Riding the Pig Trails

This past weekend, my son, Matt, took my husband and I to eat out for his dad's birthday. We planned to go to an upscale seafood restaurant in a pretty ritzy outdoor shopping village; but along the way, we decided to go to a crab shack that had been suggested by Matt's best friend. As we were driving to the unfamiliar eatery, Matt entered the location into his IPhone GPS and began following directions for the quickest route...which usually means interstate.

However, this time, the "guiding voice" of the GPS led us on wild good chase or so it seemed. We exited the interstate, turned onto a newly-constructed overpass, and took a right side street. We took another left and drove through congested construction. We passed the most adorable inner-city trailer park with a whimsical row of mailboxes in front, a farmer's market outlined by rows of orange pumpkins, a street sign which read McLaurin Drive, and the town of Flowood's public library. Occasionally, I recognized a familiar landmark that gave me a sense of where we were. We passed Little Willie's Barbecue, a local eatery that has the absolute best hamburgers! I ate one every Thursday when I worked with Ms. Ann Marsh at the public library located near the Reservoir. Then, we drove across the Ross Barnett Reservoir Spillway at sunset. Be still my heart ~ the reflection of the setting sun against that huge mass of water was breathtaking...thank you "guiding voice" of the GPS.  Finally, we took a left at a red light, another quick left, and Eureka!  The "guiding voice" of the GPS had led us right to the front door of Crab's Seafood Place ~ thirty-two minutes exactly.

That off-the-beaten-path route reminded me of riding the pig trails when my children were young. At the time, we were living in Mrs. Beulah Thomas' hundred-year-old cabin, which had no air-conditioning. On hot Sunday afternoons, our family of five would pile up in the car, turn on the A/C, and ride the pig trails. We lived about twelve miles from the nearest town ~ a straight shot on a state highway. But...not if you are pig trailing! There are about thirty different ways to town if you follow the pig trails. We always ended up at Dairy Queen, where we ordered ice-cold treats before we returned home. By the time we got home, we were all so cold that we looked forward to the thawing-out process in our nice warm house! Haha! Tomorrow Trunk-worthy stuff, for sure!

My eighty-year-old Aunt Hilda is the person who gave us the name "riding the pig trails" for our Sunday afternoon excursions, which always continued into the fall. She said that farmers and their families used to walk their pigs to market, just like the nursery rhyme states. She told us that her father, my Grandpa Allen, would hitch up the wagon and tie up the livestock he planned to sell, then he and certain members of his family would carefully maneuver the herd of animals along a worn path to the livestock sale. Once they arrived, Grandpa would sell, barter, or trade the livestock for whatever the family needed for the upcoming year. After a full day, the family began the long ride ~ or walk ~ home, depending on whether he acquired young animals to raise for another season.  Aunt Hilda said that "this little piggy cried wee, wee, wee all the way home" was actually an accurate description of the return trip. Everyone was exhausted after the day's events, and usually the weary travelers were accompanied on their long journey back by piglets or calves who had just been separated from their mothers.  "All those dirt roads and back roads that you love to drive on Sunday afternoons are pig trails. At least, that's what we call 'em," she explained.

Most people might equate the idea of riding the pig trails to a wild goose chase ~ a futile search, a fruitless errand, a worthless hunt, a useless and often lengthy pursuit. All those phrases could describe a Sunday afternoon of riding the pig trails; however, I have never considered those precious hours with the most important people in my world as futile, fruitless, or useless ~ lengthy, maybe, but never worthless.

Even though most of our pig trail excursions took place over the summer, the fall of the year ~ especially October ~ is the perfect season to ride the pig trails. Fill up the car with gas, which is not always easy on a budget. Pack the bare necessities ~ some snacks, binoculars, a camera, a pair of scissors, an empty vase (roadside bouquets are the best!) and one cell phone for emergency. Roll down the windows and ride the pig trails!

One of my co-workers, Ms. Ella Mary, said that she and her dad used to play a travel game called Cow Poker which seems absolutely ideal for riding pig trails. She said that her dad counted the cows on the driver's side of the road, and she counted the cows on the passenger's side of the road; however, if a cemetery was located on one side of the road or the other, that person's cows died. Haha! Fruitless ~ probably; useless ~ maybe; priceless ~ most definitely!

One might call it sightseeing on a shoestring, or bird watching from the back seat, or leaf peeping your way through life. I call it riding the pig trails ~ not in pursuit of anything, but always expecting an unforgettable surprise at every bend in the road. That kind of journey never disappoints.

Dianne ; )

The Essential Work

My little blog is growing. Like a seed that has been dormant for months, I see tiny green shoots peeking out of the soil.  One hundred and eighty-eight people read my last post ~ in one day!  No...it's not one hundred and eighty-eight million, to be sure, but fifty-seven people read it the following day, and ninety-one, the next. Who are you? Do I know you? As Meg Ryan's character Kathleen Kelly types on You've Got Mail, "I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void."

Unfortunately, I don't know how to water or fertilize my little posting plants; all I know how to do is write. I am a native writer; I am a digital immigrant. My kids are technophiles, and I am a technophobe. I know so little about the self-possessed social networking world.  I have never taken one "selfie" in my life, and I would never take a selfie (holding a phone camera at arm's length and clicking pictures of myself) with platypus, puckered, or pouty lips. I have, at long last, created a Facebook page in order to participate in the library system's social media campaigns. Still, I have yet to post an event, add a picture, or even update my status. I can't  imagine reading an e-book; however, I have maxed out my check-out limit at the library like a compulsive shopper with a zero-balance credit card. Going back to work at the library after a three-year hiatus is like walking into an all-you-can-eat buffet after a forty-day fast. With hundreds of shelves and thousands of books, who needs millions of apps? I am most definitely a book native.

One of the books I am currently reading is entitled Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed.  Her bestselling memoir Wild, which I have also read, was chosen as an Oprah Book Club selection.  Even though the content of Tiny Beautiful Things is crude, challenging, and cliche at times, the range of questions fielded to Dear Sugar represents lives of missed opportunities, shattered dreams, tragic consequences, and palpable pain ~ as does the advice.

In the introduction of the book, Steve Almond explains how Cheryl Strayed ended up as Dear Sugar ~ an online advice columnist for The Rumpus, which is defined on the home page as a "place where people come to be themselves through their writing...."  Don't you just love that?  According to Almond's account, "the column that launched Sugar as a phenomenon was written in response to what would have been, for anyone else, a throwaway letter....People come to her in real pain and she ministers to them, by telling stories about her own life, the particular ways in which she has felt thwarted and lost, and how she got found again. She is able to transmute the raw material of the self-help aisle into genuine literature."

In the last paragraph of the introduction, Almond writes, "Tiny Beautiful Things will endure as a piece of literary art, as will Cheryl's other books, because they do the essential work of literary art: they make us more human than we were before.  We need books, and Cheryl's books in particular, because we are all, in the private kingdom of our hearts, desperate for the company of a wise, true friend.  Someone who isn't embarrassed by our emotions, or her own, who recognizes that life is short and that all we have to offer, in the end, is love."

The power of that paragraph...Wow. I understand the disconnect I often associate with social media...why I simply can't process it.  While the world is desperate for a thousand likes or a million views, I am desperate for the company of a wise, true friend.  I need books. I need books with a transmutable energy that abides in genuine literature and flows from the fingertips of my two hands into my soul.  I need the stamina and strength of an enduring piece of literary art, not the fleeting noise of a news feed.

I know for sure that The Tomorrow Trunk is my essential work ~ the place where I have come to be my true self.  For me, the metamorphosis occurred when a small wicker trunk seamlessly transitioned into this grand piece of luggage filled with the very best stories of substance that each day has to offer. Even if the best of today belongs in the trivial top-tray or if it is best hidden in the private kingdom of our hearts, the trunk is always ours to fill: that IS our essential work.

People often ask me, "How did The Tomorrow Trunk come about? When did it start?" The Tomorrow Trunk was born out of the most painful period of my life, which is so weird to think about now.  The year was 1993, and we had moved from our first family home that we built during prosperity and sold during loss.  My family of five moved into a hundred-year-old shack that we rented for $55 per month. As a former newspaper editor, I instinctively began looking for something to write about everyday during the painstaking period of recovery ~ Today's Big Story. I had a brown wicker trunk with a compartmentalized top tray and a hidden area beneath the tray.  I owned an IBM Selectric typewriter at the time, so I started storing the daily typed manuscripts in the trunk. When I purchased my first computer, I began saving the stories to the hard drive ~ always sure to print out copies for the 'real' trunk. I know for sure that this twenty year process has made me more human than I was before.

My saving mantra began during that transitional time of my life ~ take the best of today, tuck it way, and keep it for tomorrow.  Most importantly, my essential work has taught me to recognize that life is short, and that all we have to offer, in the end, is love.

Dianne ; )

A Welty Sense Of Place

This is a strange post. I published it once by mistake. Thirty-four people read it before I could remove it from my blog. I updated it and published it again. I removed it from the blog completely and reverted the post to draft.  Then, I re-published it a third time. Last night, I removed it again, and this morning I am updating it for the fourth time; however, this morning, I know why. This post is not about a wedding venue; this post is about a Welty sense of place.  I was reading from The New Encyclopedia of Southern Culture edited by Charles Reagan Wilson, and I came across an entry entitled, Place, Sense of.  The first line of the encyclopedia entry was a quote by Eudora Welty.  "One place comprehended can make us understand other places better." 

The second paragraph of the entry reads as follows: Attachment to a place gives an abiding identity because places associated with family, community, and history have depth.  Philosopher Yi-Fu Tuan points out that a sense of place in any human society comes from the intersection of space and time. Southerners developed an acute sense of place as a result of their dramatic and traumatic history and their rural isolation on the land for generations.  As Welty noted, "feelings are bound up with place," and the film title Places in the Heart captured the emotional quality that places evoke.  "Home" is a potent word for many Southerners, and the "homeplace" evokes reverence.

So I absolutely had to read Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience (which I read this morning) by Yi-Fu Tuan (which for some reason is the most difficult name to type).  One word ~ AMAZING!  This book should be required reading for every person who resides on the planet earth! I haven't digested the book completely, as I will need to read it twice or maybe three times; however, there is one excerpt that begs to be included in this post:

What is a place?  What gives a place its identity, its aura? These questions occurred to physicists Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg when they visited Kronberg Castle in Denmark. Bohr said to Heisenberg: "Isn't it strange how this castle changes as soon as one imagines that Hamlet lived here? As scientists we believe that a castle consists only of stones, and admire the way the architect put them together. The stones, the green roof with its patina, the wood carvings in the church, constitute the whole castle.  None of this should be changed by the fact that Hamlet lived here, and yet it is changed completely.  Suddenly the walls and the ramparts speak quite a different language. The courtyard becomes an entire world....

Mississippi author Eudora Welty was born on April 13, 1909, in Jackson, Mississippi, at 741 N. Congress Street. On April 26, 2014 ~ one hundred and five years later ~ at the very same location, my daughter is getting married.  We now know the date is completely official as it is listed on the 2014 Calendar at the Welty Commons website ~ all of which is very exciting, to be sure!

The Commons Hall is described on the website as "a grand Southern house with the spirit and style of the South and all the comforts and amenities of modern sophistication."  Katie and her fiance considered a variety of venues; however, the description of this location provided clear direction for the special day ~ the spirit and style of the South with modern sophistication. The first time I saw the house was dusk, and the golden sun of a western Mississippi sky seemed to gild its facade.  As my daughter guided me through each building, outside area, and inside room of what is known as The Commons at Eudora Welty's Birthplace, I felt a congenial invitation ~ not from a person, but from a place.  I have felt a similar propinquity with place at other times in my life, almost as if I were given the setting of a story in order to magically conjure up the unknown narrative to follow ~ a proximity, a vicinity, a nearness that provides an instant connection.  For my daughter, the grand Southern house was the perfect choice for a wedding; for me, the grand Southern house was "THE place" of Eudora Welty's One Writer's Beginnings.
 

The Welty Commons is surrounded by courthouses and Capitol buildings, magnolias and crepe myrtles, a few nationally-acclaimed restaurants and the locals' favorite tavern. On the property itself is the Tattered Pages Bookstore and Congress Street Coffee, both of which will be open on the day of the wedding!

Inside the Commons Hall, beautifully ornate chandeliers hang in every room...even the bathrooms! The time of day could not have accommodated this photographer's love of illumination with any more brilliance and intensity...each image more breathtaking than the next.

Natural lighting also finds its way into every great room, hallway and alcove and is just as radiant as the lambent light. I knew in my heart that my daughter's wedding narrative had found its perfect setting...a perfect sense of place.  

And yet, with all the Southern charm inside the Commons Hall, the grounds and outbuildings offer a more current, contemporary vibe to the venue...well-appointed places to sit, to reflect, to relate, to connect, to celebrate, to dance, to interact, to engage and to wed.  I am immediately transported back to the present...to a venue, to an event, to a wedding, to a reception, to a list of decisions.  My daughter is no different from any other bride-to-be.  It's all about the wedding, Mom; but, for me ~ the writer ~ for a brief intersection of space and time, it's all about place.

"Place is vitally important to a story.  Place answers the questions, "What happened? Who's here? Who's coming?" Place is a prompt to memory; thus the human mind is what makes place significant. This is the job of the storyteller." ~ Eudora Welty

Eudora Welty is said to have crafted the modern Southern fairy tale.  She served as queen of this Southern place, and she understood its people.  Like the phoenix that rises up from the ashes, a new story will emerge from 741 N. Congress Street. On April 26, 2014, an intersection of space and time will take place at the Welty Commons.  We will not be enamored by the lighting, or charmed by the location, or even fascinated by the birthplace of Eudora Welty.  An abiding identity will be created from experience and memory, and we will forever know it as "THE place" where Katie and Brandon were married.

Dianne ; )