“I had to see it in person,” Nelson, who lives 40 miles away in Sikeston, Mo., said Monday evening as she roamed the landscape that looked almost like desert. “You wouldn’t believe this is the Mississippi River.”

The nation’s mightiest, most mythic waterway has been strangled by months of dry conditions, which have sent water levels plummeting to historic lows. For weeks now, that slow-moving crisis has made it difficult, if not impossible, to move barges down a river that serves as a highway for about 60 percent of the nation’s foreign-bound corn and soybeans.

The result is a season of uncertainty for many up and down the river who depend on it for their livelihoods, from farmers growing crops to the tugboat pilots who steer barges toward the Gulf of Mexico and back. The deep worries over the crippled supply chain have mingled with the sheer curiosity of people who have flocked to the banks of the Mississippi to marvel at a sight few can ever recall.

Aerial images and meteorological data help to illustrate how dire the situation has become: Sandbars line a narrowing river channel, the result of scant precipitation and parched soils across the Missouri River Valley to the west and the Ohio River Basin to the east.

Historically, the winding river was marked by a wide flood plain that would swell during wetter years, while drier years would leave pools and deeper spots throughout the waterway, said Olivia Dorothy, upper Mississippi basin director for the advocacy group American Rivers.

But the river has since been altered by dams, levees and other structures, and engineered to maintain a central channel that carries barge traffic that is key to commerce along the Mississippi. But the river has become so dry, that central channel is about all that is flowing in some places these days.

Levels have sunk so low that many boat ramps don’t stretch down far enough to reach the water. Docks that usually float with ease sit tilted and grounded on riverbanks. Stretches of the river have transformed into a marvel of drought, attracting onlookers to spots such as a dead-end road outside Portageville.

Jarrod Tipton brought his son, Jaxson, to bear witness in his Spider-Man pajamas.

“He’s 7, and I told him we need to get over here because he’d probably never see anything like this again in his life,” Tipton said. “You can almost walk to Tennessee,” he said, gazing across the only sliver of water that remained between him and the far bank…….More Here