286. Vicksburg, Warren County (MS02)

I am a fan of Leonard Cohen. He was an amazing songwriter and poet and, while I feel sad for the way all his money was embezzled, forcing him out of retirement to make a living, I feel that it was a boon to the rest of the world that we got have more albums from him in his later years. Back when I set off for Jonesboro, I thought I hit random on the Leonard Cohen discography I keep on my phone. In reality, I simply hit play. It took me a few songs to realize my error, but I decided to stick with it and this entire trip was done to the soundtrack of his career. I cannot begin to imagine the timing or fate, having listened to him for hours at this point, that would turn a song of of aged love into the peak of surreality.

Four minutes and nine seconds. That’s how long it took from the moment I hit the bridge until I turned off my engine at the courthouse. And when I stepped from the car, I felt the weight of a hundred ghosts dragging along with me. Whether it was Leonard or…something else, I neither can nor will say. All I knew was that I was here and I came all this way for a reason. It was time to get to it. As you can imagine, the first thing I noticed was that the courthouse was across the street…

…from the old courthouse. Alright, that is a majestic beast right there. I would have loved to walk up her steps and enter through the doors, but the gates were locked and and weekend entry would be denied, especially with it being a Sunday. Of course, there were various markers about…

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…but I noticed that there weren’t really any centered around the Confederacy. In fact, the lion’s share of markers, if referencing anything Confederate at all, were about Union subjects: this Union General stayed here, this was occupied by Union troops, this served this Confederate purpose until the Union captured it. Everything was conspicuously not Confederate, even. Probably to keep attention away out of fear of displaying any sympathies over the years. I guess that’s as good a reason as any.

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From there, I went down the the riverside to find a cache to make this trip complete. Near the northern end of this southern bound vessel I found an electrical plate hiding our collective secret. The log was signed, the plate returned, and in the meantime…

…the Yazoo and the Mississippi converged. Which, at least for me, raises the question of whether or not “conflue” is really a word, and, if not, why not? Linguistic humor aside, though, it was time for me to go. After a quick pit stop, I got back on that bridge to leave the ghosts of Vicksburg behind. With it in my rear view mirror, I made my way just a bit further on to…