Words & photos:
Nikki Bettis –
32 Feet Up
https://32feetup.com

Nikki Bettis

@32feetup links
Nikki Bettis vlogged the entire journey on their social media @32feetup: www.instagram.com/32feetup
www.youtube.com/@32feetup
www.tiktok.com/@32feetup
Facebook page (we posted daily during the trip): www.facebook.com/32feetup

96 days on the Mississippi with seven kids – What the river taught us about courage, family, and carrying on

The Mississippi River doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t care if you’re prepared, brave, overwhelmed, or barely holding it together. It doesn’t care if you’re a seasoned paddler or a single Mom figuring things out as she goes. The river just keeps moving. It’s wide, patient in some places, and narrow and demanding in others. But it only asks one thing of you: show up and keep going.

Appalachian Trail
In 2023, we hiked the entire Appalachian Trail. After surviving domestic violence and a divorce, we needed a new adventure. The Mississippi River was it.

I showed up with seven of my 15 biological kids, a handful of kayaks and canoes, and a plan that looked a lot cleaner on paper than in real life. Ninety-six days later, after 2,350 miles on the Mississippi River, I understood something I hadn’t fully grasped before. Adventure isn’t about conquering nature. It’s about letting it change you.

Before we launched, people asked the same question over and over again: why would you do this with seven young kids (6-14 when they started and 7-15 when they ended)? Sometimes it came from curiosity, sometimes disbelief, sometimes judgment wrapped in concern. The easy answer is that we love adventure. The honest answer is that I wanted my kids to see what perseverance looks like when it isn’t filtered, edited, or made comfortable. I wanted them to experience a goal so big it couldn’t be rushed, skipped, or hacked.

The Mississippi River is not a highlight reel. It’s a slow burn. It’s early mornings and gritty hands. It’s the wind that humbles you and the silence that makes you think. It’s learning to live inside uncertainty without panicking. That felt like precisely the kind of classroom my kids needed.

Northern Minnesota
In Northern Minnesota, the river greeted us gently at first. Calm water. Quiet mornings. Bald eagles perched in the trees like they knew something we didn’t. It didn’t take long for reality to set in. The Mississippi isn’t one river; it’s many. It changes personalities daily. Some mornings, it carried us effortlessly. Other days, it felt determined to test every ounce of our patience.

Barges were our first real lesson in humility. You don’t out-paddle them. You plan. You wait. You communicate. You read the water and accept that you are small in a vast system. That lesson landed fast and stayed with us.

My Kids learned to read currents. They started noticing weather changes before I did. They encouraged each other when fear crept in. They knew that quitting was easy to imagine but harder to live with afterward. As a single Mom, I felt the weight of every decision… when to push, when to rest, when to call it early, and when to say we could go just a little farther. The river taught me that leadership isn’t loud. It’s steady.

We didn’t just paddle the Mississippi. We lived beside it. River towns welcomed us in ways I’ll never forget. Strangers offered rides, meals, stories, and places to rest. Retired lock workers shared decades of river wisdom. Campgrounds became temporary neighbourhoods. Boat ramps turned into dinner tables. And the kids experienced their first-ever Halloween.

The Mississippi connects people long before it connects places. Every town had its own relationship with the river. Some revered it. Some feared it. Some depended on it without ever really looking at it.

Some days I cried quietly
Not every day was inspiring. There were days I cried quietly, days when logistics felt heavier than the paddles. Days when the river stretched endlessly ahead, and I questioned who I thought I was to take this on.

The Mississippi taught us lessons no book ever could. You can’t rush water. Power doesn’t announce itself – small efforts compound. Bad days don’t cancel good goals. You miss everything if you’re always focused on the finish.

We learned to celebrate tiny victories like a smooth crossing, a perfect campsite, a sunset that stopped us mid-sentence. We knew that fear doesn’t mean stop; it means pay attention.

When people ask what my kids gained from the adventure, I don’t talk about miles, days, or records. I talk about confidence that can’t be taken away. They know what it feels like to commit to something massive and finish it. They know discomfort is temporary. They know teamwork isn’t optional. They know they’re capable of more than they believed on day one.

Normal feels strange
As the river widened toward the Gulf, something shifted. The current felt different. The air changed. The end was no longer theoretical; it was close enough to feel. I expected a celebration. What I didn’t expect was grief. When you live simply, paddle daily, and measure life in river miles instead of notifications, returning to normal feels strange.

On our final day, we cheered. We hugged. We cried. We let the moment land. Ninety-six days. One river. A lifetime of perspective.

We learned something profound
The Mississippi didn’t make us fearless. It made us honest. It showed my kids that the world doesn’t bend to your comfort, but it rewards your courage. Adventure doesn’t solve your problems. It reveals who you are when things get hard. And that’s exactly why we’ll keep showing up to rivers, trails, and wild ideas that don’t make sense to everyone else. Somewhere between the first paddle stroke and the last mile, we learned something profound and straightforward: we are capable together. And the river just keeps flowing, waiting for the next group brave enough to listen.