Jackson, Mississippi

 

 Twice now I’ve had a librarian here in Mississippi take me to task for bringing my water bottle into the library ignoring the no eating and drinking sign at its entry.  Never before have I been denied hydrating while reading.  But so it is in the South, where those with authority like to exert it to keep people in line.  At the first library I was asked to leave my bottle at the front desk.  At the second I was seated when a librarian approached me and gave me a plastic bag to hide my bottle in, so it wouldn’t encourage others to bring in water bottles she said.

Neither library was a Carnegie, though the second in Greenwood was across the street from the former Carnegie, which had been without a tenant since 1978 when it had been replaced.  There have been occasional Friends of the Library book sales there, but not for years.  The red brick building had had an addition giving it a second entrance on the other street of its corner location. It’s pointed, high-peaked roof gave it the semblance of a church.  

Nearby, almost adjoining it, was the Confederate Memorial Building of a similar architecture, built about the same time over one hundred years ago.  The Hall is a popular building for wedding receptions and other functions.

 

It was nearly one hundred miles south to the next Carnegie in Jackson, the state capital, at Millsap College, a Methodist school founded in 1890 three miles north of the towering, domed capital building.  The campus had a high black metal fence around it and was off-limits to outsiders in these times.  The guard told me that if I came back Monday, two days away, I might be given a guided tour of the campus, but she couldn’t let me in.  

I could get a peak of the library through the fence, though it was largely hidden by trees.  That was good enough for me.  I could tell it was not a building of particular magnificence,  based on the rather bland, campus ordinarie surrounding buildings.  I’d had a good ride getting there on lightly traveled Highway 51 that paralleled Interstate 55, the very same superhighway that passes within half a mile from where I live outside of Chicago. I could be grateful to the interstate for siphoning off most of the traffic.  Though each Carnegie is a joy to behold and leaves a lasting memory, they are in essence providing me the opportunity for a good bike ride, so I could hardly be disappointed at not having a closer look.  I was able to place it in context and that was plenty good enough for my purposes.

Just a mile-and-a-half south, also on State Street, I passed Jackson’s characterless Main Library, named for Eudora Welty, a long-time local resident. It replaced the demolished Carnegie Library.   The library had been closed due to a fire when I was last in Jackson on a ride with Waydell in November of 2008, shortly before Obama’s election.  It had been closed for awhile and there was no rush to reopen it we were told, as the library had largely served as a refuge for the homeless. 

Jackson was somewhat hilly after a long flat period while I was in the Mississippi Delta to the northwest.  During one stretch of sixty miles my altimeter registered only 145 feet of climbing, quite a contrast to my first three days from Memphis when I was averaging one thousand feet of climbing every forty miles when it was hilly. Whether flat or hilly the terrain remained heavily forested, making camping almost as easy as in France.  Twice I’ve been able to circumvent gates to forests blocking dirt roads that showed no tire treads and with fallen trees or branches on the road promising I would have the forest all to myself.

The temperatures have remained coolish, only just encroaching upon the 80s.  I’ve bought just one cold drink in five days, and that was a half gallon of chocolate milk that I could nurse for two days.  I was given two bottles of cold water by two young black women who took me for someone in need as I sat against the wall of a service station/convenience store.  They each gave me a bag from the store with a bottle of water and some food—chicken and a biscuit in one and an egg and sausage sandwich in the other.  As always, such kindliness left me feeling uplifted and hopeful for miles.  I hope they felt the same.

A couple days before a middle-aged lady approached me with a couple of bills clutched in her hand.  Rather than handing it to me with the the briefest of greetings as most do, she actually engaged me in conversation asking, “Where are you biking to?”  When I 
 I told her I was seeking out Carnegie libraries, she realized I was not some desperate, forlorn character and kept the offering.  She said she and her husband liked to bike and wished me well.  I’d like to think I gave her some cheer, happy to meet someone off on an adventure she could relate to.