Mississippi in the summer time: let that roll over you for a minute. Let’s face it, in the summer time this place is hot, humid, sticky, and one step closer to the sun, but I adore it.
You see, summer is a special time for me. Yes, summer is special for any kid growing up, but I am a teacher’s kid; therefore, summer was a pinnacle for my family. Just like any aspect of Jackson, there are a few special places that are near and dear to my heart, one of those being the farmer’s market. Filling up the old Ford Taurus and making the trip down to the farmer’s market stands meant that summer had actually begun.
I can still remember the heat from the pavement on my flip-flopped feet and trying not to run to Miss Doris’ stand to see the colors of the summer. Vibrant reds, greens, purples, and yellows were something to behold and be treasured. Purple hull, green bean, snap bean, tomatoes, okra, peppers, bushel, and hot pepper jelly were jargon that were as common to me as breathing. I remember watching my mother carefully inspect each vegetable as she put them into the large brown paper bags, wrap them up, and place each one at the counter. It seemed like my mother had always come to this farmer’s market because Miss Doris knew her by name but called her “Hon.” Miss Doris knew me too. Each time we came to the farmer’s market she would always tell me, “Make sure you get a fresh peach!” I would know this before her even telling me, and I would have scoped out the biggest, softest, and the most heavenly smelling one that I could.
We would load back into the car, peach in hand, and drive through Jackson as my mother accounted where old friends lived, where she lived as well, all of the banks my grandfather managed, and where she taught. I did not know at the time how much those trips would become ingrained in my person.
I never feel as Southern as when I go to the farmer’s market with the same discerning eye that my mother used and say the same words that she did. Miss Doris now calls me “Hon,” even though she knows my name, and reminds me to make sure I take a peach for the trip home.
Written by Laura
Jackson: photographs by Ken Murphy is available now for purchase. To order a copy, call Lemuria Books at 601.366.7619 or visit us online at lemuriabooks.com. Please join us in celebrating Jackson on August 5th at 5:00 in Banner Hall!
