About a week ago, in the waning days of August, Gerry Jeffcoat gave me a watermelon he'd grown. A Congo Red, he said when asked the variety.
Before coming to The Dispatch in the mid-90s, I worked as a commercial photographer. In those days there was a lot of manufacturing in the area, and there was product photography to be done: fishing lures, toilet seats, gym sets, hams.
On the morning of my birthday this past week, I took my coffee outside and found my usual seat in a garden overlooking the street.
The other day while walking along the entranceway to our fair city carrying two trash bags filled with litter, I happened upon an empty Dr. Pepper can.
When Alan Smith passed from this world Sunday evening, he was in his home surrounded by an adoring family, who had been remembering him with stories. There was little doubt how the evening would play out. A long bout with cancer would soon be over.
With a bit of imagination you could say that last fall our bees gave us a preview of the pandemic now besetting us. Suddenly they started dying in large numbers. I would walk out mornings to find piles of dead honeybees on the ground around the hives. Not only was it confounding, it was heart-wrenching. These thousands of small flying creatures were our pets.
On a recent Saturday morning as I walked into the Starkville Community Market, a young boy, his blue baseball cap askew over curly brown hair, asked if I'd like to buy a beeswax candle.
When someone mentions gout, you think of Ben Franklin and Samuel Johnston, the 1700s. Do people still even get gout?
You bet they do, plenty.
Around this time a year ago, a friend and I were walking in a Noxubee County woods.
The leafy canopy above had turned the forest into an echo chamber for the trilling of birds. The dappled light it permitted played across what seemed infinite hues of green. Signs of spring were everywhere.
About 15 years ago a stray cat gave birth to a litter of kittens in a wall of The Dispatch pressroom. Shortly thereafter she rendered them orphans when she tried to exit the building through a normally dormant exhaust fan.
Near the end of the podcast, Gail from West Point called to tell about taking a can of potted meat re-labeled as opossum road kill with her to the Air Force Academy.
The newest member of our household is under a self-quarantine. Eleven to 13 days. She just flew in and is not taking any chances.
How slowly can you eat a tangerine?
Advice, insight and inspiration from a variety of sources.
It was one of those glad-you-are-alive-and-out-in-the-world Saturday afternoons -- sunny, bright, crisp and clear -- and I was sitting in the three-sided shed that is the in-house dining facility of Brother's Keeper Barbecue.
Ben Depp is a New Orleans-based freelance photographer with a fixation on Louisiana's disappearing wetlands.
You put a message in a bottle and toss it out to sea hoping the right beachcomber happens by.
Chances are if you've paid any attention to the music scene in these parts, you know the name Paul Thorn.
On the front page of the May 9, 1952, edition of this newspaper, a page that has stripped across the bottom: "Week's best slogan: We'll get more done if we work together," is a story about Tennessee Williams' visit to Columbus. This was the playwright's first time back in his birthplace, according to the article, since he was 3 years old.
While battling a case of cabin fever on a cold, rainy afternoon the Sunday before Christmas, I sent Craig Hill a text asking if he wanted to go paddling. We'd had a lot of rain and the river was high.
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