I grew up in North Jackson, Mississippi in the 60’s and 70’s. In those days, kids were let loose in the summers to explore. I didn’t have to go far because we had a creek beyond the fence of our backyard at 375 Beechcrest Drive (I loved that our address held a rhyme.). The creek was called Purple Creek. We’d spend endless days exploring the woods beyond the waterfall. This waterfall was man-made with brick-a-brack concrete. It was also a place where hooligans would party at night, leaving behind a sundry of whiskey bottles. I found it all quite disgusting. But there was a tree I especially loved that grew in an open grove. I’d heard tales that some campers had left a campfire burning, so it had burned all but the remaining surviving tree. I can’t recall what kind of tree it was, but it provided shade on a summer’s day.
I am back at Purple Creek today, a little farther north and in a more pristine area of office buildings and hotels. There is still the same familiar smell. As I walked this morning, I had to dodge Canada Geese turds. Coming home at my age feels comforting and awkward. I long for the child I used to be. And I long for the mother my mother used to be. She is happily living in a memory care facility close by. She’s not the same and neither am I. Role reversal. However, I am coming to accept it all and embrace the moments we do have together.
The Longest Way
to Purple Creek
was over the waterfall,
a trickle over concrete–
Toe-dip
into cool sand,Bare-footed, looking out
for broken glass
for venomous snakes.
Then the hike
into Pine
Forest
lingering scent of campfire
echo of bobwhite, bobwhite!Joy we didn’t know
we owned
running behind Lucky,
our cocker-poo
who liked to chase cars,
so we took him along.I remember Lucky’s soft cream-curls,
my favorite survival tree,
long summer days
away from home
within earshot
of a call to dinner–
pure
Happiness.After Nikki Giovanni “The Longest Way ‘Round”
Margaret Simon, draft
Reflections on the Teche 