November 14

I have been trying, on this trip, not to think in nor speak nor write with pejoratives. They are symptomatic of hindrances to right mindfulness. But riding through this section of Mississippi in the last two days about half the dwellings I've seen have been trailers, and from their (sizable) lots have issued all three of the pickups I've seen with Confederate flags pasted on their rear windows. I've been chased by five or six dogs that came out of their yards. "Trailer trash" arose in my mind and would not be suppressed. Nor would Dawn's story of the riposte to a poor southern lady's observation that AIDS is God's means of punishing gays: "Yeah? Well tornados are God's way of punishing trailer trash."

This campground is populated by the occupants of about 15 RVs, who live here year-round, and work in the woods and in construction. They drive pickups and own dogs. The campground has an office that is crowded and cramped because it doubles as the office for a construction company that many of these guys work for. There is a tiny and very clean swimming pool next to the office, and a laundry, and primitive, dimly lit, clean bathrooms with showers. And a little restaurant that seats about ten. Brock had told me about the restaurant and Heather who runs it, and recommended it, "If you like home cookin'" I had supper there yesterday. Meat loaf, rice with gravy, baked beans, pan rolls, and chocolate cake, for $7.00. (The campsite cost $10) Kids were in and out, as were some of the guys, but I was the only one eating that early. There was a big TV in the corner, with an interview with and videos of Reba McIntyre.

Heather is a good-looking woman in her early thirties, the mother of at least two of the kids, and she treats me, like she does everybody, with generosity and humor. A big guy comes in, asks about what's for supper, and is worried about his runaway dog and the weather. Heather switches the TV to the weather channel, and on the map is a big, bright red section centered on Poplarville, surrounded by a bigger orange section, which is surrounded by a bigger yellow section, and the meteorological expert is telling us that while only 42% of tornados hit at night they account for 57% of tornado-caused deaths. There is a tornado watch in effect from New Orleans to Mobile and from the Gulf Coast to northern Mississippi, with the area in red having the highest probability.

Heather becomes pensive. The big guy says, "Hell, tornado watch ain't that bad. Now if it was tornado warning, that means somebody saw one and you can kiss your ass goodbye." A little later Heather shows one of her kids where they used to live, in South Carolina, on the weather map, and says, "They don't have this kind of weather there. We got rain, sure, from hurricanes, but not this kind of stuff." A little later the big guy's dog came to the door and his return was celebrated. When I paid for the meal Heather's mood was cheerful again. At sunset I was pensive, but snug in my tent. By 9:00 it was raining and the wind was blowing, hard.

Sociologists have observed a fatalism common to what they call the lower classes, in regard mainly to their powerlessness, and summed up in the expression, "You can't fight city hall."

I shared that fatalism last night. My alternative for shelter was a bed-and-breakfast in town. I, and all my gear, would have been soaked if I had tried to get there, and I didn't know that it would be any safer. Here, at least my tent was sheltered from the rain. I was vulnerable to a tornado, along with Heather and her children, the rest of the people living in this campground, and all the people who live in trailers in the red area of the weather map. The lightning, thunder, rain and wind were fierce last night. Sheltered as it was, the rain reached my tent, and it would have blown away had it not been weighted down by me and my gear. I waited for the noise of a nearby fast freight, which is what I've been told a tornado sounds like. I was fearful, but calm, accepting the outcome of my decisions. Too many good people get called "trailer trash".