10 Dec 2020 - Graham
previously: postcard 1: st. augustine
It’s weirdly comforting to know that the potholes haven’t gotten any smaller In Jackson.
Driving into Mississippi felt at once like going home and also like invading hostile territory. Heading up Route 49 from Mobile, I noticed that I was slightly fearful. What if I was mistaken for an outside agitator? What could and has happened on these dark Mississippi roads? But even with my long hair and prius, my skin protects me here.
I wasn’t able to see everyone I wanted to see, so I’m very sorry if I missed you. I was glad to enjoy a distant coffee with Ryder T. and a rain-shortened bike ride with Josh P.
I was struck, this visit, by how rich the rich parts of Jackson are. I remember it as a poor place, which it is, but there’s also a pseudo-castle next-door to a legit Frank Lloyd Wright. The food, however, was exactly as luxurious as I remember–the BBQ fries (aka Mississippi Poutine) and chicken biscuit were especially decadent.
Driving away, I felt sad and relieved. Sad that the school gardens I built are gone, sad to have decided that Jackson would not be my forever home, and sad that I am not actually an outside agitator. And also relieved, because the burden of history and racism and inequality weigh so heavily there. Then again, I can’t really leave Jackson behind. As Malcolm X once said, “America is Mississippi.”
If you’d like to join the trip in a small way: add a few songs to this collaborative spotify playlist or send me your own road-trip playlist. Thanks to Bruce L. for already doing so.
Recommended reading: Kiese Laymon’s Heavy, Taylor Branch’s trilogy
next post: postcard 3: west texas