Back To The Future
Back To The Future - © Kent Fletcher
January 7, 2007
Ah, the adventure of driving as a retired man can do wonders for the soul. I left Texas on Christmas Day and headed for my nephew's home in Jackson, MS, around 11 a.m. The trip there was mostly non-productive, as I wasn't really feeling real pooky when I left Alvarado. The pooch was content to ride and sleep for the most part the entire trip. It's funny to me how animals, especially dogs learn through hook and crook when to and when not to eat and/or drink. She did neither the entire seven hours, so stopping for her potty needs were minimal. As I was purdy tard when I left on the trip, I stopped in Shreveport, intending to nap a little, but after sitting for about 10 minutes, said to heck with it, let the pooch out for a brief respite, and hit the road again.
Drove into Jackson around 6 or 7 p.m., and arrived virtually unscathed. But I still didn't feel real good, physically. About an hour later, I was kneeling in the yard, puking up some fudge I'd had for breakfast and all the water I'd drunk on the trip. Shortly thereafter, my bowels rolled over, so my system was voided entirely.
Went to bed around 8 p.m., slept all night. When I awoke Tuesday morning, at least I wasn't so washed out, but I sure didn't want anything to eat. Went over to a friend's house for the rest of the day. Jim and I conversed about a myriad of things from high school to current events, and it was truly a pleasure to reminisce for a spell. One thing that kept popping up was my desire to get back to my roots, i.e., to move back home. And talking with Jim and Sandra only solidified the notion at the time.
I drove on up to Cleveland by way of Greenwood and Schlater on Wednesday, taking my time once I hit the Delta. It's strange how the landscape has really, really changed over the past several decades, when one can drive leisurely, at no unreasonable speeds to get to a final destination, and see the world in reality not just a passing blur. As I was pulling in to Doddsville, I was struck by the miles and miles and even more miles of open farmland and no houses anywhere to be seen, at least old tenant houses. There used to be many of them, but with the advent of machinery the shoddily erected places have either been turned into storage buildings for tractors, equipment, or hay, or simply torn down, or fallen down from disrepair or maintenance. A sad reminder of progress for me.
After resting a bit that evening, on Thursday I went to see yet another old high school friend, who is a modern-day slum lord of sorts. He's had a house on the market for a couple of years and I thought this would be a good jumping off place, to rent possibly. But old Fred just wants to sell the place, not rent, and I can understand his dilemma. Afterward, the pooch and I road around the county, venturing as far north as Merigold and as far west as Symonds. It was at Symonds when I happened to look at the dash panel and saw the car was overheating for some reason. So with no further ado, we ventured back to Cleveland and took care of the overheating problem. Simple fix, really, as a gasket was leaking. Good old Bardall's, can't live without the stuff, I sure was not looking forward to replacing a water pump. And during that whole day trip, I saw nary a shotgun, tenant, or dog-trot house, anywhere.
Friday morning dawned and in pretty short order, the pooch and I were off again to view the countryside in search of a future abode. This time we drove east out of Merigold, over to Drew and Sunflower County. Some beautiful homes out that way, but nothing I was looking for, not a danged one. I was beginning to have my doubts of finding that special place, my hopes dwindling fast. I was attempting to return to my days of yesteryear, to borrow a line from some movie serial, and instead was strictly in the future where none of those days are even thought of.
On Saturday, I just moseyed around Cleveland for the most part, getting terribly bored. I saw a few people who I thought may have been aware of something along the line of the abodes I was searching for. A couple of people did know what I was talking about; however, I was also told most of those old house are gone, gone, gone, never to return, unless of course, I decided to build my own. And that's a thought I hadn't thought of in the beginning. Something else to ponder. Hm.
Sunday, 12/31/06, was a day of leisure. I watched several Clint Eastwood movies on some cable channel, and played with my pooch a bit. As it was New Year's Eve, I had no real desire to be driving anywhere, I have no need for the drunk drivers of this world, and there are plenty. My brother, Jack, and I set off a few homemade cherry-bomb-type firecrackers, ever mindful of the possibility of a city cop lurking around the corner. I was going to slingshot one more in the air when a po-lice officer roared by with no lights, probably off to arrest, or to simply harass some unwitting soul just having a good time. No reenactment of the infamous mortar shooting of 1969. Darn it. So I called it quits for the evening and went to bed very shortly after midnight.
I headed on down to Hattiesburg on New Year's Day to see an old friend, BJ Hollomon, getting out of Cleveland around 10:30 a.m. While on the stretch of 49W between Silver City and Yazoo City, again I was looking for that special place in my mind. But I'm telling you, there ain't no such place twixt those two towns. No service stations, no gins, no nothing for living quarters of any kind. I arrived in Hattiesburg in fine fashion, and went with my friend to the best eating place between Memphis and Hattiesburg. His son's house, of course. Had the black-eyed peas and fatback meal, along with turnip greens and fatback, and stuffed cabbage rolls, and cool, clear water, followed up by a cuppajoe and a very thin slice of vinegar pie. Thanks to Paul and Charlotte, there was ample Cool Whip to kill the tartness of the vinegar pie. And, no, I didn't ask for the recipe!
BJ and I talked well into the evening about those little things in life, from politics to memories long gone. I even watched a couple of movies with him, something I've not done - watching movies - in a very long time.
Tuesday morning was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining brightly and the winds were brisk, so the pooch and I headed on down to Ocean Springs to see yet another old friend, a fellow I had met in 1970 in Norfolk, VA, during a Navy school. While we didn't really have much in common anymore, the conversation was good, and I was able to finally see his grown-up daughter, now a student of art in some swanky auction house, Sotheby's I believe, in Noo Yawk City. I last saw her some 11 years ago. A very sophisticated young lady now, she's really having a great adventure in life. His wife was also her bubbly self, ever the steering wheel for her husband.
Joe took off early Wednesday morning for Jackson on business, and I left shortly after, driving US 90 from Biloxi to Gulfport, seeing a bit of the lingering destruction from Hurricane Katrina. Of course, most of the debris has been hauled off, and a lot of mere slabs are all that's left of grand homes and places of business so long in the making in that area. But at the rate those folks are getting back on their feet, I would dare say in another 10 or so years, Katrina will be a short memory, just like Camille in 1969.
Having completed that short drive along the Gulf Coast, I headed back north toward Mendenhall, MS, to see yet another high school classmate. Kirk Hill is into old cars, like Model T's and Model A's of all sorts of sizes and styles. In fact, he was getting ready to make a trip the next day to Johnson City, TX, to pick up yet another carcass to add to his collection, mostly for the parts. He has several in various stages of refurbishing at the moment. He offered to take me into town for lunch in a Model T, but I was already chilled to the bone, and turned down the opportunity. I told him I would return when the weather was warmer for a short trip with him.
After spending a little time with Kirk, I made the final leg of my journey that day, arriving once again at my nephew's house in Jackson. As his wife, Lisa, wasn't feeling too perky, I rode along with him and his two sons to an eat place not far from the house. A nice time had by all, we returned to his house to watch LSU pound the hell out of Notre Dame. After a while, though, it really got boring, so I turned in while John was snoozing on the couch.
The next morning, Thursday, Lisa took off with William for school before I got up, and John and I yakked some more about my possibly moving back home. I told him of my disappointment in not being able to find any of the houses I thought would still be standing, but told him I was planning on returning in February, maybe, to do some more riding around and looking, maybe even heading up toward Tunica and the surrounding area. I'll just have to take a wait-and-see attitude for the time being.
When John took Talbot to school, I also eased out, going up to Madison to see Mr. Whit, who was the embalmer at Fletcher Funeral Home for so many years, and so many years ago. As I was driving into the retirement home at St. Catherine's, I happened to look down. "What is in my cup of water?" I was thinking, as it dawned on me the "what" was my cell phone. Drowned. Kaput. Zilch for making any calls for a while. Somewhat disgruntled, I went about finding Mr. Whit in the nursing area of the home. I tried to wake him up, ever so gently, but that was a no-go. I left word for him with a nurse, that I had been there, and moseyed on out, back to the car.
By the time I was driving out, the rain was beginning to fall. Instead of backtracking to a bookstore off Northside Drive, I took the I-220 bypass around the west side of town, caught I-20 and headed home. I finally found a Cingular store in Monroe, LA, and was able to purchase a Go-Phone, as I am not eligible for an upgrade. A replacement phone for the one I had would have been about $170, and the Go-Phone was only $40 plus tax, so that's the way I went. However, all my programmed numbers are still in the old phone, so it's a matter of effort to reprogram the pertinent contacts. Rats.
Ah, so where was I last night? Oh, yeah, now I remember, and now I'll continue and finish this epistle!
By the time I left Monroe, around noon, the rain was pretty steady, but the traffic was still flowing smoothly, even in some of the harder rain. I kept my speed around 70 mph, and encountered no great problems, other than typical idiot drivers from LA and TX crossing two lanes at the last possible moment to make an exit. At least those drivers make for interesting times, finger-waves included.
I finally crossed the LA-TX state line around 1, stopped in at the first rest stop, let the pooch do her thing and stretch her legs, and I did the same. As I walked into the welcome center, I thought to myself, "Wow, it's nice to be back in my home state." And that thought kind of surprised me, for the thoughts of moving back home were so firmly seated in my mind during the entire foray home. I suppose had I actually found something while in the Delta or at least North Mississippi, I may not have had that thought.
As I've written elsewhere, Texas IS my home, now, and I'm still satisfied with it. However, last night I was perusing the web and ran across a website featuring the new shotgun houses available in the South, specifically in and around the areas affected so terribly by Hurricane Katrina. These houses are pre-fab types, with metal frames vice wood frames, and appear to be the going thing down there. When I first got to the Delta, the thoughts of renting and/or owning a shotgun house was first and foremost in my mind, and when I could find none in all my travels around the Delta, I was kinda depressed about it, thinking the only way I would ever get one, would be to build one. So I sent an email to this one particular company, asking some trivial questions, and one important question, namely the basic cost of one, delivered to North Mississippi. I await the answer, which I don't expect before Monday or Tuesday, at best. In fact, I may never hear anything at all, and that's okay, too, for I really don't know about moving back to my home state in the future, at least the near future.
Back to the future. I went, I saw, I explored, I visited, and I returned to my claimed home for now, and I'm still a happy camper, and I'll remain in Texas for the foreseeable future, unless, of course, God or some human bean tells me otherwise, or gives me an opportunity I can't refuse.
January 7, 2007
Ah, the adventure of driving as a retired man can do wonders for the soul. I left Texas on Christmas Day and headed for my nephew's home in Jackson, MS, around 11 a.m. The trip there was mostly non-productive, as I wasn't really feeling real pooky when I left Alvarado. The pooch was content to ride and sleep for the most part the entire trip. It's funny to me how animals, especially dogs learn through hook and crook when to and when not to eat and/or drink. She did neither the entire seven hours, so stopping for her potty needs were minimal. As I was purdy tard when I left on the trip, I stopped in Shreveport, intending to nap a little, but after sitting for about 10 minutes, said to heck with it, let the pooch out for a brief respite, and hit the road again.
Drove into Jackson around 6 or 7 p.m., and arrived virtually unscathed. But I still didn't feel real good, physically. About an hour later, I was kneeling in the yard, puking up some fudge I'd had for breakfast and all the water I'd drunk on the trip. Shortly thereafter, my bowels rolled over, so my system was voided entirely.
Went to bed around 8 p.m., slept all night. When I awoke Tuesday morning, at least I wasn't so washed out, but I sure didn't want anything to eat. Went over to a friend's house for the rest of the day. Jim and I conversed about a myriad of things from high school to current events, and it was truly a pleasure to reminisce for a spell. One thing that kept popping up was my desire to get back to my roots, i.e., to move back home. And talking with Jim and Sandra only solidified the notion at the time.
I drove on up to Cleveland by way of Greenwood and Schlater on Wednesday, taking my time once I hit the Delta. It's strange how the landscape has really, really changed over the past several decades, when one can drive leisurely, at no unreasonable speeds to get to a final destination, and see the world in reality not just a passing blur. As I was pulling in to Doddsville, I was struck by the miles and miles and even more miles of open farmland and no houses anywhere to be seen, at least old tenant houses. There used to be many of them, but with the advent of machinery the shoddily erected places have either been turned into storage buildings for tractors, equipment, or hay, or simply torn down, or fallen down from disrepair or maintenance. A sad reminder of progress for me.
After resting a bit that evening, on Thursday I went to see yet another old high school friend, who is a modern-day slum lord of sorts. He's had a house on the market for a couple of years and I thought this would be a good jumping off place, to rent possibly. But old Fred just wants to sell the place, not rent, and I can understand his dilemma. Afterward, the pooch and I road around the county, venturing as far north as Merigold and as far west as Symonds. It was at Symonds when I happened to look at the dash panel and saw the car was overheating for some reason. So with no further ado, we ventured back to Cleveland and took care of the overheating problem. Simple fix, really, as a gasket was leaking. Good old Bardall's, can't live without the stuff, I sure was not looking forward to replacing a water pump. And during that whole day trip, I saw nary a shotgun, tenant, or dog-trot house, anywhere.
Friday morning dawned and in pretty short order, the pooch and I were off again to view the countryside in search of a future abode. This time we drove east out of Merigold, over to Drew and Sunflower County. Some beautiful homes out that way, but nothing I was looking for, not a danged one. I was beginning to have my doubts of finding that special place, my hopes dwindling fast. I was attempting to return to my days of yesteryear, to borrow a line from some movie serial, and instead was strictly in the future where none of those days are even thought of.
On Saturday, I just moseyed around Cleveland for the most part, getting terribly bored. I saw a few people who I thought may have been aware of something along the line of the abodes I was searching for. A couple of people did know what I was talking about; however, I was also told most of those old house are gone, gone, gone, never to return, unless of course, I decided to build my own. And that's a thought I hadn't thought of in the beginning. Something else to ponder. Hm.
Sunday, 12/31/06, was a day of leisure. I watched several Clint Eastwood movies on some cable channel, and played with my pooch a bit. As it was New Year's Eve, I had no real desire to be driving anywhere, I have no need for the drunk drivers of this world, and there are plenty. My brother, Jack, and I set off a few homemade cherry-bomb-type firecrackers, ever mindful of the possibility of a city cop lurking around the corner. I was going to slingshot one more in the air when a po-lice officer roared by with no lights, probably off to arrest, or to simply harass some unwitting soul just having a good time. No reenactment of the infamous mortar shooting of 1969. Darn it. So I called it quits for the evening and went to bed very shortly after midnight.
I headed on down to Hattiesburg on New Year's Day to see an old friend, BJ Hollomon, getting out of Cleveland around 10:30 a.m. While on the stretch of 49W between Silver City and Yazoo City, again I was looking for that special place in my mind. But I'm telling you, there ain't no such place twixt those two towns. No service stations, no gins, no nothing for living quarters of any kind. I arrived in Hattiesburg in fine fashion, and went with my friend to the best eating place between Memphis and Hattiesburg. His son's house, of course. Had the black-eyed peas and fatback meal, along with turnip greens and fatback, and stuffed cabbage rolls, and cool, clear water, followed up by a cuppajoe and a very thin slice of vinegar pie. Thanks to Paul and Charlotte, there was ample Cool Whip to kill the tartness of the vinegar pie. And, no, I didn't ask for the recipe!
BJ and I talked well into the evening about those little things in life, from politics to memories long gone. I even watched a couple of movies with him, something I've not done - watching movies - in a very long time.
Tuesday morning was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining brightly and the winds were brisk, so the pooch and I headed on down to Ocean Springs to see yet another old friend, a fellow I had met in 1970 in Norfolk, VA, during a Navy school. While we didn't really have much in common anymore, the conversation was good, and I was able to finally see his grown-up daughter, now a student of art in some swanky auction house, Sotheby's I believe, in Noo Yawk City. I last saw her some 11 years ago. A very sophisticated young lady now, she's really having a great adventure in life. His wife was also her bubbly self, ever the steering wheel for her husband.
Joe took off early Wednesday morning for Jackson on business, and I left shortly after, driving US 90 from Biloxi to Gulfport, seeing a bit of the lingering destruction from Hurricane Katrina. Of course, most of the debris has been hauled off, and a lot of mere slabs are all that's left of grand homes and places of business so long in the making in that area. But at the rate those folks are getting back on their feet, I would dare say in another 10 or so years, Katrina will be a short memory, just like Camille in 1969.
Having completed that short drive along the Gulf Coast, I headed back north toward Mendenhall, MS, to see yet another high school classmate. Kirk Hill is into old cars, like Model T's and Model A's of all sorts of sizes and styles. In fact, he was getting ready to make a trip the next day to Johnson City, TX, to pick up yet another carcass to add to his collection, mostly for the parts. He has several in various stages of refurbishing at the moment. He offered to take me into town for lunch in a Model T, but I was already chilled to the bone, and turned down the opportunity. I told him I would return when the weather was warmer for a short trip with him.
After spending a little time with Kirk, I made the final leg of my journey that day, arriving once again at my nephew's house in Jackson. As his wife, Lisa, wasn't feeling too perky, I rode along with him and his two sons to an eat place not far from the house. A nice time had by all, we returned to his house to watch LSU pound the hell out of Notre Dame. After a while, though, it really got boring, so I turned in while John was snoozing on the couch.
The next morning, Thursday, Lisa took off with William for school before I got up, and John and I yakked some more about my possibly moving back home. I told him of my disappointment in not being able to find any of the houses I thought would still be standing, but told him I was planning on returning in February, maybe, to do some more riding around and looking, maybe even heading up toward Tunica and the surrounding area. I'll just have to take a wait-and-see attitude for the time being.
When John took Talbot to school, I also eased out, going up to Madison to see Mr. Whit, who was the embalmer at Fletcher Funeral Home for so many years, and so many years ago. As I was driving into the retirement home at St. Catherine's, I happened to look down. "What is in my cup of water?" I was thinking, as it dawned on me the "what" was my cell phone. Drowned. Kaput. Zilch for making any calls for a while. Somewhat disgruntled, I went about finding Mr. Whit in the nursing area of the home. I tried to wake him up, ever so gently, but that was a no-go. I left word for him with a nurse, that I had been there, and moseyed on out, back to the car.
By the time I was driving out, the rain was beginning to fall. Instead of backtracking to a bookstore off Northside Drive, I took the I-220 bypass around the west side of town, caught I-20 and headed home. I finally found a Cingular store in Monroe, LA, and was able to purchase a Go-Phone, as I am not eligible for an upgrade. A replacement phone for the one I had would have been about $170, and the Go-Phone was only $40 plus tax, so that's the way I went. However, all my programmed numbers are still in the old phone, so it's a matter of effort to reprogram the pertinent contacts. Rats.
Ah, so where was I last night? Oh, yeah, now I remember, and now I'll continue and finish this epistle!
By the time I left Monroe, around noon, the rain was pretty steady, but the traffic was still flowing smoothly, even in some of the harder rain. I kept my speed around 70 mph, and encountered no great problems, other than typical idiot drivers from LA and TX crossing two lanes at the last possible moment to make an exit. At least those drivers make for interesting times, finger-waves included.
I finally crossed the LA-TX state line around 1, stopped in at the first rest stop, let the pooch do her thing and stretch her legs, and I did the same. As I walked into the welcome center, I thought to myself, "Wow, it's nice to be back in my home state." And that thought kind of surprised me, for the thoughts of moving back home were so firmly seated in my mind during the entire foray home. I suppose had I actually found something while in the Delta or at least North Mississippi, I may not have had that thought.
As I've written elsewhere, Texas IS my home, now, and I'm still satisfied with it. However, last night I was perusing the web and ran across a website featuring the new shotgun houses available in the South, specifically in and around the areas affected so terribly by Hurricane Katrina. These houses are pre-fab types, with metal frames vice wood frames, and appear to be the going thing down there. When I first got to the Delta, the thoughts of renting and/or owning a shotgun house was first and foremost in my mind, and when I could find none in all my travels around the Delta, I was kinda depressed about it, thinking the only way I would ever get one, would be to build one. So I sent an email to this one particular company, asking some trivial questions, and one important question, namely the basic cost of one, delivered to North Mississippi. I await the answer, which I don't expect before Monday or Tuesday, at best. In fact, I may never hear anything at all, and that's okay, too, for I really don't know about moving back to my home state in the future, at least the near future.
Back to the future. I went, I saw, I explored, I visited, and I returned to my claimed home for now, and I'm still a happy camper, and I'll remain in Texas for the foreseeable future, unless, of course, God or some human bean tells me otherwise, or gives me an opportunity I can't refuse.
posted by Fletch @ 8:01 AM
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