Marshall Ramsey

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed.”  1 Corinthians 15:52 ESV

Natalie Perkins was chaperoning a prom on a typical Delta Friday night. Yes, there was severe weather in the forecast, but no alerts had gone off on her phone. Then her phone did ring. A massive EF-4 wedge tornado had struck Rolling Fork, Mississippi, obliterating 85 percent of the town and killing 13. People were trapped in their homes and in businesses. Natalie quickly took off her chaperone hat and put on her emergency management hardhat. Natalie, who’s the assistant director of the Sharkey County Emergency Management Agency, is also the editor of The Deer Creek Pilot, a weekly paper that has long punched above its weight thanks to the late and legendary Ray Mosby. 

I interviewed Natalie the Monday after the storm on the radio. I interviewed her again for Mississippi Stories again two weeks after the storm. That interview is below. She told me that she didn’t know she had the strength until she had to have it. 

She is exhausted, not sleeping and is burning on fumes. But she sure does have strength. 

I don’t say this lightly — the post-storm edition of The Deer Creek Pilotdeserves a Pulitzer Prize. And Natalie deserves a long, relaxing vacation away from her phone (which went off several times while I was interviewing her.) 

There is so much need. 
You can”t fathom the destruction until you see it in person. Seeing it on TV or online is like looking through a toilet paper tube. The storm, which was a mile wide when it hit, scrubbed Rolling Fork off the map. I haven’t seen anything like it since Katrina. As I pulled into town along Hwy 61, I noticed the Sharkey County courthouse. When I was in town a couple days before the storm, you couldn’t see the courthouse from Highway 61. Now, all the homes and trees blocking the view are gone. 

I met Natalie at Bearable Fitness, which is across the street from the now-ruined hospital (a field hospital has been set up north of town.) Bearable is the new Emergency Operating Center — which seems ironically named. I’m not sure anything that has happened the last two weeks is “bearable.”  But that’s Rolling Fork; there are lots of bear references thanks to Teddy Roosevelt not shooting that bear (and the creation of the Teddy Bear.)

In the EOC, there are tables set up in the midst of workout equipment. Box lunches lined the wall and volunteers and management folks from around the country were manning computers and phones. The elephant is getting eaten — one bite at a time. 

The response has been nothing short of breathtaking. Natalie repeatedly expressed her gratefulness for all of the help, from national to state to the volunteers. As I drove around town on the streets that had been cleared, it looked like an army of worker ants clearing debris. MEMA, FEMA, the Mississippi Highway Patrol, the Mississippi Department of Wildlife and Fisheries — there were people there working from all corners of the state and beyond. A team had come in from Florida, a state that knows a lot about recovering from storms. 

What happens when the shiny ball moves on? 
Rolling Fork is a town with such a wonderful and unique history. But it faced struggles even before the storm. The economy was just getting back on its feet after the South Delta floods. “Some people say they aren’t going to build back,” she told me. I would understand why not — I can’t imagine the amount of trauma that the residents have to unpack. This recovery won’t happen overnight. But one thing I do know about Delta residents is that they are strong. Strong like Natalie. 

Rolling Fork will rise again. 

Growing up, my church didn’t make a big deal about Good Friday. It always seemed like something only my Catholic friends talked about. The best of my recollection, my opinion of it was that it probably had the worst name of all time. It’s almost like “half marathon.” The name doesn’t really capture the pain of the moment. 

I’ve been slogging through earthly matters the last few weeks and haven’t had much time to engage in Lent or even Holy Week. A couple of thoughts hit me this morning while driving my son to school. 

Now that I’m older — much, much older — I understand the importance of Good Friday. While I love Easter with its hope and promise, I know that without the tragedy of Friday, Sunday’s meaning would ring hollow. For many years, I spent much of my life trying to avoid pain. And while I don’t seek it, I now know that embracing and working through it provides context to joy. You can’t self-medicate yourself to happiness. Fear, sadness and hopelessness have to be confronted head-on with love. That’s what Jesus did on Friday. And Sunday was the result. 

Go forward today and tack into the wind. Live in the moment and face your fears head on with love. And may you and your family have a blessed Easter weekend.

A few years ago, I took my boys to the Delta. One was reading The Help for school and the other was learning to play the guitar, so I figured a trip to The B.B. King Museum in Indianola and then to Greenwood would be just the ticket.

I wasn’t wrong.

I love the B.B. King museum. Not only do you get a good grasp on what made the legend, you also understand Blues’ origin. How the the thorny bush of pain and despair of racism and poverty in the Delta gave birth to the beautiful flower of music. When people go through trauma, their stories must be heard and released into the world. The Blues did just that.

To use another metaphor, I’ve always found telling stories to be like how an oyster deals with an irritant. When a piece of sand gets wedged into the oyster, the oyster covers it with layer after layer of nacre, the material lining the oyster shell. Eventually, you get a precious pearl and the pain is relieved.

B.B. King , like so many Mississippi musicians, authors and artists, created beauty from pain.

Our stories, music and art are our pearls of wisdom. And yes, sometimes art does make you uncomfortable.

I guess that‘s what worries me the most about about the latest rage (but not new) trend of book banning. When you suppress stories or the government tries to ban viewpoints, you are suppressing people’s stories. If something bothers you, don’t read it. But to deny others a voice and a chance to be heard — well, that is telling them they don’t matter.

I may not agree with you, but I’ll listen — well, most of the time. Sometimes, I even tune myself out.

I am grateful I live in Mississippi. Our problems make beautiful pearls. We are a land of storytellers, artists and musicians. That is our superpower. That is what makes this place special. My personal vow is to become a better observer and listener. Because I know that being curious is the path to growth.