Back to Natchez
Natchez whispers to me in my sleep.
Come home. Come home.
It is a town time forgot, barely peeking out from the 1850s when it was the biggest, baddest, richest joint in America. It was filled with the rich, the conniving, the creators of dreams. All of its magnificent antebellum homes still proudly stand. Union sympathizing turned out to be a smart move. Natchez embraces the old, the historic, the charm and civility of the past. But with WiFi and designer coffee. And it has pirates.
Jimmy the Cricket. Historian, raconteur and scoundrel. He is one of Natchez’s pirates. My definition of a pirate is this: someone who goes against the grain, follows the beat of his own drummer and cares not one thing about what is conventional, acceptable or normal. I try very hard to surround myself with pirates at all times. Natchez is loaded with them.
So I am going back in time next week. Back to Natchez. I will be invited into those antebellum mansions by people of good will who will offer me Milk Punch, cheese straws and hot apple cider. No really, that happens or at least it happened to me. I will hear stories on the front porch. Stories of wealth gone right and gone terribly wrong. And stories of redemption.
I will eat hot tamales, coconut cream pie with meringue as high as your head and pralines sold on the street by a woman who I am fairly certain makes them in her home kitchen without benefit of a health permit. That’s why they taste so good.
And I will have the best Reuben sandwich on the planet at Mammy’s Cupboard. Yes, I know. Mammy’s is preposterous, antiquated and outrageously inappropriate. A pirate.
I am considering taking the Natchez Trace all the way from Nashville. A historic connection. Traders walked back up the Trace loaded with cash after delivering their goods by boat on the Mississippi. It was a dangerous enterprise with bandits lurking behind every tree. Now it’s a 50-mile-per-hour scenic roadway. I’m concerned about the access to rest rooms and Diet Cokes.
But what kind of pirate would I be if I clung to the interstates in pursuit of carbonated soda and a toilet?
After all, I’m going back in time. Back to Natchez.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. can hardly wait to board that bus early Monday am.
Well, now I know : I must be a pirate also….. hehe. can’t wait to tell my granddaughter the definition of one, and that I FIT THE MOLD…. What a great group to join…