Magic up the Mighty Mississippi
Ah, the mighty Mississippi River. This is a memorable part of the route to fly on Christmas Eve. There’s a particular stretch between Memphis, Tennessee, and St. Louis, Missouri, that fills my heart each year. I love soaring up the river, against the mighty current.
In Memphis lives a sweet red-headed girl named Jessie. Jessie, now seven years old, is truly a shining star in her family. She loves country music and dreams of becoming the next Carrie Underwood. This year, the elves and I prepared a special gift for her—a new karaoke machine and a sparkling pink microphone. Keep singing, Jessie, and never give up on your dreams. I know you have a song in you that will be famous one day.
From Memphis, my reindeer and I cross the river to visit a few hundred homes in Arkansas, passing through Jonesboro. We’re only in Arkansas for a short time before reaching the bootheel of Missouri. We use the bootheel to skirt back over the river and into Kentucky. By this point in the night, we’ve already completed most of Kentucky. We just have to finish everything west of the Land Between the Lakes. Soon, we find ourselves in Western Kentucky heading toward the charming town of Paducah.
In Paducah, there’s a bright six-year-old girl named Mary Lynn. We've been visiting her since she was a baby. Mary Lynn is incredibly smart for her age and has an impressive knack for geography. She can point to any state on the map and tell you its capital. To be honest, I sometimes struggle to remember the capitals of Wyoming, West Virginia, or South Dakota. For Mary Lynn, we’ve prepared a special gift—a Box of Santa Stories, filled with tales to inspire her love for reading. Mary Lynn could be a mayor one day or maybe even the first woman president. You never know. I nibble on a cookie left out for me, and we’re off to the next house.
As we skirt up the river, going back and forth between southern Illinois and Missouri, I can see it—the Arch of the Midwest, standing tall and proud in St. Louis. It's always a breathtaking sight from the skies and gliding under the arch is a thrill every time.
In St. Louis, I think about a boy named Mark. Mark is now ten years old and in the fourth grade. Last year, when he was nine, he stayed up late on Christmas Eve, determined to catch a glimpse of me. He found a clever hiding spot under the dining room table, lying on top of the chairs.
Sneaky boy! This year, he loves trains, and the elves have created a special motorized train set for him, complete with two separate trains that intertwine and a little town he can build around it. Mark didn’t stay up to see me this year, so I left him a note reminding him to keep the trains on schedule. He could be a conductor one day.
With St. Louis behind us, we continue our journey north. The reindeer and I take a short break before we find ourselves approaching the borders of Iowa. The adventure never stops, and the magic of Christmas keeps us going all throughout the night.
As I fly along the Mississippi River, I think about all the children along its banks, dreaming of Santa and the joy he brings. Each visit, each gift, is a reminder that we're in this together and that the magic of Christmas starts in the hearts of children.
