Water Street Hollow

As a child, trips to Woodville were practically synonymous with Christmas morning. My grandmother kept the fridge stocked with Cokes in glass bottles, and we could always count on some type of candy. She also had comics and activity books in the spare room, always rotating the old ones for new, and sometimes she took us to the Ben Franklin to pick out a toy.
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I could usually count on seeing some cousins during our visits, which was a special treat since they were all girls and I had two brothers to endure daily. The real magic, however, was playing in this hollow. The sudden drop of the landscape beside the house both frightened and excited us, but the slope behind was perfect for rolling to the bottom where we’d dizzily stand then hike back up for another whirl.
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Some people may not understand why we’d want to spend 2-4 hours each week during the hot Mississippi summers mowing this place, but for me it’s intoxicating. Woodville’s topography, flora, and fauna are nearly as spectacular as its people. My view from the mower lets me take in the details—the channels the rainwater cuts in the hill as it flows from the highest point in the county a block away; a stray iris or lily popping out of the kudzu; birds watching and waiting to feast on the insects and mice scattering in the mower’s wake. And throughout my work, I constantly get this view.
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Why Woodville? Because my heart skips a beat every time I look out over this hollow.