For the rest of my life, I will hold dear the years I grew and (sort of) matured to manhood while living in the Mississippi Delta...."Where I was born and raised", with grateful acknowledgement to the estate of David Cohn for the use of that phrase. In the 1950's and 1960's; from the time I was sentient and halfway curious about the world, I realized that my Delta world was circumscribed with magic; with danger, with the marvels of nature and the burdens of history. It incubated ageless wisdom, and it attempted to crush impertinent questioning. But what the hell did I know - I was a kid; a clumsy, left handed, fat, stuttering kid, and I wanted above all to do what I was told. I have realized that it's only been in the last 17 years or so, that I have actually become a man. It's time for me to trace the crooked path I took from the Delta to the present.
There were numbers of warm, bright and wonderful outdoor spaces in the magical Delta in which a young kid could play: cattails in marsh, ball fields choked often with buckshot dust, and creeks containing turtles and snakes, winding through high grasses. The grade school lay about a ten minute walk from home, where bullies had numerous opportunities to mug me for my lunch money - and they did! - ; the Pepsi distributor for our town lived just NEXT DOOR, and for many of us neighborhood kids, that would have been Nirvana....but only one of us 3 kids at my house was a Pepsi drinker. My drink of choice was to be found at the corner grocery, after a long (to us) and rather hot walk along a gravel path. For some obscure reason known only to my long term recall, I never remember my walking to this corner grocery while wearing shoes. The bare, flat feet were burned, bruised, and only after the trip home with the soft drink and bag of potato chips - or something Mom had asked I pick up - was I rescued from the urchin abuse I had suffered. I suffered while at the store, telling the owner or his wife my order. My stutter was a snake that could suddenly paralyze my tongue, make it fasciculate and lock up tight, and drain my brain of drive.
I did have a more basic drive; that of being very pleased by food. It was very easy to please me; I was the reincarnation of J. Wellington Wimpy from the "Popeye" cartoons: I will gladly take out the trash Tuesday for a hamburger today. I think the one evening that I had talked Mom into making spinach for me, so that I could be stronger, and then I couldn't abide by the strong mineral flavors in the greens: I think a hamburger ended that meal, too. Luckily for me, there were also fresh vegetables. Delta climate, Delta soil and Delta culture made vegetable farming and vegetable gardening accessible. My long term memory is very good to me, for the images of produce departments in the corner groceries, the neighborhood markets and the roadside produce stands - they are warm memories that fed us well, and brought the family together through the shopping, the preparing and the yummy eating!
The image of family sitting on the back stairs, off the kitchen door of our home, shelling peas: it was a hard learning curve for a school aged boy, but even I got the routine down. I thought getting bruised and seared feet was traumatic! Getting in the groove to yield a substantial serving of peas for 5 people, leaving your fingertips abraded and smelling of the verdant garden - ahhhhhhhhhhhh such an apprenticeship it was. Fresh vegetables grown locally: what good sense that made. What a glorious sensory carnival they made. What a salvation they created for me.
