There's not much to Louise these days. Truth be told, there wasn't much to Louise back in its heydey. The 1950 Census counted 479 people and the 2009 estimate was exactly 200 less.
But back in the 1950s and 1960s, when we lived at Louise, we called it home.
You see, you don't need to live in some great metropolitan area to have access to what you need ... most especially warmth and friendship.
Last week, my sister and I returned to Louise to "see the flooding" in the Delta. We didn't expect to see water lapping at the town's edge, but we did expect to see people trying to secure their belongings out around Wolf Lake.
Sadly, we were not disappointed.
Even as they worked to protect Good Hope Baptist Church, Roy Lee Cleveland and Randy Hill took the time to stop and visit — hugging my sister and shaking my hand. A little ways up the road, Harold Horton and his sister, Hilma Horton Nibben, were busy trying to load their families' life history into a trailer so that it could be hauled to Harold's garage and stored safely. Harold took the time to visit and show us some of the preparations while Hilma invited Sarah inside to see the progress.
Even as they looked down the breech of what's projected to be the greatest flood in Mississippi River history, the graciousness of the people of the small town Delta rose to the surface.
In Louise, we drove street-by-street and spotted a lady walking along with her dog. We stopped, and my sister greeted her. It was Joanne Schoonover and we visited for a brief moment, then wished her well. She did likewise, and we drove off.
Out on the main drag, now not even a highway, we headed south and stopped in front of Hoover Lee's grocery so I could get my Dr Pepper fix. Hoover was stocking shelves and spoke to me, which prompted a, "I used to buy Blue Horse notebook paper here" from me.
After telling him who I was, he asked, "Where's Sarah?," followed by a, "Do you think she'd mind if I went out and spoke?"
Yankees don't do that. They don't do that because it requires personal interaction and connection. Those raised in the South, even the generations when there was so much violence, have a genteelness about them. Hoover, for example, asking before being friendly and welcoming.
After all, there are no strangers in the South, and perhaps that helps play into the warmth one feels even as they sit and look down a row of decaying buildings that were once thriving little businesses facing US Highway 49.
There's nothing left of Red Gum, out on Highway 14 where we lived, and there's little left of the school where so many of us spent time and build friendships that, as it has turned out, have lasted a lifetime.
Those friendships have lasted, as has the connection to that little town ... our classmates, our teachers and mentors, our churches and the values that were instilled in us by our parents as well as the parents of our friends. After all, we knew about being raised by a village long before the term was made popular.
No, there's not much left of the physical Louise, but the memories sure do fill one's mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment