At the end of April, we took off. We wanted to see a new source of sinker cypress, and we drove a couple hundred miles up to Jackson, MS and then over to Monroe, La. toute doite with a right turn to stay on the interstates. We made it over by just after lunch (fried chicken from a gas stop - not bad).
The river was high and beautiful, and as I drove Swanny over the levee (with Geoff yelling that I was about to go over the edge and me snaking at angles so my little low rider didn’t bottom out) , I was really enjoying the pretty setting next to the river. 
A barge, old houseboats (one being used by the watchman for the site who turned out to be an interesting guy with a great scruffy little dog whom he dotes on), and lots of sinker logs of all types pulled up on the shore added to the ambiance of high water lapping at your feet and gorgeous blue skies.
We enjoyed our visit, first with Mark’s dad and then with Mark himself. Their family had been working on the river for generations. His dad told stories of how loggers would work upriver into Arkansas, getting their huge original growth forest logs to the banks, and then bringing them down river en masse, tying some of the ones that might sink together with “floaters” and taking them downriver to mills in the early towns along their banks. 
A lot of the logs would sink along the way, a bad deal for those intrepid original loggers, who got paid down at the mill for logs initialed with their marks. For us, it was a good deal because those “sinker logs” that litter the bottom of rivers and bayous throughout the southern region make beautiful lumber. They have absorbed minerals that create streaks of color based on the type of river bottom they sank into, and have tight ringcounts. Folk like Mark and his Dad pull them up, and we sell the beautiful lumber to appreciative customers.
More pictures
Now, the first part of the deal was to see this place and meet the owner, a very interesting guy with a lot of ideas and initiative. Part two of the deal was “Grace, you make the plan and we’ll do what you want.”
We were in Monroe, La - not a hot spot but it does have two public gardens, and what I wanted to do was tour a garden. So I found via the internet what was the best hotel, some restaurant ideas, and the location of the gardens. Well, after leaving the river logging location, we started driving around town. It is a town, not a city as a New Yorker might perceive it, so it was like an extended strip mall. Nothing particularly attractive, at least on the streets where we roamed. I had found a motel that was supposedly nice. Geoff wanted a place on the river. Of course, there was no such place. There was a restaurant on the river, which we drove by as I tried to accede to Geoff’s demand for a place on the water, but he said he wasn’t interested in it. So after pulling in the drive of the motel, and him saying he didn’t like it, I more or less gave up on the “my way” rhetoric. When he suggested driving back to Vicksburg to a casino, I just agreed and crossed traffic, drove through a few detours, got on the interstate, and headed for Vicksburg.
Once there we pulled in a casino along the mighty, mighty Mississippi, and since he wanted a view, ended up getting a top floor suite. Nice enough. Room pleasant, two TVs, great shower, but no room service so down to the restaurant (vs casino buffet) and had a pretty mediocre meal. We were both so tired, after a long day, that we never went to the casino. Just crashed in our pretty nice room. A good end to an up/down day.
The next morning I made hotel room coffee with the decaf the maid left after making her own pot of regular (or maybe she just forgot to clean up after the last occupants). 
We drove around the old district of Vicksburg, looking at pretty homes of antebellem vintage, then stopping at an overlook of the Mississippi. The river was very high, and it was a beautiful morning. After stopping to gas up and grab donuts for Geoff and real coffee for me, off we went towards Natchez.
The road was straight out of Vicksburg, and I still had hopes of seeing a garden. The plan was to get to Natchez and have lunch. Well, the best laid plans go astray, and so did we.
As we drove on US 61 south, we kept seeing signs of flooded fields, making us think that it would be fun to find a river’s edge route. There was a small town, Port Gibson, that had restaurants and shops to look at. We turned off, saw a picturesque small town with a big courthouse, then followed a road out of the town that seemed to go southwest towards the river. We wound up and around bluffs and beautiful scenery for miles but never a view of the river. The only sign of it was a big road block saying that the road was closed ahead due to flooding. So back the same way towards Port Gibson.
On the way back, on that little road to nowhere (acually, we would have ended up in Alcorn if we could have driven through), we stopped to look at a small cabin up on a hill, that turned out to be a church built by the original settlers. 
Very much like our cabin, which dates from 1812 or so, three fellows who were there cutting grass told us about the area and some of the other old buildings out in the woods that are no longer maintained. They were from the nearby Grand Gulf Military Park and were interested to learn that we live in a dogtrot cabin as there are several at the main park. We will have to stop there someday to check them out. It was peaceful, with the old cabin topping a high bluff that plunged into a tree and brush-filled gorge.
After leaving there, we stopped once more on the way back to Port Gibson at a big lumber mill that looked abandoned. Pulling in, we found a skeleton crew and, inside a big warehouse, piles of milled cypress! Geoff took a look around and we got the owner’s name and number - never know what we’ll find on those side roads!
We finally got back to Port Gibson, and driving through saw the little restaurant that had been advertised on billboards and phamphlets, but Geoff didn’t want to stop at “a hokey tourist trap” or something to that effect. So on we went, getting onto the Natchez Trace for a ride down to Natchez, with one planned stop at Mount Locust to see one of the original buildings along the route created by riverboat men walking back north along old Indian trails in the early, early days of western expansion.
Along the Trace, a two lane road with no stops, the speed limit is 50 mph. On a beautiful day with almost no one on the road, I, ummm, let Swanny go a little faster, an event that did not go unnoticed by a police officer in an unmarked SUV passing from the other direction. Since defiance of the law never helps one’s cause, I immediately pulled over into a convenient rest stop. He turned out to be a professional but very pleasant fellow who, after a scolding that included references to bikers, etc., simply warned me and made me promise to use my cruise control for the rest of our ride down to Natchez. Which I did, if only in gratitude for his understanding of the temptations of driving a lady like Swanny. After letting me off, he asked to see her dash etc., and was interested in her 5 speed short-shift Hurst transmission and sound system, among other things. As I said, a real nice guy, although I might not have felt that way with a ticket.
After a somewhat longer cruise than I had anticipated, we made it to Mount Locust. It turned out to be even more interesting than we had expected, especially as it had a lot more little details than our dogtrot, which is a little later in date but more primitive in construction. Things like hand added beads on the edge of the ceiling panels of the original room, hand finished curves in the railings on the porch, etc., showed both the skill and the love of place of the original cabin builder way out in the wilds of early Mississippi. We stayed quite a while, talking with the guides who were well informed and very gracious.
Lunch and my garden tour in Natchez was an unlikely possibility, as it was past 2 p.m. when we finally made it there. I had not felt in a rush as I thought we were under no time pressures; if we stayed over in Natchez we would have plenty of time for me to see a garden or two in the morning before getting back home in time to pick up the pups (yes, for the first time we had no dogs with us, having put Mo and Rose at the vet for R&R). Of course, for me lunch was the critical factor as I had not had a bite all day, which makes me - grumpy. After leaving Mount Locust, I casually mentioned something about staying over in Natchez and immediately had my hopes dashed. “We have so much to do, I need to be home to check stocks, …” So, after driving more or less all morning, all I had to look forward to was a quick stop in Natchez and a long drive home. Grumpier.
Natchez is a beautiful place, and more charming in my opinion than Vicksburg. There were gracious, large plantation style houses on large estates as well as pretty Victorian homes along well maintained side streets. We saw most of it driving around, first to find a plantation style restaurant with gardens that was open (none were, it was either too late for lunch or too early for dinner), and then to find something open on Main Street. Eventually, we did. We ate (at about 4 - by the time we finished the cute shops around the restaurant were closed) at a very nice cafe style place. We sat in a courtyard in the back, that was adorned with flowers as well as vines growing over interesting pieces that one of the neighboring shops had for sale. Everything was delicious and we thoroughly enjoyed the relaxing meal. It reminded me of a cross between what the French Quarter in New Orleans could be without the loud music and nasty smells, and Paris’ side street cafes. Really lovely.
No garden, but all in all a nice day. Maybe next time. Natchez is a place well worth a long weekend. Trip home a straight line 2.5 hour zip. Dogs got another day of R&R, and Geoff was happily back to the computer the next day.
This is our little Rose - only 12 pounds but a heart filling giant of personality and joy. Yesterday, out chasing a truck with the big dogs, tire biting and yapping, the tire bit back - and Rose was instantly gone forever.
She was a happy critter, apple of Geoff’s eye and she reciprocated - always at his feet or perched on the pillow head rest of his recliner, surveying her realm. She had no worries, barked when she wanted something, and generally got it.
The other dogs liked her and knew she was special. She enjoyed a go at a cat from time to time, just to show off. Most of them are bigger than she is, but never bothered her.
Chester, 
Tubby, Pebby and 
Max, whom we lost just a year and a half ago - with Rosie stepping in to successfully fill his formidable pawprints in our hearts. So Rose was a new gal on this block, but loved as much as any pet we have had. We lost another “short-timer”, Maggie May, just after Katrina, and you simply don’t forget. Each pet, in their special way, gives unconditional love and loyalty, and has indiosncracies to enjoy or drive you nuts.
Now Rose is with all our other “babies”, resting in the garden with gardenias in bloom. She will have her special plant just like the others, and her special place in our hearts.
