Jan. 27-28
From Montgomery we followed a route almost due west toward Meridian, Miss.
It wasn’t only the shortest route between two points. It also took us through one of the legendary towns of my time, Selma.
We wanted to cross the bridge where the police attacked the marchers. We hoped it was marked, but had no idea if it was.
Our concerns were unfounded. We were on U.S. 80, which is the historic trail of the Selma-to-Montgomery march. The first attempt of that march ended when the Mississippi State Police started a riot.
We came down the highway and then there it was. The Edmund Pettus Bridge is the principal way into town.
We weren’t ready for that, so I had to U-turn and do it again.
This time, we noticed little park just before the Pettus Bridge.
It’s a moving combination of naive folk art and marble monuments.
Several monuments have been erected to celebrate key figures in the voting rights struggle in the area.
There are symbolic graves. One for the unknown slave, and another for the unknown soldier, commemorating the black troops of the Union Army.
There’s a noose on a tree over the slave’s grave.
The wall of the building by the park has a mural depicting rights activists, including Martin Luther King, who were murdered.
Downtown Selma is a little less inspiring. Several boarded storefronts have apparently been empty a long time.
An unusual feature of the main street is a lamppost with two lights. If one side is lighted, there has been a murder. It was a peaceful day. The “no murder” light was on.
Meridian, Miss., is mostly closed on Sunday. I hadn’t expected to find much to do there in the first place. It was just a convenient stopping place on the way to Vicksburg.
Google turned up a couple of promising restaurants, but they were shut.
The Brickhaus Brewtique, on Front Street right off 22nd Avenue, proudly declares that it is open 365 days a year.
Now, I’ve never been in Mississippi before, but when we walked in, I knew this place: exposed brick walls, beat-up looking bar, stickers and taps all over the back wall.
It wasn’t my first choice because it had limited eats. Not much to choose from, for instance, that wasn’t deep fried.
I had yet another burger with fries. Joanna did her best to get a little variety with a Philly steak.
They had run out of a couple of local brews. When I asked for either an IPA or a pale ale, the bartender suggested Envie, from Parish Brewing in Broussard, La. It had a pleasant floral fragrance and flavor, and a nice spicy end. Not too strong, 5.5 percent alcohol.
Next was Abita Amber, also from Louisiana. It wasn’t as sharp as Abita’s IPA, but it was all right. It was mild, 4.5 percent, and not quite a bitter, but also not too sweet. It had a metallic finish.
That was it for local ales, so I went for an old stand-by, an ale from Stone Brewing in Southern California. Stone makes IPAs. All kinds of IPAs.
This was a new one to me, ParaXtranormal. At 7.7 percent, it was strong, as many Stone brews are. It had a mild fragrance. It was bitter enough to be satisfying but the flavor still managed to have a fruity edge.
Stone never lets me down.
Monday we crossed the State of Mississippi to reach Vicksburg.
We’re staying at La Quinta a mile from the visitors’ center at the Vicksburg National Battlefield Park.
Somebody in Washington must have heard that we were coming this way because they reopened the government so we could get in here. We flashed our old-folks pass and the ranger handed us a park brochure.
Thanks to whichever one of you let Washington know.
The park has very detailed markers every so many yards identifying positions held by units of both armies. Every military company that was here might have its position recorded, blue signs for Union, red for Rebel.
Way more information than anyone needs, but fascinating nonetheless.
We stopped and looked down the mouths of cannons. I don’t know if the earthworks around them are original or restorations by the Park Service.
We stopped at the Shirley House, the only building on the battlefield that was there at the time. The sign says the Shirleys were Union sympathizers and their teenage son joined the Union soldiers in fighting the Confederates.
There’s a photo of a hobo jungle of rough shelters built on the hillside below the house. They housed Union troops during the battle in 1863. Now the same area is covered by trees.
The Illinois state monument is on a hill a short walk away. We climbed the steps and stood under the dome, which like the Pantheon in Rome and the Duomo in Florence, is open to the sky at the top.
The echo in there is fantastic. Joanna tested it with a bit of the chorus of “Hallelujah.”
Later we walked on a knoll above a trench that was part of the Confederate defenses. That, I’m pretty sure, was original.
Terrified and angry men once stood in there and shot at advancing men just as terrified and angry.
Somebody during the Civil War called Vicksburg the Gibraltar of the South. The Union had occupied New Orleans but couldn’t use the Mississippi to connect with states up north because Vicksburg’s artillery controlled this section of the river.
There had been other strongholds, but they weren’t as strong and so had fallen. Vicksburg remained like a plug on the river.
In the museum at the visitors’ center there’s a quote from Lincoln on the wall saying that Vicksburg was a key to ending the war, and the Union had to have that key in its pocket.
The ground of the battlefield is a mass of rolling, steep mounds of earth. Given their size and extent, they are probably natural formations, maybe due to erosion after the forest was cut down.
It all looks like badlands that have mended their ways and started to support grass.
I guess it was better suited to defense than to assault. Grant’s army tried several attacks, beginning in late March, but couldn’t take the city by direct force.
The only alternative was patience. The Army of the Tennessee surrounded the city on the landward side. U.S. Navy gunboats bombarded the city from the River.
The siege lasted from late May till July 4, 1863, when starvation, disease, and attrition made resistance useless.
The surrender of Vicksburg came one day after the Union victory at Gettysburg.
We’ve been having a lot of fun, and Monday night was another golden moment.
We had a choice of a few local places and decided on one because it took us through the old town. That’s how we chanced upon the Historic Klondyke Trading Post.
You park in the back and come in that way through metal door. You walk in and everybody, including customers, is yelling “hi.”
An exception is made for one lady who came in later. Everyone is supposed to applaud for her.
It’s one of the country bars that crop up along highways. It’s full of curious clutter: a couple of doors from retired government supercomputers, an ancient Coke machine, antique rifles, an elk head draped in Mardi Gras beads.
Before the night was out, Joanna posed for a photo holding a Choctaw bow and arrows. I took the shot freehand without flash, so it’s a little fuzzy, but it gives an idea of the Klondyke, so it’s the picture of the day.
We’ve been in the Confederacy for a couple of weeks and still haven’t had one of the delicacies of the region. So we both had catfish.
Mine was Dixie-fried and to top it off, it came with crawfish sauce. Catfish is always tender and savory. I could have eaten the sauce by itself as gumbo.
Joanna asked for the grilled version, but they may have sent it to her blackened instead.
The owner, Dave, told us he plans to sell the place, and in his retirement, he and his wife plan to travel the world.
Funny you should mention it. We started talking about places we’ve seen.
He mentioned Bangkok. We told him about Chiang Mai.
He and his wife liked Spain. So did we.
We suggested they may like Avignon and other cities in Provence, too.
He talked about searching newly plowed fields for arrowheads. He brought out a display case with his collection. One piece was a stone tool for shaving the fur off hides.
He took it out of the case and handed it to us. After 3,500 years it still has an edge.
Much of this was going one while the regulars were up practicing their karaoke.
A good time, needless to say, was had by all.
And here’s wishing all of you good times, as well.
Good night, gang.
Harry
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