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.
This Fourth of July weekend we celebrate America's independence as a holiday weekend. At a time when heroes are needed, we are now prone to judge those of the past by the standards of today and we are seeing efforts to tear down or remove memorials to Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt and Jefferson.
Something happened recently that made me shake my head in wonder. Lazarus Chakwera, a Christian minister, was elected president of Malawi, in one of the most stunning upsets in African history.
Football players are accustom to risk. Every time they strap on their shoulder pads and lock in their helmets, they do so with a tacit acceptance that serious bodily injury is one freak tackle away.
From the breakfast table I could see Harry, the boy cat, peering through the picket fence into the perennial garden. You would think by now whenever Harry is transfixed on something, I would check it out.
If you have lived in Columbus for any length of time, you know the name Charleigh Ford. Maybe you have driven out to the Industrial Park and have seen the funny looking name on the road sign and wondered about him.
Sunday, the Mississippi Legislature did in the span of four hours what seemed virtually impossible as recently as a month ago. Mississippi will have a new flag, perhaps before the end of the year, after both the Senate and the House voted resoundingly to remove the current flag, with its conspicuous Confederate imagery.
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.
The 1st Mississippi Regiment, better known as the Mississippi Rifles or Riflemen, stood fast at the Battle of Buena Vista and scaled the walls of a Mexican fort at Monterey during the Mexican American War in 1846 and '47.
When I was kid, back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, I never wore a seatbelt. Nobody I knew wore a seatbelt. In fact, the seatbelts in my mom's 1964 Plymouth Valiant or my dad's 1962 Chevy pick-up truck had slipped beneath the seats, and you would have had to fish them out if you wanted them. It never occurred to any of us to do this.
The Harrison Narcotics Tax Act of 1914 was a bill that regulated and taxed the production, importation, and distribution of opiates and coca products. Actually, since it banned the sale and use of them, the tax part has never been implemented. Senator Harrison was a New Yorker, but the real source of the bill was the South.
My father has always been a walking repository of profound colloquialisms. Each were either passed down to him directly from generations of our family or by cultural osmosis from his nearly 70 years living in Southeast Arkansas.
As an architectural historian and preservationist raised in Mississippi, I am frequently asked my opinion regarding monuments to the Confederacy. "I don't want to erase history," people say, "so what do you think we should do about Confederate monuments?" My answer? Take them down.
It was almost 10 years ago that I first wrote a column on the state flag and the need to look at changing it.
Harry Sanders, I do not owe you this letter. You aren't owed my attention or my time. If anyone owes anyone anything, America and her racism owes me. She has exploited black people for well over four centuries, but the debt she owes -- the death and the violence she has caused us -- is incalculable.
The day passed hardly without my notice when on June 14, I opened a devotional reading titled "Rallying to the Flag." The American flag that reigned over my mailbox had been whipped to smithereens by the wind.
It was years ago when I happily landed my first gig through the CETA federal summer jobs program. But my enthusiasm soon faded when one of our first tasks had been to go to the Lowndes County Courthouse and clear brush overgrowing the old monument standing on the front lawn.
Out came the bicycles, having been in storage for about six to eight years. Sam aired up the tires and checked over the bikes' mechanics. They were maybe a little dusty and a little rusty. We wiped them down and decided to take a short spin.
As a senior in high school, I sat in English class watching the news with my classmates when the second plane hit the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001.
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