A BUCKET OF BATS

After 200 miles on the road with Madchen & Schatzie protesting being kenneled, I was ready for the Jacuzzi, pool and a nice dinner at the motel. My grandpa said to eat dessert first. Child-like I giggled over German chocolate cake with coconut frosting, a wee piece of snickers cheesecake, a taste of cannoli, and something white and gooey with coconut, pecans and a hint of rum. Delightful! My second course was three green beans, a variety of other cooked veggies and one small barbecued rib.

Cats settled in for the night, I walked around the parking lot talking on the phone. I forgot I was in a protected wetland. The only enemy the mosquitoes have here is bats, and bats need water. Just over the levy is the Mississippi River―plenty of water. Pausing on the patio was a mistake. Mosquitoes didn’t have to chase me, they just moved in and feasted on my ankles. Where’s a bat when you need one?

When I worked for Galen & nellie in downtown Omaha, their brick building was over 100 years old. Mortar had disintegrated around the windows allowing bats and breezes easy entrance and exit. Do breezes exit? On the phone one day, I looked down and saw a bat on the top of my foot. “OH!” I don’t know how long it had been there; it didn’t feel like anything. Was it hovering? My "Ohs" grew progressively louder until I noticed a peanut butter bucket on top of the file. The lady on the phone kept talking. I tilted my foot. The bat jumped off, did its clicking sonar sound and climbed up the brick wall. Lady is still yacking. I laid the phone down, grabbed the bucket, scooped the bat in with the lid and clamped it down. Big-eyed co-workers gathered to see what my “Oh’s” were about. I didn’t explain, just slipped outside and turned it loose. It wouldn’t surprise me if the bat was back in the building before I was. I picked up the phone, and she was still talking, oblivious to what had happened.

Tonight I wish I had a bucket of bats.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

SHE HAS THE LAST WORD

By the front entrance of Lake Tiak-O'Khata's lodge, the wagon wheel that helped clear the land is bent and broken by Mother Nature's wisteria. Fierce, isn't she?

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MISSISSIPPI'S ONLY SANCTIONED RACETRACK

This is the harness race with pacers, horses trained to move right legs at the same time, left the same, a smoother ride. Fast clopping, sulky wheels rattling, audience leaning on the fence cheering, a day at the races. All week long pacers, trotters and quarter horses entertained. Win some, lose some.

Notice how red the soil is; wet it stains, won't wash out. Grownups prayed for dry weather for racing. Kids prayed for rain and got it. Infield puddles gave kids an excuse to get wet running or sliding through and wrestling. Two girls did backflips numerous times. Pink and yellow boots were tossed aside so girls could mud fight. A hug included a handful of red mud to their hair and down their back. A hosing off was in order.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

WORKING THE MULES

Mule competitions: adding another fifty to one-hundred pounds to the sled excited the mules. Hard workers, mules look like horses, but their ears are much longer, their faces larger, they bray not whinny, and they're a whole lot more stubborn. When you walk into the Tunica, Mississippi museum, you'll be eye to eye with a mule pulling a cotton wagon. They have their place in our history and at the fair.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

BAD BOYS AT THE FAIR

Just prior to this shot, these Brahma bulls were bellowing, and climbing all over each over. They didn't like their close quarters. In the evening they wasted no time letting their rider know what they thought of him, too: just another fly on his back. I wonder if Rodeo clowns and cowboys can be insured?

Friday evening rodeo goers sat in lawn chairs on the track. We sat in the stands for a better, less dusty view, and I prefer some distance from the powerful animals.

One event involved two black angus calves with a pink ribbon on their tail. Children from 6-10 were invited to the arena. Boys and girls by the dozens climbed the fence to get in. The calves were turned loose and took off. Like a mass of bees, the kids ran after them. A prize was given to each of the two boys who caught a ribbon.

I unintentionally did rodeo with our Bravada at the track fence. We bought a rack of ribs, coleslaw and beans for a tailgate picnic about ten pm. The evening was warm and still. We were still worked up from the rodeo excitement. I drove forward, felt the front end dip down and didn't think much of it, put it in reverse and slowly backed up and out. Two adolescents came running all excited. "You can't get out of that ditch." But I did. Smart track allows for the wheels to move independently. I was surprised to learn front-wheel and four-wheel drive are not the norm in the South.

Another perfect day at the fair.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

FAIR HOMES AT START FINISH LINE

Sawdust around and under the porch covers red clay earth that stains and tracks. Throughout the week a hundred pounds of raw peanuts were cooked with Zataran seasoning. Quite tastey.
Help yourself.

Homes have been in families for generations, much like Nebraska football tickets, and just as cherished.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

NESHOBA COUNTY FAIR

The world's largest house party. Where are all the people? Inside where it's cool, at some neighbor's, at the horse races, or on the porch we can't see. In my enthusiasm, I shot this picture through our windshield.

In 1889 families gathered at this location to picnic and race their mules and horses. Over the years their weekend get-together grew into a week-long gathering of events and political speeches. JB saw Ronald Reagan here.

Today the racetrack is surrounded with two and three-story homes open one week a year. More homes were built on other areas of the fairgrounds totaling some 600 that look like a cardboard movie set they are so close together, and there are hundreds of RV spots. It's a happening.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Brim Fish Nesting

I have a new friend named Larrie. Her family thought they were having one very large boy they would name Larry. They had triplet girls. She got to be Larrie.

Riding around her and her husband’s pond in a golf cart, she asked if I could smell anything. I took a deep breath and smelled a dead ripe watermelon. She smiled and nodded. “That's it. Either you smell it, or you don't. The brim fish are nesting.”

I haven’t been fishing since we were behind the levy at the culvert where the bank is deep, and I stayed put. JB gave me a cane pole. I moved it to the right for him to bait. He doesn’t need to know I can do it. I’d put it in the water, catch a crappie and move it back for him to take off. Guys on the bank had all kinds of advice about how I should fish, but none of them were catching any.

Larry took us to their garden. Silver Queen corn had been harvested. Field corn was at its end. Butter beans, peaches, pears, apples and tomatoes needed rain. Deer ate their purple hulled peas. The figs will fill out with rain.

Larry had cut field corn off the cob, put it in a skillet with butter and milk and let it cook slow. I didn't see how such a small amount could feed the four of us, but it swelled up as it and we had leftovers. We all liked it. I thought of hominy and my grandmother telling how they soaked corn in a lye solution and put it on a shed roof to dry.

Larry shared her secret for fried green tomatoes: slice them thin and place them on ice; it crisps them. They were perfect. Good job, Larrie!

JB sent me to Walmart the other morning to purchase a deepfryer. It seems industrial sized, but he has a big family and right off we had company for a catfish fry with hushpuppies. I cut one Idaho potato for fries and one sweet potato in rounds. One guest, Hank, a young welder from the coast, breaded both kinds of potatoes in the catfish breading and fried them, too. With coleslaw, fresh tomatoes, baked beans and good company, we had a perfect summer evening by Lake-T'Okhata (T-o-kata).

Larry invited me to go brim fishing. My handmade pole burned in JB's fire, but she said she has plenty; I can hardly wait.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

First Methodist step test

The tower just looks like it leans. It doesn't.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

JACOB’S LADDER

One Sunday I decided to be Methodist. The week before I was First Presbyterian. When I’m away from home, I like to dress up and go where the cars are. Learning how others worship, and adding my voice in praise, increases my appreciation for and understanding of life.

The First United Methodist Church is on the corner of Main Street and North Church Avenue in Louisville, MS. I parked, walked across the street and intended to walk up the steps. Up close they looked like a brick ladder to Heaven: narrow and steep. I could go up with the handrail, but down? How do they do it?

A beautiful Southern lady came along and smiled. I commented, “You have to be in good shape to be Methodist.”
Miss Sylvia laughed, “We don’t use them. Come on, we go in the side door and use the elevator.” Thank God! Few could pass the step test.

I don’t think I’ve felt more welcome visiting a church. Miss Sylvia and Miss Joyce introduced me. Others came forward in welcome. I was invited to Sunday School and services. Two college students shared their mission for “Dry Tears” by raising money for water wells for African children. It never occurred to me that a body doesn't make tears when it is dehydrated.

After church I asked Miss Joyce if she was eating alone. She was. JB out of town left me alone, too. We ate at the Tiak O’Khata buffet that smelled like Thanksgiving: turkey, cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, crispy fried chicken, lima beans, greens, string beans, creamed corn, sweet potatoes cooked with apples and cinnamon, bread pudding with hard sauce and caramel (butterscotch to me) pie to name a few. Heaven on a plate.

Although neither of us said so, we didn’t want to go home alone. We laughed and shared the afternoon away while she gave me the grand tour of Louisville established in the 1830’s by Scottish immigrants.

I shall long remember this Sunday’s blessings and new-found friends. Collecting friends is a travel treasure. When I am at home in my First Presbyterian Church in Nebraska, I promise to pay more attention to our visitors and make them feel as welcome.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series