The beaver didn't come last night. Sam thought that he would. "The beaver can hear the sound of running water; they know when the dam is broken."
Got out of bed Saturday morning intending to plant a pine tree. In winter, the orange glow of the security lights in neighbors' backyards makes ours look like a set in a David Lynch movie. Maybe a fast-growing pine could help things.
On the day when much of the world was in a lather over social media behemoth Facebook going public, 800 people gathered for a pancake supper in Noxubee County.
As a city planner, Christina Berry knows the importance of keeping up appearances. Since her appointment late last year, Christina has been busy putting together a strategic long term plan for the city. In the meantime, though, she's also been thinking about easy ways to keep Columbus beautiful.
When Calisolar announced its intention to open a plant in Columbus, people from across the state might have thought: what, them again? Envy is one of the byproducts of success, and when it comes to big industrial projects no other part of the state has been more successful in recent years than Lowndes County.
Though now little-known, a Choctaw war chief commonly called "General Hummingbird" repeatedly came to the aid of the U.S. in times of trouble. He received military commissions from both George Washington and Andrew Jackson. His life took him through the formation of this country and had him serving with some of America's greatest leaders.
This time every year, the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday invokes memories of King's "I have a dream" speech. King's description of an integrated America, one where we are all judged "by the content of our character rather than the color of our skin," beautifully explains why people were willing to put so much effort and energy into the civil rights movement.
The people have spoken -- all 126,185 of them. That's how many votes turned Mitt Romney into the Republican nominee, for all intents and purposes. In a country with more than 300 million people, less than a tenth of a half of a percent have picked one of the two men who could be the next president of the United States.
WASHINGTON -- One thing we've learned since the Republican primary season began: There's an awful lot of pious baloney out there.
During the Great Depression, my father toiled in a box factory. The workers were all flat broke, he recalled, and desperate for every nickel. But when overtime hours appeared, the men made sure they went to a guy with kids. The laborers were obeying the unwritten and unenforceable "humanity clause," whereby one gives up some personal gain in deference to another's screaming need.
Growing up, class reunions appeared to be a big deal. People would plan them for months; people would travel great distances to attend, and everyone would dress up and reflect on high school. It almost seemed like a school dance for adults.
Friday afternoon around 1:30 a friend and I stood in the middle of the intersection of Seventh Avenue North and 15th Street. We had just finished fried chicken plate lunches at Helen's, and were enjoying being out in the warm sunshine. As we talked, two brick masons worked on new crosswalks at the intersection.
The St. Stephen's Trace is a little-known but very historic road that once ran from John Pitchlynn's residence at the present site of the John Stennis (Columbus) Lock and Dam to St. Stephen's, which is about 50 miles north of Mobile.
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