To Purvis and Back Again, Part 1

Purvis, Mississippi is a very small town near Hattiesburg; it's also about 60-90 minutes north of New Orleans. To get there from here, we have to drive west through Mobile, then turn north on Highway 98. Once we leave the interstate system, it's a two or four lane highway of slightly hilly, mostly bucolic country. It's then we begin passing signs like "Hot Boiled Peanuts" and restaurants with names like "Bar-B-Q-in' With My Honey." My favorite is simply called "Bobo's Good Eats." You also pass churches with names like "Holiness Fire of God" and "The Living Waters Tabernacle."
Our purpose in traveling to Purvis was to visit with friends and watch one of our boys graduate from boarding school. The special occasion merited the one day round trip that lasted well into the small hours of the morning. We started late, and made it in time for the end of the baccalaureate speech and Senior Power Point presentation after a small mishap at a gas station which is not worth mentioning. We congratulated ourselves on getting there in good time, and found a seat in the back of the church sanctuary located on the campus of our Academy. We've all spent quite a bit of time there for various educational and church conference functions, and are very familiar with the campus lay-out. Or well, what's left of it. The school campus there in the Lumberton/Purvis area was devastated by Hurricane Katrina, and is in the haphazard state of repair one finds all over the Gulf Coast region. Our town is still recovering from Ivan almost two years later.
So that is how our day of graduation festivities began. After a mercifully short service (for us, at least), we stood under the awning, greeting and hugging graduates and various old friends. The best was yet to come, because all our people (there were several car-, van-, and SUV-loads of people from our town) met up at Grandmother P's house for mid-day dinner. Grandmother P is a well-known cook, and loves to feed her family's friends. There was squash casserole, candied sweet potato wedges, roast beef, turkey hash. Butter beans, macaroni and pimento cheese casserole, fresh shelled creamed peas from the garden, and so much more. I ate my fill and then some, then had to find room for desert. Our hostess's famous chocolate mousse and coconut cream pies left me gasping for air like a guppy because I was so full. We lolled around chatting, catching up on news, and making new acquaintances.
The graduate's daddy (we'll call him HP) offered me a ride on his motorcycle, and I accepted. Wearing the same skirt and heels I'd worn to church, I gingerly climbed on to the seat and grabbed hold of his waist. Using his feet to back us out of the driveway, which was packed with cars from Mississippi and Florida, HP got us to the road. We sped along straitaways, and I learned that you lean into curves if you don't want to be the 'Today's Special' at the Road Kill Cafe.
The problem with the helmet I was wearing was the visor: it didn't cover my face. As we hit 65 mph on one stretch of Highway 11, I found tears streaming down my cheeks, which were billowing slightly less than my skirt from the force of the wind. I grinned and resolved to pick any bugs out of my teeth, should the need arise. I'd already given up tucking my skirt under my legs and decided to just enjoy the ventilation!
At one point, we had to stop for a few minutes to let a train go by. I'd never been that close to all that power rushing by. The wooden tracks bent under the pressure of the great metal wheels, and I remembered Pirsig's 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'. It made more sense now. As the sun shone down on our heads and shoulders, I found myself philosophizing about the rush of life and how much we miss. HP listened patiently.
On the way back, some kids playing in front of their trailer waved at us as we rode by. I shouted 'hey' and waved. We returned about 45 minutes after we'd left, having taken a tour of the local county roads. I was invigorated and suffering from a serious reverse case of helmet hair-my hair had become a wild mop of frizzed out curls, daring a brush to come near. It was almost time to pile in and caravan to the graduation site. I tried to fix what I could, then gave up. My shoes were cute enough to overcome the other flaws, I decided.
The graduation was full of recognitions, accolades, tears, and triumph. The speech was humorously and wonderfully done in under ten minutes. We did our part to show our pride when my former student walked across the stage (no cow bells, but lots of whistling and screaming did the trick). After the new graduates tossed their mortar boards in the air, we said our good-byes, which lasted longer than my friend was happy with. She wanted to get home. We made our way to Sonic, since we were dying of thirst (the gym was packed and not well-ventilated) and hungry. Several car loads full of people also coming from the graduation showed up there during the time we waited for our order to arrive. Every time we saw someone new, I'd drag my bare feet off the dashboard, put my shoes back on, and run over to say hello.
Finally, we got on the road. It was 11:15 p.m. by this point, and my friend was in a hurry. The ride home is the stuff of legend, and deserves its own post. Ok, well maybe not the stuff of legend, but it sure was memorable.
To be continued.....

*This story is now very poignant for me because HP suffered a heart attack Monday, and has not regained consciousness. Barring a miracle (which we're all praying for), he's not expected to recover. I keep thinking back to that day and how happy it was.