QUICK STOP IN NATCHEZ, MS
My dad suggested I drive through Mississippi and visit his friend, Father
Greg at St. Francis of Assisi church. I thought that was a great idea.
I hadn't planned on going through Mississippi, but since I had
a friendly place to stop, why not? I was also interested in the Natchez
Trace Parkway, which just happened
to be going in the right direction.
On the way, I stopped to see Natchez, a quaint little historic town
situated on the banks of the Mississippi. It was a hot sunny day, so
Riley and I couldn't venture too far from the car where Peyote was
hanging out with all the windows open just enough so she couldn't jump
out. There was a grassy park on the top of a bluff overlooking Miss
River (as all the road signs referred to the great Mississippi). I
took a quick look around, snapped a few shots and was back in the
car in no time. We weren't far from Natchez State Park, where I decided
to stop for the night.


NATCHEZ TRACE PARKWAY
From Wikipedia:
The Natchez Trace, a 440-mile-long path extending
from Natchez, Mississippi to Nashville, Tennessee, linked the Cumberland,
the Tennessee and Mississippi rivers. It was used extensively by Native
Americans and early European explorers as both a trade and transit
route in the late 1700s and early 1800s. Today, the trail has been
commemorated with the 444-mile-long Natchez Trace Parkway which follows
the approximate path of the trace. The trail itself has a long and
rich history, filled with brave explorers, dastardly outlaws and daring
settlers. Parts of the original trail are still accessible.
What a pleasure it was driving this parkway. Smooth road, no stop
signs, 50 mph. A perfect leisurely drive....until... I saw a group
of dogs on the road ahead of me and slowed down. Then I saw a pickup
truck coming toward me on the other side of the road. I naturally
assumed he would also slow down and carefully maneuver around the
dogs. Nope. He just kept moving right along and plowed through
the dogs. I saw one of them go under his wheel. He didn't slow
down or even stop to see if he hurt any of them. I couldn't believe
it. i was so furious I rolled down my window and yelled at him
to turn around! ...you hit those dogs! He
kept going. Miraculously, all the dogs were able to run away to the
cover of the trees. I slowly made my way past them and noticed that
they were sticking together in pairs, but behaving erratically. There
was nothing I could do, but it ruined my day. I couldn't tell if
the dogs were stray, wild, or had homes somewhere. In fact, there
seemed to be a lot of stray dogs roaming around the South. My first
instinct was to stop and check the dog for tags so that I could get
it home safely...but I quickly realized that many of them had no
homes. I wasn't used to seeing this in my own country and it was
a bummer to see. Litter, as well. It was disheartening to drive through
much of the southern backroads and see so much garbage on the side
of the road. Again, I thought the country as a whole had solved this
problem. That's another reason why the Parkway was such a pleasure
to drive - it was beautiful, clean and fresh.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI CHURCH AND SCHOOL
I arrived at the church and met Father Greg, a young, hip
Franciscan friar. He considered the size of my rig and suggested
I park in the back, where i could run a power cord from the garage
and let Riley run in the field. He left me to get parked and settled
and I tackled my most challenging back-up job yet: between a couple
of buildings and around a corner. It was a cinch. I was getting good
at backing up.
Father Greg was busy with Holy Week, but he generously took me to
a favorite local restaurant for dinner. I told him about the dogs on
the road and the truck, and he wasn't surprised. He told me a little
about Greenwood, Emmett Till, Robert Johnson (the great grand-daddy
of the Delta blues) and the work he is doing with the church and school.
It was dark, but we drove through town, over the bridge, past large
agricultural fields, past "one
of" Robert
Johnson's graves and then stopped briefly at Tallahatchie Flats. This
was a cluster of sharecropper homes that had been restored and was
now something like a living history B&B
- where you could experience old-time genuine Mississippi living (modernized
with air-conditioning).
It wasn't far from here that Emmett Till, a young black boy from
Chicago, was brutally murdered for flirting with a white shop
owner. It had a tremendous impact on the civil rights movement, but
that story haunted me the entire time I was in Greenwood.
While docked at the church, I was asked to visit the kids during class-time
and share a little about my trip. The fourth grade class was a joy
and seemed to enjoy hearing about where I've been and seeing pictures
of moose in Maine. They sang a song for me and recited a poem by Maya
Angelou that
brought tears to my eyes.
I had only intended on staying a couple of nights, but was delayed
by a massive storm system that was coming from the west and spanned
the entire country, so I couldn't outrun it if I tried. I was in Tornado
Alley and it was tornado season and that made me very nervous. Really
nervous, and it was scheduled to hit Greenwood hardest at 3:00 am,
with tornados likely. I did what I could to prepare and tried to get
a good night's sleep. At 3:00 am I heard a freight train roaring outside
and in my half-sleep state thought "Okay, here we go, please spare
us...".
As I listened and awoke fully, I peered through the curtains to see
no rain, no wind, and no tornado. It was just a very vivid dream.








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