It's been almost 474 years since Hernando de Soto dined on barbecue pork in the Black Prairie just west of the Tombigbee River.
Donna Grant deserves a byline on today's column. Several weeks ago someone mentioned Al Puckett had been named distinguished hospital trustee of the year for the state and wondered why it hadn't been in the paper.
As part of my active (as opposed to financial) volunteer pledge this year I have chosen to work with the Alzheimer's Walk scheduled for Oct. 12. Medical literature distinguishes between the types of dementia, but the details of the ravages of this ever more common disease are astounding.
Sunday afternoon found us outside trying to coax our waterlogged flowers back to life while trying to figure out a way to get rid of the slugs and snails that seem to have taken a recent liking to our front porch.
A lithe young singer, Taylor Swift, had a big hit with "Mean" four years ago. The song is a picked-on teen's lament that her classmates are cruel.
The Prairie is not always paradise. Momma used to say, "I'm glad not everybody likes the same thing 'cause then everybody'd want my Henry." Dad wasn't named Henry, but we got the point.
As might be expected, the earliest houses constructed in the upper Tombigbee River Valley were constructed mostly of log. The term "log cabin," though, is not a very good description of many of the log structures that were built.
When it started raining I walked down off the railroad tracks through briars into a dense stand of sweet gum. This will be just fine. Just like the deer I had seen near the trestle would likely do, I'll wait out the storm here under the trees.
They say that the Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis and ends at Vicksburg, Mississippi's, Catfish Row.
On the agenda of Tuesday, July 22, 2014, was a payment for Carver Drive. Alderman Perkins voted against paying for that work already accomplished on his ward's most significant project. Joining him was Alderman Vaughn. Why?
As I was leaving Starkville Community Theatre one recent evening after rehearsals and walking to my car, a voice with a heavy Spanish accent said, "Catholic church?" quite loudly. "What's that?" I said, turning around.
It's been 29 days since the Mississippi senatorial runoff election in which six-term incumbent Thad Cochran narrowly defeated tea party challenger Chris McDaniel.
From the dock the lake below was crystal clear, reminding me of those glass-bottomed boat rides of my childhood. I'm still taken with the creatures that dwell below the surface. I wish I could say, dwell harmoniously, but often it's not.
Want privacy? Get a typewriter.
Last week my granddaughter who lives in Virginia visited Columbus. While here I took her to experience those delightful "crazy animals" from the hand of Robert Williams, the pioneering icon of children's television known far and wide as Uncle Bunky.
It was 94 degrees in the shade, a scorcher of a Saturday afternoon. Slim Smith and I were standing in the alleyway behind The Dispatch talking about the next day's paper, taking refuge in what little shade there was.
In 1991, one year after my college graduation, I flew into Tel Aviv and took a hot and dusty car ride to the Palestinian town of Ramallah, a historically Christian town located about six miles north of Jerusalem.
On of my Facebook friends died Wednesday. Maybe you've heard of him. His name was John Dawson Winter III. He was 70 and died while on a business trip in Zurich, Switzerland.
I'm one of the guys Chris McDaniel is upset about. Let's back up first. Until 2007 when I lost my voting privileges, I was a registered Republican.
Sam asked if I wanted to go on vacation anytime soon, and I said that I'd rather wait 'til fall when things cool off; besides, it's hard to imagine any place better than this "recreational paradise" I live in.
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