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Deep South Mississippi, February 3, 2009
On the outskirts of the hamlet I call my hometown, there is a road off the the right called Arlington Road. It's a two way road--one way in, one way out--and seven miles, at the very end of that road is where I was born and raised. A road called Arlington Loop makes  a long lazy looping "U" connecting on both ends to Arlington Road.
It's a pretty road. At the highest point in the road, in front of the Herring place, you can see for miles in the distance, the horizon blue and hazy. Nothing but white people live on the road and the loop--all but one--the Benn family.  I grew up not being around colored people. The Benn's went to their own school, attended their own church, used the colored funeral home and were buried in colored graveyards. (I'm using colored, the word I grew up with--that and not so nice appellations.)
The Benn's, and whites that surrounded them, lived peaceably--everybody minded their own business. For some reason I dreamed about a visit I made once to the Benn house when I was a home health nurse. Umbrella shaped Chinaberry trees bloomed in the hard packed red clay yard, their tiny purple flowers falling to the ground. The house was a rude raw plank house, no better or worse than their neighbors. Inside on plank shelves, were jars of canned tomatoes and crowder peas.
A flock of guinea fowl walked around the yard, squawking, making loud harsh "kraack" sounds and calls and clucks--they are very noisy birds, as bad as peacocks. They pecked and scratched, looking for bugs and grass seeds. These birds are native to Africa, (and like okra) brought over with the slave trade, and colored people often had them in their yard. Guineas have a bony ridge on their heads, and plump oval bodies covered with gray feathers spotted with white polka dots. Nobody ate them because the flesh is very dark and strong tasting.
I have no idea why my brain dredged up that memory. Thanks for listening..susil
