This does remind me of the Ode to Billie Joe about a suicide on the Tallahatchie River.
I actually even saw the Tallahatchie River.
Old friend of mine hauled me down there a couple times.
We both were sort of barflies back then so we didn’t ‘splore as much as we should have, but we did hit Junior’s Barbecue (life-changing) and the Tallahatchie.
Actually the latter was one of those...well, let’s call it a learnable moment. We hiked down to the river, entirely enclosed by giant cypress trees, and as we reached the river the sky broke through...I realized there was an old black man about every 150 yards along the bank, with a tall cane pole and a five-gallon bucket.
There was a old gent fishing right where we came in, and I walked up beside him to watch him fish. I asked him a question or two—big fellow, staring at his bobber—and he kind of mumbled something in reply. I asked him another question and met his glance as he looked back at me very quickly, just for a peek.
I saw what was in his eyes and realized he was terrified of us. Thought we were waiting for a word from him we might use as an excuse.
Left him alone after that. Something to think about. Circa 1995, I guess. Twice my size. Terrified.