Fading Mississippi

Across the road from us they have begun their buldozing again a few acres out. Hmm...if we held onto this house a couple more years, the value of our land could really increase. A couple months ago someone changed our zoning to RC, restricted commercial.

Down at the end of the white folks' houses, our black neighbors have their community. Smack up against them, sandwiching them in is another big new subdivision starting where the new big road cuts through to Wal-Mart.

When we drive down our little road on these cold winter mornings, it is comforting to see the small black homes with their smoke rising up among the trees. We are glad that so far at least the developer has not approached Melvin, Jimmy, and the others about selling like they did to our elderly neighbors, Mr. Billy and Mrs. Kay.

When Melvin's parents, Edy Mae and Walter, passed away, he was so happy to move back here from the city, to inherit the woodsy acreage, the house and all the antiques in and around it.

The little leanto building on his property with its front porch and tin roof was hauled there after Walter inadvertently burned down his brother Henry's trailer that was kept for when he visited from the city. Distraught at the mishap, Walter approached the white lady who had a cabin at the top of the hill, deep in the woods across from him and asked if he could buy the little out building down near our end of the road for his brother to stay in when he came.

The horse barn she had there was more than enough for her needs, so the little sharecropper's shack was moved down the road for $500. There it sits in somewhat disrepair, but it is part of the old time Mississippi country scenery that we hope doesn't change.

Down the lane and around the corner, the new subdivision folks have approached Andrew the mechanic. Instead of asking him to erect a big privacy fence, they have kindly offered to help rid him of some of the hundreds of old cars which he has on his property, parked here and there amongst the mountains of auto parts and such.

The idea of disposing of old cars in a manner other than leaving them where they conked out is a novel one to Andrew, and they have been hauling them away to the junk yard... for money. So among his happily clucking chickens, he continues repairing cars back in the woods there for 'cash only' customers.

It wasn't but a few years ago that Mr. Billie gently suggested to Andrew that he might should be charging tax on his auto repairs. Mr. Billie showed him how, and he said, "Mr. Billie, I sho' would appreciate it if you could hep me with this at the end of the tax year. I jist caint figger it out."

So Mr. Billie did his income tax. He and Mrs. Kay have spent many a bygone evening chatting by the fireplaces down Dock Lane. Like us, they are happy to see smoke still coming up from the chimneys and the little kiddies on their bikes singing in the evening, "He's got the whole worl' in His hands."