I was eighteen years old before I ever witnessed a real, live, Mississippi cotton field. Where I was from we farmed pine and had gardens of fruits and vegetables. Highway 61 revealed a wide horizon with vast spotted fields and massive tractors which appeared as miniatures in the distance. Although I was from this state, nothing about it felt like home to me.
Now maybe, twenty years later, it has come to be a home away from home. Foreign and familiar as if I traveled to another planet and found the same inhabitants. This, I think, became one of the most beautiful lessons I learned from north Mississippi, that no matter where we go we will always find ourselves.
I am grateful.