Indian Pipe

When I was a boy, like around 10-13 years of age, I met my neighbor (because we recently moved from New Orleans to Picayune MS) and by neighbor I'm talking about 1/2 a mile away. Yes it was a bit of a culture shock. Anyway the neighbor, Miss Virginia Burgess only stayed in the house on weekends. She lived in New Orleans, like me. Because at first I too would only come out to my father's house on weekends.

She had a glorious house, and was set to build a bigger and grander house still... then her husband passed and she no longer needed or wanted the house. The original was good enough. Anyway this place was called Indian Pipe. Not knowing why what Indian Pipe meant until I talked to her about it. It's a flowery plant that grows in rich soil. Usually around dead or dieing plants.

Anyway, me and this woman had a good relationship. Pretty much until I left for the Army. She would tell me about plants and Indian artifacts and about New Orleans. She was high society, but I didn't know, or really care. She was old enough to be my grandmother, and had so many experiences to share.

Originally from New York, she had a grandson that was my age. Sometimes he would come down for the summer or Christmas. But I could tell it was not the places he was used to. Nestled right up against a game preserve, there were deer, rabbit, squirrel, armadillo, 'possum, coon, and all manner of snakes and turtles. Even a few alligators (they were being introduced, though not native). There was an Indian mound, miles of forest, all kinds of fishing and hunting, and creeks to go swimming in. It was great. But it wasn't Central Park.

So anyway, as the years went on I started to watch the place for her, and she'd give me some money for my trouble, which was really no trouble at all. After I went off to become a man and all that business in the Army I lost touch with her. I also heard that her place got broken into and that she had fallen on ill health. I think I know who broke in, and if it is any consolation he is dead, killed by police or a train, depending on who you ask.

I'll never forget our conversations about a bunch of nothing, usually about art, or artifacts, or school. I'll never forget that house built by hand, it is probably just like I left it... with the gold leaf balls along the ridge line and the antique horse buggy beneath. Or all the arrowheads and the dammits (when a Indian was making an arrowhead and messed up, we called it a dammit).

It was a time before any cell phones or internet. Though all those things were close. If you wanted to know something you either asked someone who knew or you researched it at the library. I'm sure she has long since passed, but she is not forgotten.