I grew up in Memphis but have roots in Mississippi. My mom is from the small town of Weir – actually about 10 miles outside of Weir, if you can even imagine.
Fortunately, I can. Some of my fondest summer memories were made there.
My Mamaw had seven rooms in her house and in each there was at least one sewing machine, closets full of material and some quilting contraption hanging from the ceiling in the back room. There were always fresh vegetables from her garden and a pan of cornbread ready to eat on her stove even when she wasn’t expecting anyone.
She would travel miles to pick peaches and strawberries to give to our family. She grew the best tomatoes I’ve ever eaten. She smoked Camels without filters and usually fell asleep on the sofa watching “The Tonight Show.”
My cousins took me fishing and taught me to ride horses. I helped in the garden and helped feed the cows. It seemed like you could run for miles on her land without stopping – much different than Memphis.
I remember the nights being so much darker than the city – so dark that it often made me wish I were home. It wasn’t until much later that I learned to appreciate the clarity of a deep country night. I would eventually fall asleep to the sound of Johnny Carson’s voice drifting down the hallway, and wake up in the morning ready for a new adventure.
I would come home saying things like “ain’t” and “yes’m,” and begging for cowboy boots. I’m sure my mom thought she’d left that place far behind, but each time I brought a piece of that place back with me.
Feels like home
Oxford is a different Mississippi than the one I knew growing up – more professional, more cosmopolitan. But just outside the city limits the night sky turns a little darker, reminding me that the Mississippi of my past is still there to share with my own child. The attempts I make are small. We fish at Lake Patsy and numerous other fishing holes around the county. And a lunch in Taylor and a glass of tea on the porch is almost like being at Mamaw’s.
Our friends graciously share their horses with us – although my little boy is sometimes more interested in their son’s action figures than riding.
I have one of my grandmother’s many sewing machines and have made some poor attempts at simply threading it. I occasionally buy tomatoes at the Farmers’ Market, and just the other day my neighbor brought fresh peaches to our door. I said “Thank you” and told him of my grandmother’s peach-picking days, then quickly closed the door before a tear fell.
One of my favorite pastimes is riding back roads. It helps me breathe and reminds me of those summer days outside of Weir.
My grandad was born in Toccopola and his grandfather owned a saw mill on the Yocona River. Recently my drives have taken me down Highway 334 in search of that place.
I know there are more scientific methods of finding the exact location. But for now I’ll just explore the beautiful countryside that surrounds our little metropolis, and hope that one day my little boy grows to love the Mississippi that I remember.