On a winter morning sometime in the late 1920s -- probably 1927 -- photographer O.N. Pruitt unpacked a heavy wooden tripod and planted it in the mud on the west bank of the Tombigbee.
Last night, I stayed up late -- 10 o'clock being my definition of late -- to watch my national TV debut on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.
As my first high school reunion rapidly approaches, I take some time to visit my previously attended schools and reflect on where our school district is today opposed to merely 10 years ago.
Senator Roger Wicker must be anxiously watching the Tea Party blitz against fellow Senator Thad Cochran. The two senators have much in common.
Shirley, my walking partner, invites some online friends to stay with her about once or twice a year. Cec (short for Cecilia) came from Toronto, Canada, and was the first to arrive.
A little more than a week ago my brother Stephen and I stood on a hilltop in central New York eating apples. We were lost in a maze of apple trees -- and, frankly, astonished; each tree was laden with more fruit than seemed possible. Endless rows of them, each with their own little street sign: Honeycrisp, Macintosh, Macoun, Empire, Northern Spy and so on.
Now that the Tea Party has recruited a Republican candidate to seek Thad Cochran's seat in the U.S. Senate, the paramount question becomes "will Thad run?"
Mississippi's journalism annuls are filled with stories of courage and strength under pressure. Most of those stories emanate from the civil rights era -- when truth in reporting wasn't valued in some quarters and thugs believed they could dictate the news with their fists, a burning cross or a shotgun.
Campers are an interesting lot. They've always been the nicest folks -- they share, they help, they send Christmas cards.
I suppose we are all aware that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. There are a lot of fundraisers, pink ribbons being worn and commercials reminding us to keep up with our self-exams. Even the professional football teams are on this bandwagon, with pink additions to their uniforms in gloves, shoes, socks and all sorts of masculine equipment dyed a bright, rosy pink.
As some readers may have noticed, I have been a big fan of C Spire. This is not just because my brother-in-law Terrell Knight works there. Or that my father-in-law Bob Knight and the Creekmores were college buddies. Nor is it because they run big ads in newspapers. (Though none of that hurts!)
The first and most visible step in the sea change that will be occurring in downtown Starkville has just occurred. If you haven't looked recently, the old electric department building that served as the west end of Main Street is gone.
Thursday's edition of The Dispatch will include a story about a group of mostly older women who gather in Columbus once at week to compete in a bowling league. Somewhere, there are 20-somethings shaking their heads in amusement: Don't these women have a bowling app on their smartphones?
If you have never had the privilege of viewing the beauty of a large bodock tree from your own yard, you've missed something. A gnarly looking twisting structure of a tree with big lime green fruit with a pebbly texture, the bodock could well be the official tree of the Prairie.
"Nose into the wake," Sam hollered. We were out for a little kayak fishing on Bear Creek when three fancy bass boats sped by. As luck would have it, there was a bass tournament going on.
1. Marty Wiseman: Nearing the jumping off point LOCAL COLUMNS
2. Possumhaw: All gone but the memories LOCAL COLUMNS
4. Froma Harrop: Will Americans pay for American-made? NATIONAL COLUMNS