When I was a kid, our neighbors had a camphouse out in
the country in Rodney, Mississippi. In the late
1700 - 1800's, Rodney was a bustling river-port town.
During the Civil War, it was fired on. There's a church
there still standing with a cannonball lodged in the
front wall of the building. After the war, the river
meandered off course, leaving Rodney without its
port. There's practically nothing there now except for
a few little shanty shacks and hunting camps.
Anyway, my childhood neighbor, Claire, was in town
and wanted to ride out there. We hadn't been in nearly
35 years or so. So we called my other childhood friend,
Alma, and her friend, Eric, and rode out there.
We weren't sure we'd make it. The Mississippi River is
at flood stage, and although Rodney is no longer right
on the river, it's still flat bottomland, and floods
occasionally. We made it out there, although the water
had crept right up to the road where the church is. As
we were leaving, we talked to a woman helping her
96-year-old mother evacuate the little shanty house
she's lived in all her life. She was hesitant to leave,
creeping back across the creaking old plank stretched
over the waters to recheck the lock on the door, only
a few feet from where an alligator had been seen a few
minutes prior.
I was ascared of water mocassins, but Claire was
determined to climb the forested hill behind the church
to see the old deserted cemetery where some of her
ancestors are buried.
The cemetery is amazing. I thought it was just going
to be one of those family-type plots, but as we walked
further and further into the woods, I realized that there
were headstones poking up out of the weeds and
trees as far as I could see. We couldn't tell it yesterday
because spring is here in full growth, but if it had
been wintertime and the hills all bare, you would've
been able to tell that one of the rises we were walking
over was actually a gun embankment.
Well, amazing as it is, we didn't see but one snake, but
Alma's called today to tell me she'd found two ticks on
her, even though she wore long jeans tucked into boots.
I took no such precautions, so we'll see how I fared.
I thought I'd post a few of the pics I took. It was an
eerie, amazing place, full of magic and mystery. The
graves date way back to the early 1700's, filled with
the souls of those long dead and buried, and being
consumed by living plants.
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1 comment:
Sent to me by a friend via email...
I finally had a chance to digest your fantastic pictures and essays, and have shared them with selective colleagues. Next will be Hattie Stacy. Now, I can hardly wait for more stories. Your descriptions are new and very focused and provides a wonderful perspective of the region, especially of Rodney, my favorite place in the state; and wish I could have been along for the expedition. Don't know if you knew, I nominated Rodney to the National Register of Historic Places back in the early 70s; plus my Mother's father's family was from there?
One of the highlights of my life was a one on one rainy night visit with Eudora Welty, and we discussed Rodney for hours. She was very interested in my research of the place and we talked about a bazaar incident that happen to me at Rush Nutt's house, and Rodney Presbyterian Church. So you managed to touch upon one of my favorite topics I could easily visualize. In fact last Sunday I almost took a side trip to Rodney. Also, last week, while traveling for Hattie, I was in the Clarkesdale vicinity. I was trying to recall what 61 highway looked like back in the mid-60s when I often traveled back and forth from Greenville to Memphis State. Nothing came to mind! Too many changes on 61 highway, mainly Clarkesdale! So, I thank you for dusting off some pleasant memories of time and place (as Eudora would say).
But, the real, almost scary, coincidence occurred before the animal benefit last weekend, I had a conversation with Sallie Ballard's house keeper, Rose-a-Lee, who is from Rodney and has recently been up there to fish, and visit with her sister who still lives in the area. She mentioned the last surviving resident of Rodney, a colored woman 90+ years, was about to leave the ghost town for a trailer to be near a relative. How odd you all had bumped into the ancient woman. So when you mention the person, I thought of Rose-a-Lee as I read your experiences there, and hollowed ground too. I'm not so sure outsiders could picture the place, but that's all right. It is our refuge. The dog story was perfect for the event last Saturday evening. We all have so much to draw upon. I cannot write due to ignorance, but sensitive to the land, yes I am. I appreciate so hugely your sharing your thoughts with me. Hurriedly written. C.
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