It is always interesting when different early accounts and stories merge into a single narrative.
Thirteen years ago, when I was editor for my hometown weekly newspaper in Warren, Arkansas, I sat at a conference room table in a bank across from two very proud women.
A press release delivered to The Dispatch earlier of this week alerted us to a community meeting Tuesday where Kerr-McGee/Tronox issues would be discussed.
Thanksgiving has come and gone, as have pre-Black Friday and Black Friday sales, along with the family members who graced our home for the Thanksgiving celebration. We had many things to give thanks for: reasonably good health, plenty of warmth and sunshine, and more good food than should be legal.
Monday afternoon Bill Cole sat on a barstool in the empty bay of a metal building that houses Dixie Towing, the New Hope business he has owned and operated for 30 years and looked out across the road. Cole was wearing pressed jeans, cowboy boots and a black long-sleeved shirt. His swept-back white hair gives him the look of a country music star -- think Charlie Rich.
Thanksgiving is a bittersweet holiday for my family. While we find joy in gathering together to give thanks, the day is also a painful reminder that we may never have the opportunity to share a meal with my father again.
This coming Friday, December 6, 2019, will mark the bicentennial of Columbus' official recognition as the Town of Columbus.
My 4-year-old vocabulary may have lacked tree names such as oak, cedar and pine, but I knew "wisteria."
Many of us are preparing for our holiday feasting and perhaps how to manage our consumption for the least amount of damage. Last year I gain several pounds, and well into spring they were still hanging around. So, this year I am trying to do better and help my guests to do better as well. It's not as easy as you may think.
On a recent weekday morning Vernell Taylor was putting the final log on a stack of wood almost too pretty to burn in the fireplace of the living-room-like interior of the Plymouth Bluff Conservation Center.
As we gather around tables, greet families and recount blessings, we are reminded that relationships are the canvas of life. Our lives are marked and colored by the influence of countless people.
It was 400 years ago that a group of settlers from England landed in the New Word and with a ceremony of thanksgiving gave thanks to God for their safe arrival and their new settlement.
Just when I was busy flipping closets from summer to fall, hanging the door wreath and pinning orange, red and yellow silk leaves to the cedar lapboards, all in an effort to welcome in the autumn season, winter hit overnight. Temperatures plummeted to 15 degrees by morning.
I remember Charles Wilburn of Artesia as a top notch bird dog trainer who had been a pilot in World War II. Like so many others of the greatest generation I had no idea of all he had done or his adventures in the "Go Gettin Gal."
Fall has been particularly lovely this year, perhaps because it came so quickly as a much-needed break from scorching temperatures. Now it appears fall is "leaving" just as fast as chilling temperatures arrive early.
Over the almost 10 years I have been writing this column I've told stories of many local veterans.
If politicians were insects -- and I'm not saying they aren't -- they would likely be cicadas.
Lately I've spent a lot of time driving back and forth along Highway 82 and Highway 45 between Columbus, Starkville and West Point. From West Point, traveling south toward Highway 82, on the crest of a hill I could see a fair distance to the next rise. Along that stretch I counted 12 large trucks -- 18 wheelers.
This past Sunday Ed Rice, Bobby Manning and I were headed north on Wolf Road when Bobby for no apparent reason launched into a narrative about his family history.
On a recent early morning, so close to Mississippi's statewide election, I wrestled with a long, soulful prayer for our state. As I finished up, this huge black moth flew into the living room. It was such an odd contrast to my current situation, it struck me that this little guy was a messenger -- a reflection of something I needed to pay attention to.
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