Finishing the Last Four States: A Journey for Tom,Marina, and for the Stories We Carry

There’s a photograph I keep returning to—Tom and Marina (wife) side by side, leaning together the way only partners who’ve logged thousands of miles can. Together they traveled to 46 of the 50 U.S. states, collecting a license plate from each one as proof of the adventure. Those plates now line the walls of his office back in the Netherlands, inside a house that dates to the 17th century, a room blending the new and old worlds - both worlds of trade, travel, and adventure.

Marina passed away in 2024, but their shared map remains. Forty-six places explored. Four left undone.

And that is how this trip was born.

Our goal on this journey is beautifully simple:

• Make Oklahoma #47

• Leave a tiny red cardinal in her honor just inside the state line

• Find someone willing to part with an Oklahoma license plate to add to the collection

• And leave Kansas, North Dakota, and Alaska for future adventures

We’re also weaving in our own shared passions: diving into the art and agriculture behind bourbon making. This trip is a blend of history, memory, botany, and healing.

Morning Walk in the Woods

We spent the first day traveling familiar roads—passing pine forests and small towns as the land gradually flattens into the wide-open Mississippi Delta. The day ended at my family’s farm (Rackrent), the place that has shaped generations of us.

For over twenty years, this old farm has been our family’s Thanksgiving anchor. My six siblings and all the cousins gather here, creating the kind of long, extended time that forges bonds deeper than anything a quick holiday visit could accomplish. There’s no WiFi. Limited indoor entertainment. Not much distraction beyond what imagination can conjure.

And so the kids:

• built forts

• created nature trails

• rode 4-wheelers through fields and along old ridges

• hunted arrowheads

• shot at wildlife

• and made memories they’ll repeat to their own children one day

The adults pass the time their own way:

• hunting at dawn

• cooking enormous meals

• knitting by the window

• reading for hours

• wandering into nearby Delta towns for groceries, antiques, or one good meal

• fixing things

At night, the old sugar-cane boiling pot becomes a fire pit, smoke curling into the cool Delta air. We sit around it drinking whiskey, telling stories, and checking occasionally on the smallest cousins. At least once in the week there, someone suggests driving into town to one of the last few juke joints. There are usually a few volunteers willing to go. If you’ve never experienced Delta nightlife—locals playing blues that carry the weight of a century, or maybe some hidden dive bar with an old juke box - you’re missing a piece of American soul. I wrote another blog years ago about taking a class at Delta State in Cleveland on the history of the Delta blues. That region, that music, and that history change you.

Returning now, after three years away, feels overdue. Last year this time my sister and I took Mom on a European Christmas Market river cruise. The year before, my niece made her debut in Mobile. Life has had us elsewhere. But today I’m grateful to be rolling back up the gravel drive past the Avent Oaks again.

It was perfectly gloomy today—low clouds, muted colors, quiet roads. The opening weekend of deer season (bow hunting started a few weeks ago) meant a parade of hunters hauling side-by-sides behind still-clean trucks.

Tom has been to the farm several times. He and Marina visited together. After she passed, he spent Thanksgiving here with my family—his first without her, and his fourth trip up to this place that became a home away from home. This trip marks his fifth. I hope it has become a comfort, a grounding point, a place that shows the South in all its complexity and contradiction.

My historical-marker app was unexpectedly quiet, which meant we weren’t missing much outside the car. Instead, we drove quietly, appreciating the deciduous trees glowing gold and orange between patches of stubborn evergreen pine.

We passed farmers markets, but I’ve already been told my refrigerator is at least 75% jars—jams, pepper sauces, pickles, odd marmalades—most I made or purchased for their novelty and used only once. So we didn’t stop for more Kudzu Jelly.

I have a habit of looking up every river we cross to trace where it begins and where it empties. Today we crossed the Pearl River just before Jackson and I smiled, remembering that I crossed the same Pearl River with another Dutch friend this summer while exploring plantations in Louisiana. The river was deeply important to the Houma people in both states—a reminder of how water pulls history behind it like a long braided rope.

We passed a sign for the Natchez Trace. I’m always tempted. That road in early spring is one of the most peaceful stretches in America. Honestly, it’s beautiful at any time of year.

Lunch at The Strawberry Café — Madison, Mississippi

In Madison we stopped at The Strawberry Café for lunch, a place that’s been serving locals since the late 1980s in the old train depot building. The brick walls still carry the faint echo of its railroad past, and the interior always feels like a mix of Southern charm and small-town ease.

We settled into an outside table overlooking the street. Tom ordered another Po Boy, and I went with their strawberry salad, which somehow tastes like spring even on the gloomiest of days. There’s something grounding about eating in converted historic buildings—knowing that decades earlier, people waited here for trains carrying letters, goods, dreams, and stories. Today it carried us.

Madison, MS

Arriving at the Family Plantation in the Mississippi Delta

After lunch we drove the familiar hour north until the landscape flattened out and the sky widened into the iconic Delta horizon. There’s always a moment when you feel it—the transition into a place where the land seems almost endless, stitched together by fields, bayous, and dirt roads that connect generations.

Once we got settled, we decided to take a walk before the early winter sunset. The mist had stopped and the whole world was washed clean—rows of fields dark and rich, the air thick with the smell of wet earth. We followed the dirt road behind the house, past the old buildings, some which have been converted to cottages and others till waiting for a purpose. We closed out the day with a simple dinner, wine, and reading.

The Delta

The Smokehouse

The Church

The Big House

The Saloon???

Morning Visit with Laura

Quick Visit for Tom with Garrett

Day 2 Little Rock — Lunch, Bourbon, and a Surprising Amount of Shopping

We didn’t have big plans for Little Rock beyond grabbing lunch and checking out the distillery. We picked a small Italian place near downtown. It wasn’t exactly cozy — a little brighter and louder than expected — but the food was good and it served its purpose: something quick, solid, and close enough to walk off if we needed to.

After lunch, we headed to Rock Town Distillery, which ended up being the real highlight of the day. The place has a relaxed, unfussy feel, and everyone working there actually seems to like what they’re doing. We ordered a tasting flight which hit a pretty wide range of bourbons.

A few stood out right away, and by the end I walked out with:

• Three bourbons

• One basil vodka (I wasn’t expecting to like it, but it’s great)

Tom picked up one of their bourbons too, plus their recipe book, which I fully expect him to put to use before the trip is over.

We got a photo before we left — nothing formal, just the two of us looking like we’d sampled ten small glasses of alcohol in the middle of the afternoon. Not a bad way to spend a couple of hours.

Little Rock wasn’t meant to be a big stop on this trip, but the distillery was definitely worth it. Simple, easy, and a good break in the middle of the drive.

Little Rock Distillery

Driving Into Fort Smith & Dinner at Rolando’s

The drive from Little Rock into Fort Smith was easy enough — long stretches of highway, a couple of small towns, and the kind of scenery that doesn’t ask much of you. By the time we reached the city limits, the sun was dropping and the air felt noticeably cooler. We checked into the hotel, dropped our bags, and headed straight out for dinner at Rolando’s Restaurante downtown.

Rolando’s sits in an older building on Garrison Avenue, and the second you walk in you can tell the place has its own personality. Bright colors on the walls, original artwork everywhere, and a kind of Latin energy that doesn’t feel manufactured. It felt lived-in and intentional.

The food was genuinely excellent. I ordered the traditional Ecuadorian soup — simple, rich, and comforting. Tom went for the shrimp dish, which he said was one of the best meals he’s had on a trip in a long time. No exaggeration. The flavors were bold without being heavy, and the seasoning wasn’t shy. It’s the kind of meal that makes you stop talking for a bit so you can just focus on eating.

Back at the hotel, we opened a bottle of wine, sat for a while, and planned out the next day. We had wanted to visit Miss Laura’s Social Club — the old brothel museum — but of course it was closed on Sundays and Mondays. Something to save for another trip.

Rolando's

Day 4 — Salvage Yards, River Crossings, Bourbon Lessons, and Hot Springs

We started the morning in Arkansas by stopping at a local salvage yard. Nothing fancy about it — just rows of old cars and scrap metal, We didn’t find what we needed there, but it was a good warm-up stop before heading across the river into Oklahoma.

The next salvage yard on the Oklahoma side was more promising. After some digging around and a short conversation with the guy running the place, we finally scored an Oklahoma license plate for Tom’s collection — state #47. Easy, low-key win.

From there, we crossed the river again and parked at a small public area near the bridge. It wasn’t crowded — just a quiet spot with river access and an easy walk up onto the bridge. Tom carried the license plate with him and walked halfway across. When he got to the middle, he let the small package he’d brought fall into the river. Simple, respectful, loving — I hope it was exactly how he wanted to close out this piece of the trip.

After that, we headed toward Hot Springs and stopped at Hot Springs Distilling. Keith, one of the owners, gave us the rundown on how he and his son ended up in the bourbon business after a trip to Scotland. He walked us through the stills, the mash, the barrels — the whole deal. I had an Ol Fashion and Tom had a sample. We bought a few more gifts, thanked Keith for opening up for us and headed to the National Park in Hot Springs.

We drove into downtown Hot Springs and walked Bathhouse Row. The buildings look a lot better than the last time I saw them during COVID — cleaned up, restored, and busy again. We grabbed dinner at Superior Bathhouse Brewery inside a restored bathhouse. It’s the only brewery in the U.S. that uses thermal spring water. Busy place, relaxed atmosphere, and good food. Nothing stiff or fussy — just exactly right after a long day.

From there, we finished the rainy drive to El Dorado. We checked into our hotel, cleaned up, and went downtown for dinner. Quiet Sunday night, a few people around, but enough open to make it easy. Low-key ending to a long but good day.