BRAD DYE: Coming home

Published 8:30 am Thursday, December 1, 2022

As we drove over the Mississippi River bridge into Vicksburg, I listened as G described the feelings of crossing the bridge as a child, headed to visit her grandparents, Mimi and Dandad, in Logansport, LA.

She explained that bridge seemed new then, like it had just been constructed. As it turns out, her feeling was right.

According to the Louisiana Department of Transportation, the I-20 Mississippi River Bridge was erected in 1973 and it “provides one of the few interstate crossings over a river.”

That’s just a bit of trivia for you in the unlikely event that you get a Mississippi River Bridge trivia question. The conversation taught me something new about my wife of 28 years–it seems that we both love old bridges. However, I already knew that the height and expanse of the bridge directly affect the level of love she holds for said structures (she hates crossing the Bay Bridge in Mobile).

We were on the last leg of our road trip home from Thanksgiving in Wyoming with Dan, and driving back into the Magnolia State felt good. Actually, driving through the last bit of Texas (the part with real trees) and across northern Louisiana had been a treat.

We had been listening to the late Julia Reed’s “South Toward Home: Adventures and Misadventures in my Native Land” during our drive, and hearing the lovely and talented Reed recite her work was the perfect selection to welcome us back into the loving arms of the South.

The late Reed is a personal favorite.

I dearly miss her monthly essays in “Garden & Gun” and her Delta accent (I can’t say drawl because she talks fast) was a balm for three weary travelers or, certainly, for two as I can’t profess Birdie the beagle’s love for Julia. However, since Reed was never without her trusty beagle Henry, then I’m sure Birdie is a fan as well.

While making a pit stop at the Mississippi Welcome center overlooking the bridges and the river, G was walking Birdie when a nice lady (who happened to be from just up the road in Ackerman) asked, “Can I pet your pretty dog?” We knew then that we were back home.

Our route back took us through Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, and Louisiana, and, as I said earlier, the latter part of Texas and all of North Louisiana and Mississippi were all treats of our trip. As we listened to the final chapters of Reed’s book, we marveled at the brilliant colors of the leaves that surrounded us.

It felt as though we were experiencing a second fall. The autumn foliage had been gorgeous when we left 10 days earlier. Now its beauty had eclipsed another level. I don’t need reminders about why I love the South, but we were blessed with two on our last leg as Reed’s prose and God’s handiwork welcomed us back home.

One of the reasons for our route home was that we had to stop in Meridian to pick up the big dogs, Moose and Murphy, from their vacation at Precious Paws Resort.

Our friend Pam Jordan always takes such wonderful care of all our animals, but we were ready to reunite our canine crew.

While I will say that three dogs, two humans, two Yeti coolers, and all our travel bags maxed out the carrying capacity of my tiny RAV4 hybrid, the ride home felt good (although a bit crowded).

Moose, our velcro German Shorthaired Pointer, kept his head on my shoulder for most of the drive to Louisville while Murphy, our golden retriever, tried to figure out how he could touch all of us simultaneously. It was something to see and experience–so much love.

During that drive, I was reminded of something that I had missed while we were away as I began to notice trucks parked at the gates and entrances to the woodlands all along Highways 19 and 15. It was nearing that magic hour of gloaming and the deer hunters were on (or in) their stands.

I had missed opening day for the first time in a long time and seeing the occasional glimpse of hunter orange through the tree limbs had me excited to get to the woods myself. It also reminded me of something Reed had written in “South Toward Home.”

From her essay “Mastering the Hunt,” comes this apt description of hunting here at home: “I come from a state, Mississippi, and an area within it, The Delta, that is widely known for its passion for outdoor pursuits, chief among them hunting. According to a recent survey, Mississippi boasts more than ten hunters per square mile and I swear I think I know at least half of them.”

Based on the number of hunters in the woods Sunday afternoon, no truer words have been spoken. Thanksgiving in Wyoming with Dan was wonderful and seeing our daughter Tate and G’s sister Dana, our brother-in-law Michael, and our niece Lucy while we were in Meridian to get the dogs made for the perfect ending.

We missed seeing our nephew Billy, as he was in the woods chasing a big buck that he’s after. I plan to do the same this weekend. Until next time, here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.