  The conversation Jim and I carried on lasted for at least thirty minutes of a five minute drive; he seemed genuinely happy to see a youth of today exploring the world and not accepting a role in life that didn't seem to fit, like that of clothes two sizes to small.  I left this great conversation feeling as though the constant watchful eye of the Lord would never fail to surprise or amaze me in my path.  I gathered my supplies in the Walmart, one important and helpful thing was a new bite valve for my water bladder, which fell off during my hike up to the Sparks farmstead.  I was packing all of the life sustaing food in my bag when a fellow I had met and spoke with briefly a the library, Doug Howell approached, introducing me to a guy he knew who was also a very good guitar player.  Unfortunately this young man about my age was also working security at the Walmart so our conversation was brief before he was called to the duty of his position.  Doug and I contnued talking about my goals in this hike and what I hoped to achieve as well as the many blessings I had recieved along the way, he bestowed up me yet another blessing.  He hand me a small pocket sized bible with five dollars inserted within, stating with a confident smile, "There is more value in there than just the $5."  I agreed to the truth in this sentiment as he also offered me a ride down the rode will the rain was pouring down in sheets that blanketed the roads and thickened the air.  I was dropped off at a BP gas station to hang out until the rain fully subsided.  I asked the clerk, Crystal, if I could hang out under the awning and play guitar while the rain fell.  I informed her I wasn't playing for money, just for the inspiration the rain bestowed and she agreed it was alright.  The rain stopped not even three songs later.  I lifted my backpack with it's recent food resupply, feeling it's heaviness brought on by the security my body would need in the upcoming week.  I wasn't a mile down the road when I was stopped by the local police, officer #103, he voiced his concerns for the area and it's recent tragedies, while offereing me his advice and blessings on my path.  Onward I moved feeling the rain would bare down upon me at any moment.  I heard a noise as I walked that came from the near by sources of water, it remined me of the aliens from Toy Story or the henchmen from Despicable Me.  It would start out singularly, then come into harmony, these frogs would sing their songs to the rain that kept hydrated and healthy.  They truly made me laugh out loud as I raced to a location I had been illuminated towards, a Mennonite group ahead, where I might be able to camp.  I noticed a cross next to a picnik table adjacent to a muffler shop, the thunder cracked as the sky began to open.  I hastly made my way over to this spot having given up on the search for the illusive Mennonites.  I made camp just in time.

I woke the next morning and began my march further towards Memphis, Tennessee.

As I progressed down the road the sun once again bore it's forceful rays upon my, adding pressure to my pack, heat to my core and a burn to my exterior.  I try to wave and ackknowledge the people in te tracffic as it passes, I get a number of responses.  There is the one finger point, the two finger peace, the three finger wave that still allows the steering wheel to be managed with a finger and the thumb, the four finger lift wave leaving the thumb in control of the vehicle and the full on wave.  After maybe an hour of waving I heard a honk, I try to always acknowledge everyone so I thought it was someone saying hello.  When I heard it a gain I turned to look and found Don in his big dually truck towing a giant metal drain for construction offering me a ride.  As I jumped in the truck I broke one of my headphones, even broken with the speaker falling out of the casing the stock Apple headphones kept doing their thing.  Don dropped me off right outside of Memphis, Tennessee with the statement, "You just wait till you get in Arkansas, it's so beautiful and the water is so pure you can drink it straight from almost any source."  I hopped out of the truck and as Don drove to make his delivery I retied my shoes, dumping small stones out and resituated my back so everything would travel well through Memphsis.  Don had also told me I might take my guitar, out my hat out, sit down on Beal Street and play, then stay at one of the missions in town when night fell.  I declined this offer, though tempting as the thought of busking maybe and as glorified as it is in my head, I don't honestly believe that I am good enough to survive on it.  I progressed inward towards Memphis or so I thought.  I had heard about a great number of tragedies occuring in this town with so much soul, it seem to be a great concern most all I had spoke with.  As I passed the India Cultural Center I was offered a ride by Rajagopanam.  A nice Indian man who was Hindu by faith.  We had a very philosphically deep and at times difficult to understand, given the man's accent and low volume, conversation.  He decided to drop me off on the other side of the Mississippi River in Arkansas, whether it was out of concern for my welfare in the city or simple misunderstanding as he thought I was trying to hitchhike not hike the Trail of Tears.

Arkansas rice fields