September 17 '05

                                                    

Volume 485

                   


Time Warp Finding The Pontocola Road

The Wrong WayA few months ago, a youth group from a church in Missouri and their leaders came to Pontotoc as volunteers to assist with the building of three houses for Habitat for Humanity. As usual, several churches volunteered to provide evening meals for the group. One of the churches was Woodland Baptist Church of the Woodland community, which lies between Pontotoc and Troy, MS.

Testing my vast storehouse of information, both useful and otherwise, Barbara asked me if I knew where the Woodland Baptist Church was. I told her I was sure I could find it, but that off the top of my head I couldn’t give her directions to it and suggested she call Jerry Bell. Undertakers generally know where every church in the county is located as well as most of those in surrounding counties.

"Well, it’s on Pontocola Road," Barbara shared. "I’ll drive down there tomorrow or the next day to make sure I can find it."

Detail people don’t like to leave anything to chance. And, when it comes to getting volunteer groups to and from different locations in Pontotoc County, Barbara likes to know not only how far it is from point A to point B but also how long it takes to drive the distance.

The following day I was returning from Columbus, MS, where I had worked most of the day, when the thought struck me to try and find Woodland Baptist Church for Barbara. After all, I would be traveling along Hwy. 41 between Troy and Pontotoc, and I knew that Pontocola Road connected to Hwy. 41. As I neared Troy, I remembered that I had once driven north along a road in downtown Troy that connected with Pontocola Road. Though it had been forty years or more since I had done so, I figured the roads still connected with one another.

"This is nice," I thought, turning off the main highway at Troy and driving northward on a paved roadway. "This used to be a gravel road."

In fact, forty years ago, most of the roads in Pontotoc County were graveled roadways.

The paved surface wasn’t very smooth, and as far as I could tell the road was still as narrow as it was the first time I traveled it. I had no idea how far north of Troy that I would intersect with Pontocola Road, but I was confident it was no more than a few miles.

Along the way, I was amazed at the number of houses I passed and wondered if there were any parts of Pontotoc County that might be so remote as to be considered "in the sticks." I slipped into a "time warp" of some sort, and because the curved and narrow road forced me to drive at speeds less than forty-five miles per hour, I lost track of time and had no sense of how far I had traveled when I came to an intersection. My sense of direction was impaired, too, because the sky was overcast. Yet, believing I had arrived at Pontocola Road, I knew I should make a left turn in order to get to Woodland.

A concrete block building was on my right, and I could see a small sign across the road that indicated Toxish Church was just ahead. I’ve not been to the Toxish community many times in my life, and at that moment, it didn’t register in my mind where I really was.

I had no sooner made the left turn than I remember thinking how much wider and smoother Pontocola Road was than I remembered it being. I passed by several landmarks that had a familiar look about them but suspected nothing was wrong with my navigation at the time. Only, when I spotted a small road sign that read, "TROY" did I find cause for concern.

"Troy must be a lot larger than I thought," I reasoned, ignoring the sign clearly warning me I had come full circle from my departure at Troy minutes earlier.

The next landmark I saw indicated I was near Troy First Baptist Church. While it made no sense to me that there could possibly be two First Baptist Churches, one near Woodland and one near Troy, I still wasn’t convinced of my navigational error.

Moments later I passed a highway sign that read "Hwy. 41 South," however my reaction was that some prankster had changed the sign.

"Dang teenagers," I cursed, "they haven’t anything better to do than drive around swapping road signs."

I might still be looking for Woodland had it not been for the next road sign that read, "Natchez Trace ½ Mile." By then, I was really confused and couldn’t for the life of me figure out how I could be approaching the Natchez Trace. The Natchez Trace lies east of Troy, and by my sense of direction I was heading west. My first impression was that I had another Twilight Zone experience similar to the one Jason and I had driving to Ripley about thirty years ago when after a short detour in a rainstorm could not explain how we got where we were.

Finally, with the sight of the Natchez Trace, I began to emerge from the "time warp" I had encountered. Confused and embarrassed, I pulled off the highway at the exit to the Trace and drove back towards Troy. Landmarks that had only minutes earlier gone unrecognized were now obvious signs of my ignorance.

Eventually, I found Woodland Baptist Church and recorded the mileage and travel time from the church to Pontotoc, so Barbara could plan accordingly for getting the youth group to the church in time for dinner.

When I got home that afternoon, I opened the map program on my computer to discern what had gone wrong with my sense of navigation. Chapman Road was the road that would have led me from Troy to Pontocola Road, but I veered to the left in a Y intersection, which placed me on Peden Road, which looped back onto Hwy. 41 a few miles northwest of Troy. With no afternoon sun to aid my sense of direction, my left turn onto Hwy. 41 (not Pontocola Road) brought me back to Troy and eventually to the Natchez Trace.

Had I looked at the map to locate Pontocola Road ahead of time, I’d have noted there was no advantage in getting off the highway at Troy and would have instead taken the Woodland exit a few miles past Troy.

A number of conclusions may be drawn from my recent experience. While the reader is left to his or her own conclusions, the following are mine:

  • Don’t explore county roads without a map.
  • Don’t ignore the road signs.
  • Landmarks are useless if one’s perspective is faulty.
  • Forty years can change a lot of things.
  • Taking the "road less traveled" isn’t always a wise decision, but it may lead to an unforgettable experience.


Disaster Relief In The Aftermath Of Katrina

Typically, in the aftermath of a disaster, persons respond to the needs of others in various ways. While most of us choose to donate money, say a prayer, or gather needed supplies to send to the affected area, others seek to minister to the needy by offering free lodging and meals.

Motels and shelters throughout north Mississippi were filled by persons from the Gulf Coast and parts of Louisiana as Hurricane Katrina threatened low lying areas. When it became apparent that large numbers of people would not be able to return to their homes as soon as they had expected, some found they were not financially prepared for an extended stay and gave up their motel rooms and moved into area shelters, where living accommodations were less cordial but more budget friendly.

In Pontotoc, many of those seeking refuge were treated to meals by church groups, businesses, and restaurants. Citizens of Pontotoc and Pontotoc County demonstrated their generosity and goodwill in ways that will long be remembered by the evacuees.

When disaster strikes some folks choose to volunteer their services by actually working at or near the site of the disaster. Several from Pontotoc made their way to the Gulf Coast, with food and supplies, prepared to help in the rescue and recovery efforts. In fact, persons from across our great land did the same thing.

While New Orleans and the larger cities along the Gulf Coast have garnered the most media attention, small "ignored" communities were no less affected by Hurricane Katrina. RRN reader, Rev. Gerard Howell, shared the following:

Ignored Communities

By Rev. Gerard Howell

I am amazed at the inability of the media to present the enormity of the storm’s damage. Sometimes, I wish they would get out of New Orleans, but mostly just be silent and fly quietly over the damaged areas all the way to Hattiesburg, and let the visual images burn into our minds the reality of the damage.

A nurse friend, with some trained nurses, went to New Orleans with a truckload of water and food but were turned back. They found a policeman who took them to an "ignored" community who were happy to clean out a small surviving building, for storage, from which the supplies could be distributed. These people were grateful someone found them.

All over the south are these small communities that have no mayor or city council and thus no political clout that are completely wiped out. If I were still pastor of a church I would [ask the church to] adopt one of those ignored communities.

By Gerard Howell

My friend, Ed Dandridge, sent the following article written by his brother-in-law, Steve Muckelrath, who lives in Baton Rouge, LA. Steve shares not only his involvement with the relief efforts, but also relates that of a few volunteers from Pennsylvania, Minnesota, and Illinois.

Volunteers

By Steve Muckelrath

Like many residents of Baton Rouge, in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, I did not start helping with the relief effort immediately. Many, many other residents did start working tirelessly from day one. Everyone realizes that we are in this for the long haul, and I like to think that some of us are just pacing ourselves.

In the second week after the storm, I started helping a little at University Methodist Church, of which I am a member. The second day there, I helped a young man load a truck and trailer with donated supplies that were needed at another church across town. He was so weary that he occasionally stumbled. I thought he was a church member who I had not met. When we were finished and the lady in charge asked if he knew how to get to the other church, he said no. I asked if he wanted me to drive and he said that would be OK.

We set off across town in the interminable traffic that has become the new Baton Rouge, and I had plenty opportunity to find out about him. His name is Don Miraglia, and he is from Pennsylvania. He is a stone mason with his own business and a beautiful wife with two beautiful daughters, whose pictures he had stuck up on the dash.

I assumed that he was with some religious group come down to help, but he said no. Five days earlier, he had rented a small trailer, hitched it to his pickup, and drove to Baton Rouge to see if he could help. When we got back to the church, he said he would be leaving the next day. He had to get back home and line up a job, not to mention the fact that he really missed his family. He got a drink of water inside and got ready to leave.

I think he is the most self-effacing person I have ever met and would have been perfectly content to come down here, do his part, and go home without anyone hardly knowing his name. But I wasn't content with that. I told him to come into the office so the ladies who are really in charge of the church could thank him. He said that those ladies didn't know him, but I insisted. I like to think that their warm, sincere thanks perked him up a little. I know he looked livelier when he drove off through that traffic. This is just one story. There are thousands.

A lady trucker showed up the next day from Minnesota. She owned her own big rig and drove it down here with supplies and then stayed to haul supplies to different locations. But that wasn't enough. She made a very generous monetary donation and apologized that she couldn't give more.

I talked to two Illinois firemen who are part of a huge and still growing Task Force at a sprawling camp south of the city. Living in temporary ignorance of what exactly is expected of them, they expressed a certain amount of frustration. Being first responders, they are trained to get a call for help and then go save lives. They understood the complexity of the whole thing, but they still didn't like hanging around cooling their heels, if you can call living in un-air conditioned tents in 90 plus degree South Louisiana weather, cooling your heels.

Inevitably, of all the thousands of volunteers who came to help us, some will return to their homes thinking they had contributed nothing. Nothing would be farther from the truth. They left their homes, families and for sure their comfort, to come down here on the chance that they could do something to help their fellow man.

We will never forget that. Thank you.

By Steve Muckelrath


Bodock Beau Martha vs. Maxine Cont.

Thanks to Ken Gaillard for "Martha vs. Maxine" and to Hortense Wakefield for "I’m Thankful." We appreciate your willingness in sharing.

Martha vs. Maxine

If you accidentally over salt a dish while it's still cooking, drop in a peeled potato and it will absorb the excess salt for an instant "fix-me-up."

If you over salt a dish while you are cooking, that's too bad. Please recite with me the real woman's motto: "I made it and you will eat it and I don't care how bad it tastes!

Brush some beaten egg white over pie crust before baking to yield a beautiful glossy finish.

The Mrs. Smith frozen pie directions do not include brushing egg whites over the crust so I don't.

Cure for headaches: take a lime, cut it in half and rub it on your forehead. The throbbing will go away.

Take a lime, mix it with tequila, chill and drink.

If you have a problem opening jars, try using latex dishwashing gloves. They give a non-slip grip that makes opening jars easy.

Go ask that very cute neighbor if he can open it for you.

Don't throw out all that leftover wine. Freeze into ice cubes for future use in casseroles and sauces.

Leftover wine?

I’m Thankful

For the taxes I pay because it means I am employed.

For the mess to clean after a party because it means I have been surrounded by friends.

For the clothes that fit a little too snug because it means I have enough to eat.

For my shadow that watches me work because it means I am out in the sunshine

For a lawn that needs mowing, windows that need cleaning, and gutters that need fixing because it means I have a home.

For all the complaining I hear about the government because it means we have freedom of speech.

For the parking spot I find at the far end of the parking lot because it means I am capable of walking, and I have been blessed with transportation.

For my huge heating bill because it means I am warm.

For the lady behind me in church who sings off key because it means I can hear.

For the pile of laundry and ironing because it means I have clothes to wear.

For weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day because it means I have been capable of working hard.

For the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours because it means I am alive.


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