Music is something that has forever been woven into the culture of Jackson. While Carl Perkins and the Rockabilly sound are what most people think of first, that staccato rhythm and piano twang is only a part of what Jackson’s music scene was and is. The musical talent that Jackson has produced — from Full Devil Jacket to Erin Rae to LOLO — is as diverse as the community. The problem, though, is that Jackson never had an infrastructure to develop that talent. At least not until now. 

On Sunday morning at Historic First Baptist Church, Stedman Roebuck stands ready at the keyboard, looking out over the congregation. As the preacher’s voice rises, and a tune rises with it. He moves with the music, with the crowd, with the lifting of voices. Hands are raised and tears fall. Shoulders relax into a place that feels like home.

“We don’t like it to look too clinical,” remarked Chrissy Watson, board-certified Music Therapist at the STAR Center as she pulled out her guitar. The room’s lavender walls and smorgasbord of colorful instruments, complete with Watson’s warm guitar strums, banished any thought of the adjective “clinical”. Yet, this little room holds sessions where tangible healing takes place.

However one might choose to gauge her, Lauren Pritchard, who goes by the stage name LOLO, does not situate comfortably into the traditional West Tennessee templates assigned to a middle class white girl. The church choir, theatre class, prom-going standards simply don’t work.

If you drive through the suburban sprawl surrounding Nashville, headed west towards Jackson, Tennessee, the rolling hills will soon taper to level ground. You’ll know you’re almost there when a field of trees swallowed in kudzu forms hovering masses, almost like ancient creatures gathered alongside the road. We don’t think about it too much, but there’s something to the landscape of a place. Plenty of artists have tried, but it shapes us in ways we can’t quite name.

When I was young, my family would take vacations to different cities to watch baseball games. While I loved baseball, the thing I looked forward to the most was seeing the skyline of whatever city we were visiting. In my single digit years, it was always St. Louis. Driving past the multitude of Drury Inns in the suburbs and waiting for the skyline to materialize in the distance never got old. Seeing the Arch stretch across the sky is something I can still see in my mind today. As I got older, the cities became larger: Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, New York.

“third wave coffee.” noun. 1. The most recent cultural phenomenon in the history of the coffee industry and consumption. Comes after the first wave of coffee, which included “growing coffee consumption exponentially,” and the second wave of coffee, which began to “define and enjoy specialty coffee.” 2. Purchasing coffee due to its “origin and artisan methods of production.” 3. A movement aspiring to produce the highest quality of coffee possible at every level while pleasing and intriguing the coffee consumer. “UrbanHouse.” noun.

Maybe it will be a high school production of the musical Camelot. An exhibit of stunning photography by a local class may catch your eye. Perhaps you’ll just want to see the downstairs museum, where dozens of photos, plaques, awards, and costumes recall the acting careers of Dixie Carter and her husband, Hal Holbrook. What will bring you to The Dixie? The Dixie Carter Performing Arts & Academic Enrichment Center is a historical performing arts and enrichment center in Huntingdon, Tennessee.

I bought the most reasonably-priced vinyl record of my life at a record store in Jackson. This is the kind of sentence I never thought I’d write. For one thing, reasonable prices, particularly for a brand new, remastered vinyl of an iconic rock star like David Bowie, are hard to come by in most record stores. If you go to Wuxtry Records in Athens, Georgia, you’ll find records for around twenty to thirty bucks.

Great art is meant to be experienced. It is not enough to see a picture of a painting by Delacroix or Jacques-Louis David in an art history book. You must tramp across the wide corridors of the Louvre and encounter them in all the massive, unbelievable glory and beauty; anything else is only a poor substitute. This sort of artistic experience is a great blessing, and it explains why so many people continue to visit the great museums of the world.

If you have been to a lazy weekend day the West Tennessee Farmers’ Market or a night out at one of Jackson’s finer dining establishments, then you are no stranger to the soothing sounds of Scott Myatt’s music. Myatt’s song, a mixture of melodic singing and guitar playing, is a familiar sound often filling the air throughout our city. A part-time musician and a part-time visual artist, Myatt brings his lyrical touch on the senses to locals as a proud citizen of Jackson.

There is a little Italian café in Geneva, Switzerland, that sits just across the street from the headquarters of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. I found myself there one rainy morning in February hunched over coffee with a colleague. We ran through the updates of the people around us who were doing their best to keep their flags flying in the midst of deep decreases in global budgets and broad increases in needs for life-saving work in areas such as human rights and global health.

All my life I have heard people talk about how time flies. I have never actually witnessed a clock sprout wings and take off, but as a child, that's the only way I could picture time flying. As I got older and little bit wiser, I knew clocks did not really fly and understood it was just a figure of speech—but to me, it seemed like a joke because time felt like it was crawling. For many, it becomes a reality when children are born. One minute, you're holding your precious baby; the next, they are having babies of their own.

When you interview a guy you’ve known for years—a guy who has had dozens of articles and interviews published since the launch of his business—the thing you are probably the most aware of is the desire to be original in what you put on paper for the whole world to see. If nothing else, don’t be cliché about it. So that was my goal as I mentally prepared myself to interview Sam Bryant, owner of Samuel T. Bryant Distillery here in Jackson.

There’s a new show in town; Jackson, Tennessee, has been chosen to host the inaugural TN Music Awards. The TN Music Awards is a red carpet event focused on fostering community feedback, supporting local music, and expanding entertainment. Nathan Hunnicutt, along with the Jackson Area Music Society (JAMS), has been planning an event like this with Jackson in mind for some time now.

Walt Disney World, Gulf Shores, Baton Rouge, France, the Bahamas, the Yucatan; these are places we go to retreat from the normalcy of life. These are the destinations of our vacations, our free week off from work to do what we want. Yet retreating to something different doesn’t have to mean venturing beyond state lines. As native West Tennesseans, we forget the vast culture and history that surrounds us.

It can occasionally seem desirable to be someone else. Perhaps to be someone who doesn’t feel what we feel or who says the right things (or who doesn't care that they don’t). Sometimes I’d like to slip out of myself like an outfit poorly chosen at the beginning of the day and roam about for the rest of the afternoon as another person, as someone who is not me as I or others know myself but who in some way still reflects something essentially true about who I am.

We’ve all seen our fair share of family-focused reality TV. Men, women, and children sign up to put their lives on display for all to see. So what does that look like in Jackson, Tennessee? The recently launched web series, Loving My 6. Now happily married for over ten years, John and Timond Williams are the parents of six children under the age of ten.

Some of my favorite things about Jackson’s many weekend entertainment options are the gambling, exotic dancers, and running from the cops. Of course, I am a sucker for the more romantic selections as well, including salsa dancing and island-inspired drinks, all of which can cause a woman’s inhibitions to wave bye-bye at the door. All of these are what make Jackson what it is—a lively city teeming with less-than-honest citizens looking for even less honest entertainment.

“We help any person with any disability realize their potential.” Star Center President Dave Bratcher’s summary of the non-profit is simple, but a tour of the facility will quickly show just how far it reaches into the community. Since their start in 1988, they have grown into a thriving center serving a wide range of clientele by listening to the needs of the community.

Entrepreneurs are sometimes the kind of people who come up with an idea and ruthlessly execute it. Others stumble into businesses ownership when their hobbies or passions lead them down a winding path of challenges and unexpected joys. Walt and Michelle James, the new owners of the Downtown Tavern, fall into the latter category. They are a pair of charitable entrepreneurs who were flung into the revitalization of downtown Jackson.

The third Hard Rock Cafe in the world was opened in Jackson, Tennessee, on January 29, 1983 in the Old Hickory Mall, and although it was short-lived, people still get excited about the idea that for a brief time in history we were listed among cities like London, Los Angeles, and Tokyo. The first Asian location was actually opened the same year as our own, officially making HRC a worldwide enterprise.

On a fall afternoon I decided to diagnose my boredom with little good, ole fashioned exploring around the heart of Jackson, Tennessee. Equipped with my camera, I ventured downtown searching aimlessly for anything out of the ordinary to grasp my attention. Having already spent a majority of my time in this part of town, I desperately needed to be more creative with finding a hidden gem. After countless hours of wandering, trespassing, and jaywalking, I was on the brink of defeat.

Upbeat music pounded against the walls and colorful lights flashed as we (Kimberly and Melissa) found ourselves on a dance floor. People of all ages and various ethnicities surrounded us as we all did dance motions to the best of our abilities. Women in bright traditional Indie dress flashed smiles as their friends joined the circle. A small boy laughed as he bounded from one side of the stage to the other and dodged between peoples’ legs.

Tranquil excitement, an exotic assortment of colors, and upbeat music greets my senses as I walk through downtown Jackson. I can't make out the words of the deep melody that I hear, but it reminds me of the Turkish music so dear to my heart. Walking through the streets of East Main and Highland, I feel more like I am back in Mexico City or Istanbul rather than West Tennessee.

It’s a damp Saturday evening after the rainy weather has subsided; I make the drive across town to a local Starbucks, and on arrival I find comfort on an outdoor couch to avoid the noise and clutter of inside. I take my laptop out of my leather backpack and begin looking over my spread and questions. Not long after, two girls walk by me, myself unnoticed. “Here” the text on my phone reads.

"Film is an art I think we take for granted, but it’s more than just entertaining. It can be healing and joyful for both the filmmaker and the viewer. For me, there is just something about when the lights go down in the theater, no one else but you and the screen. Who you are is acceptable here no matter what.”

It’s three-thirty in the afternoon when I walk through the front door of Companion Gallery and East Mitchell Clay. As I enter, I step into a gallery space. The lights are off, but that serves as little distraction from the room’s stark white walls adorned with small shelves that hold a kaleidoscope of ceramics. Every wall is covered. Display tables sit in the middle of the room, also adorned with collections of intricate clay pieces.

Life can be compared to taking a beautiful photograph. One may not understand the highs and lows in the beginning, but life becomes more fulfilling when one recognizes and obtains the perfect image, at that perfect moment.

Born and raised in Jackson, Willette DuPree discovered the love of photography from her father, Willie DuPree, Jr.

Abby Wolfzorn Ruby shares her process of creation, and it reminds me so much of what Julia Cameron says about feeding our inner child. Abby’s work is both playful and intuitive- she uses simple motifs and a limited color palette to create introspective work from her soul. Her process is about the explorative–something that really speaks to me about her work. There is a purpose to it that each piece carries. I truly believe that when an artist creates in a place of honesty with themselves, the art has a greater impact on the world. I hope you find Abby’s story an inspiration to feed your inner child and artist.

“Good Things Lists” is a practice that anyone can do, whether it’s on a piece of scrap paper, on the notes app in your phone, or in your head. In this time of great uncertainty, sickness, fear and darkness, being positive almost feels like a burden or something you shouldn’t be allowed to do. But these little lists help me come back to the light every time I write one, and I hope they do the same for you. It’s a gentle whisper to the goodness within you to find contentment in the in-betweens and believe that love wins in the end.

This April, we were able to hear local artist Wendy Hailey Kim’s story at A Night of Storytelling, Vol. 7, and as her recent Ned exhibit “Wetlands” comes to a close next Wednesday, October 30, we wanted to share her words from our spring event so that you can get a look into her process and what has made Jackson home for her.

“third wave coffee.” noun. 1. The most recent cultural phenomenon in the history of the coffee industry and consumption. Comes after the first wave of coffee, which included “growing coffee consumption exponentially,” and the second wave of coffee, which began to “define and enjoy specialty coffee.” 2. Purchasing coffee due to its “origin and artisan methods of production.” 3. A movement aspiring to produce the highest quality of coffee possible at every level while pleasing and intriguing the coffee consumer. “UrbanHouse.” noun.

Maybe it will be a high school production of the musical Camelot. An exhibit of stunning photography by a local class may catch your eye. Perhaps you’ll just want to see the downstairs museum, where dozens of photos, plaques, awards, and costumes recall the acting careers of Dixie Carter and her husband, Hal Holbrook. What will bring you to The Dixie? The Dixie Carter Performing Arts & Academic Enrichment Center is a historical performing arts and enrichment center in Huntingdon, Tennessee.

If you have been to a lazy weekend day the West Tennessee Farmers’ Market or a night out at one of Jackson’s finer dining establishments, then you are no stranger to the soothing sounds of Scott Myatt’s music. Myatt’s song, a mixture of melodic singing and guitar playing, is a familiar sound often filling the air throughout our city. A part-time musician and a part-time visual artist, Myatt brings his lyrical touch on the senses to locals as a proud citizen of Jackson.

Professor Haelim Allen’s office, like the rest of the art department at Union University, is in beautiful disarray. There are paintings on the walls, half-completed sketches on her desk, various models in differing states of completion on a bookshelf, and of course a second bookshelf overflowing with literature that seems a staple of every teacher’s office. Just outside of her office door is a gorgeous light box which fills the hallway with a sense of peace and calm. The building itself is not by any stretch beautiful, but Professor Allen has transformed her office and the hallway leading up to it into a peaceful, welcoming environment.

Something unique is happening in Jackson: a space dedicated to handmade pieces by a collective of artists, many of whom are local to the area, where people can feel a connection to the items they purchase. While micro-retailing has seen a boon in large metropolitan areas across the country, Jackson now has its own venture in theLOCAL, a collection of small shops curated by local entrepreneurs in downtown Jackson.

We are so proud of the dozens of local students who submitted their artwork and poetry to our contest in collaboration with the Jackson International Food & Art Festival! If you missed the festival last weekend, make sure to check out our winners in this virtual gallery, then go see them for yourself at Jackson-Madison County General Hospital's new gallery later this month.

When I think about the vocation of a photographer, I think of the words of Simone Weil, saying that “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” Paying attention is what gets most photographers into their profession. They pay attention and capture a moment and then linger in the darkroom, spending hours waiting to see an image develop from the blank white of a sheet of photo paper, the details slowly emerging in a chemical bath.

While most of us are prone to toss out old things and run to the new, others are gifted with the vision to make something out of what the rest of us leave behind. Ellen Bennett, the creator of “The Restored Attic,” creates home decor and furniture pieces by repurposing found and thrifted materials. From childhood trips to yard sales with her father, she learned that she didn’t have to pay full price for anything. As she grew up, it evolved into trying to search for furniture and other pieces to decorate her home.

“For Sale” signs and broken windows adorn a large portion of buildings within Jackson’s city limits. Right next to thriving businesses can be found abandoned restaurants or forgotten startups. In the northern part of the city, the lack of uninhabited buildings is less obvious, but take a ride down 45 and it will become more apparent. It is a very sobering sight for those who call Jackson home.

On the hillside of a Humboldt vineyard, in what was once a barn in the land’s historic farm days, is the Companion Gallery, where local ceramicist Eric Botbyl has his studio as well as a gallery shop featuring work by fellow potters from around the country. It’s a quiet place where the doors are left open to catch the breeze on spring days like today and is kept warm by a wood-burning stove in the winter. It’s surrounded by twenty-two acres of grapevines and neighbors the Crown Winery’s Tuscan-style villa.

“We help any person with any disability realize their potential.” Star Center President Dave Bratcher’s summary of the non-profit is simple, but a tour of the facility will quickly show just how far it reaches into the community. Since their start in 1988, they have grown into a thriving center serving a wide range of clientele by listening to the needs of the community.

I still remember the conversation I had with my mother after I got my first tattoo.  It went a little something like this: Me: So, I need to tell you something. Mom: What happened? Me: Nothing happened. I got a tattoo. Mom: WHAT?! Me: I said, I— Mom: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!! Me: I just wan— Mom: THAT’S JUST STUPID! You know those things never come off! Me: Yes. I know, but— Mom: So, now you drink beer AND have a tattoo?! Well, you’re just white trash!

Hannah Russell is a Marketing Assistant at Lane College and freelance photographer in Jackson, focusing her creative efforts primarily in portrait and studio photography. As a recent graduate of Union University’s art program, she is continually discovering how to transform the everyday person into the most interesting of subjects through her attention to composition and form. “Photography for me is kind of like an adventure. It’s a very curious and exploratory activity; a search for the best composition."

Two hands carefully hold the wet clay as it spins around and around. They shape it and form it to be beautiful, throwing the clay with force onto the wheel. The clay becomes centered as the hands see that it spins perfectly and smoothly. They begin to open the top—carefully, though, because they know if it isn't done correctly, they will have to start the process over again. From there they form the base, they thin and raise the walls, they go through each step with love.

With spring upon us and workshop season now in sight, there is much to look forward to at theCO in addition to the constant buzzing that is brought about from our weekly meetups and get-togethers. In anticipation of next week’s gathering, A.M. Creative, we recall gleanings from February’s edition of the event which took on a new look, as the meetup tailored for artisans and patrons moved from the traditional early morning convening to an afternoon lunch hour that proved to be exceedingly popular.

It seems like I find myself in a lot of conversations about how much Jackson is growing. You might also hear natives and non-natives alike saying, “Jackson is nothing like it was ten years ago.” I recently found myself in conversation with a new Jackson resident while waiting in a food truck line at the farmers’ market, and the California-native remarked on how young and up-and-coming Jackson feels compared to other small Southeastern towns she’s experienced.

Christopher Nadaskay is the University Professor of Art at Union University and an artist focusing primarily on mixed-media, using a variety of materials and textures in his exploration of cultural critiques and societal legacies. As a self-proclaimed science-fiction fan, Nadaskay often incorporates aspects of the genre’s futuristic musings into his conviction-fueled paintings and sculptures.

In light of tomorrow's A.M. Creative gathering at theCO—a monthly group meet-up organized for (and by) makers, dreamers, and those who appreciate stories of inspiration to share about what they are creating and to encourage others to come alongside them—we recall September’s event with the illustrious Lendon Noe and her anecdotes on a couple of exciting future projects, the ever-important role of artists’ civic responsibilities, and more.

The greater the idea the more beautiful the building—a statement that should be true, and is true in an abstract sense. The most beautiful manmade space I have ever entered is also one inspired by what I consider to be the greatest idea.

Tranquil excitement, an exotic assortment of colors, and upbeat music greets my senses as I walk through downtown Jackson. I can't make out the words of the deep melody that I hear, but it reminds me of the Turkish music so dear to my heart. Walking through the streets of East Main and Highland, I feel more like I am back in Mexico City or Istanbul rather than West Tennessee.

I had been craving some good country biscuits for a while when the Autrys invited me over for breakfast one Sunday. Marcie told me that her husband, Jamie, makes excellent biscuits and, man, was she right. “One of our dreams is to have a biscuit truck at the farmers’ market. We have a lot of dreams, though,” she said laughing in their kitchen. In fact, they’ve started keeping a written list, storing their dreams away in a log, ready for the picking when the time is right.

If your coffee education has been anything like mine, you were probably introduced to the centuries-old beverage that’s been studied and practiced and thought about deeply by way of the Just Add Sugar method. You know what I’m talking about. Your dad might have taught it to you and maybe still practices it to this day. He tears those little pink packets open and pours their contents into his steaming cup, and you see a look of satisfaction on his face after that first sip.

Ismael and Angelica want the Jackson community to know that they are here to serve and build community. Their bakery is not just about selling bread; it's about breaking bread and building friendships, creating a sense of home for everyone who walks through their doors. They believe it's important to pass down their traditions to their children so that their culture continues to thrive.

It’s three-thirty in the afternoon when I walk through the front door of Companion Gallery and East Mitchell Clay. As I enter, I step into a gallery space. The lights are off, but that serves as little distraction from the room’s stark white walls adorned with small shelves that hold a kaleidoscope of ceramics. Every wall is covered. Display tables sit in the middle of the room, also adorned with collections of intricate clay pieces.

“I just need a space to dance,” Mona Lisa Lanier said to me as she flicked on the lights of a former elementary school turned community recreation center. The room, once a classroom, is now a dance studio with mirrors and photos of dancers in brightly colored costumes lining the wall. 

Lanier proudly pointed out her students and how much they’ve grown since these photos were taken. 

Since 2020, Ellen Bennett has served as the Online Sales Manager of Regional Inter-Faith Association (RIFA) and is widely known in the Jackson community for her item listings in the RIFA Auction Group on Facebook. Twice a month, she conducts an online auction with around 80 unique items — all previously donated to the organization — for the public to bid on throughout the week. The proceeds of every auction item go to RIFA, a Jackson-based nonprofit with a mission to fight hunger locally, so item winners get to help provide meals to food-insecure members of the community with their purchases. For each listing, whether it’s a mid-century lamp, a tricycle, or a vegetable chopper, she comes up with a compelling description that’ll have anyone hooked.

The City of Jackson in partnership with JACOA and First Methodist Downtown recently opened two free community fridges at 900 E Chester St and 200 S Church St. This project is sponsored by the highly-competitive 2022 AARP Community Challenge grant, awarded to the City of Jackson as one of 260 quick-action projects out of 3,200 applications nationwide.

If there’s one shared value Southerners agree on, it’s probably hospitality. Hospitality comes naturally to us when it comes to a dinner party, where our guests will be treated to an extra heaping of cobbler and a box of leftovers to take home.

A Jackson Police Department officer stares into the face of a woman working as a prostitute; his only option was to arrest her. He had no evidence or proof to arrest the man who was likely her trafficker. But where would the officer take her? Years later, this same officer would write a check to the Scarlet Rope Project, a home for survivors of sex trafficking.

As I parked in the lot in front of the depot last week and stood in front of the big green doors I have seen so many times before, this place felt different. The outside looks much the same, but the way it made me feel was unfamiliar. Something is happening inside those walls that drew me in and the whole place feels very much alive. There is a purpose, really a person, behind that energy. A woman has put feet to a dream, and our whole community has a front row seat to watch her dream unfold.

Sabrina Blue was certainly no different. When I arrived in her office on the second floor of the Helping Hands of Tennessee clinic, I watched as she, quite literally, sped around the space outlining changes and additions to a contractor who was doing his best to keep up. I would later understand this to be a metaphor of how she lives her life — fast, measured, with purpose.

How do you go about creating a workforce out of thin air? This is the problem Jill Taylor, Co-Owner of ReNew Biomedical and Master Medical Equipment, faced in 2019. ReNew is a full-service medical equipment depot in Jackson, TN, specializing in repairing, servicing, and maintaining complex medical equipment. Over their seven years of operation, ReNew earned licenses to work on a wide range of Professional Grade equipment, including ventilators, AEDs, defibrillators, vital signs monitors, IV pumps, and more.

Le Bonheur is a French phrase meaning “happiness” – a phrase that lends itself quite naturally as the name for a club dedicated to knitting and sewing for the benefit of others. So in 1923, a local band of women gathered together to do just that, naming themselves Le Bonheur Club. This small but powerful sewing group began making clothes for children living in Memphis’ Leath Orphanage. What came from their pursuit of happiness for children is incredibly extraordinary in impact and scope.

The expert in neighborly love, Fred Rogers, said: “We live in a world in which we share responsibility. It’s easy to say ‘It’s not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.’ Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.” Jackson is full of heroes. So many, in fact, they can’t all fit on this list. These are brief snapshots of a few ways our community is showing up for our village of children. As you read about the different organizations investing in JMCSS, consider how you can join them.

If you've spent any time in downtown Jackson, or had a drink at The Downtown Tavern, you’re probably familiar with Moore Studio — and more importantly, Mr. Carter. I first met Mitch Carter when I had just moved to West Tennessee. I was young and impressionable and Mr. Carter most definitely made an impression on me. He could charm the venom out of a copperhead, entice the stoic to giggle and cut up, and make the most trepidatious about having photos done feel presidential when he was finished making their portrait.

When you walk in the door of the Keep My Hood Good building, you are greeted with a wall covered in framed photographs of smiling children. I had only gotten a few steps in the building before she was telling me stories of students who had overcome and succeeded. She beamed as she told me about how one student had graduated high school and chosen to enlist in the military and was thriving.

JKSN. If you know, you know.

You also probably know if you live in West Tennessee because those four letters have been seen often on t-shirts over the past year. JKSN is Jackson minus the vowels and a silent “c.” There’s no room for passivity or wasted space with this brand. There’s no need for vowels, either. Vowels are melodious and can stretch words without necessity. Consonants are sharp and strong like the letters on the shirt and the city they represent. JKSN. Jackson. If you know, you know.

For as long as Morgan Carkuff can remember, her parents have been collectors of one-of-a-kind antiques. “I remember drawing on an old Thomas Edison Tracing Table from the 1800’s and showing friends the eclectic mix of the turn-of-the-century and modern items hung on the wall or sitting on shelves,” Morgan reminisces. The list continues with interesting artifacts such as an old tintype photo of Jesse James, international love letters from war, pristine arrowheads, and a boutique of small items too special to describe in words.  

When was the last time you thought about what you wanted to do with your life—what you really wanted to do? When you thought about your dreams and wondered if it’s time to take a risk? Last summer, Beth Wilson and her husband, Lee, sat down to take an honest look at their lives and ask questions about where they wanted to be. Through that conversation, a business was born. Beth’s business, Wisdom House, launched on November 7, 2018. Through it, she sells distinctive and/or vintage home décor items, as well as offering home design styling and consulting.

On the corner of Carriage House Drive and Wiley Parker Road sits a white building with the words “Madison Place” in big, bold letters over a series of black panel windows. I would assume that if you walked up to most anyone you know that frequents Jackson, Tennessee, and mentioned Madison Place, they’d say, “Oh yeah, that’s the place with the hair salons in it.” Well, friends, business owner Jensen Vinson wants you to know that Madison Place is not just hair salons. “Madison Olive Oil is Jackson’s best-kept secret!” she tells me, and she’s right.

Blares of music echo throughout the Harris Sports Performance building as members enter through the silver steel door. Familiar with the daily bootcamp routine, they huddle around owner Nicholas Harris, prepared to stretch before the intense workout. Harris’ tenacious voice magnifies as he briefs his clients on the selected workout, pumping up the team. “Whatever your 100% looks like, give it!” he says. “Like always, we are here to work hard and give our best, so let’s get it!”

I can’t quite remember my life before The Great British Baking Show, but for that I’m grateful. If you’re unfamiliar with this British TV show that’s invading America and likely your Netflix watchlist, you really are missing out. Polite bakers, quirky hosts, scrumptious desserts—I mean, come on. It’s a true cup of tea, and as a former baker myself, I often daydream of creating my own treats under the white tent in that storybook-like field. All throughout high school, I was known as “the cake girl.”

As I sat near the window at Starbucks, a man wearing brown leather boots and a denim jacket hand-stitched with the name “Wolf” immediately caught my attention. Though I had heard and read many things about Lee Wilson, I had never met him up until this point. As one of the co-owners of Jackson Escape Rooms and a winning contestant of CBS’ reality show, Hunted, Lee has proven his seemingly uncanny ability to strategize and solve problems, a skill that far surpasses his knack for style.

“third wave coffee.” noun. 1. The most recent cultural phenomenon in the history of the coffee industry and consumption. Comes after the first wave of coffee, which included “growing coffee consumption exponentially,” and the second wave of coffee, which began to “define and enjoy specialty coffee.” 2. Purchasing coffee due to its “origin and artisan methods of production.” 3. A movement aspiring to produce the highest quality of coffee possible at every level while pleasing and intriguing the coffee consumer. “UrbanHouse.” noun.

Martin, Tennessee, is a town with a population of around 11,475. It’s known for its annual Tennessee Soybean Festival and for the University of Tennessee at Martin. If you drive down University Street, you’ll go right through the university, pass by Sammie’s (an aptly-named sandwich shop), and mosey by several boutiques and small shops. It’s a small, charming place. Locals support the UTM Skyhawks and the Westview High School Chargers and eat at The Grind.

What comes to mind when you think of a gym? Is it bulging biceps, wrenching pain, or maybe an excuse to consume more calories? Going to the gym may give you a dream physique, sore muscles, or justification eating sweets, but Brick House Strength offers more than just a physical workout. “We are a grass roots women's fitness movement,” owners Melissa Stanfill and Natalia Santiago affirms. “Our mission is to help all women build stronger foundations, brick by brick.”

I’m sitting by myself, the steady thrum of others’ voices around me, and I’m looking at a white sign with neat black lettering: “WHERE HOT COFFEE AND WARM CONVERSATION FLOW.”I’ve got the hot coffee part—it’s steaming pleasantly in a glossy brown mug—and I can hear the groups talking around me. There are some college students in the corner of the room. (I can tell they’re in school because of their tired eyes trained on the laptops perched in front of them, even as they continue to hold conversation with each other.)

As I entered into Suite G of 581 Old Hickory Boulevard, I immediately found myself surrounded by waves of smoke, the aromatic scents of assorted cigars, and comic laughter from customers known as “regulars.” Sitting amongst the crowd was new owner Dale Brown. Though he may be a new entrepreneur, Brown is not new to Ye Ole Pipe Shoppe & Cigar Lounge. When he moved to Jackson nearly thirty years ago, he also became a customer to the store.

I bought the most reasonably-priced vinyl record of my life at a record store in Jackson. This is the kind of sentence I never thought I’d write. For one thing, reasonable prices, particularly for a brand new, remastered vinyl of an iconic rock star like David Bowie, are hard to come by in most record stores. If you go to Wuxtry Records in Athens, Georgia, you’ll find records for around twenty to thirty bucks.

I woke up to a phone call around nine in the morning; my friend’s neighbor’s grandmother’s employee had just quit his job, and they needed someone to come in immediately. Naturally, I was next in line. I drove across town to a strip mall I had never seen before and wandered into an unmarked restaurant where I was greeted by two golden lions, the king of Thailand (who was placing a call on an old brick phone), and a particularly satisfied Buddha.

What will a person not do because of love? With love, the seemingly absurd and impossible becomes logical and likely. Love is what drives us to actions and accomplishments, from the noblest and greatest to ordinary and poignant. To paraphrase the famous early twentieth century English author G.K. Chesterton, something becomes great or beautiful or indeed lovely because we love it. Not because it was great, beautiful, or lovely before we came. This is because love is transformative.

Cooking at home should never be stressful or frustrating. Whether you’re throwing together a simple lunch or making dinner for the neighborhood, it should be a pleasant, relaxing experience. You also don’t need to be a classically trained chef or have a kitchen stocked with exotic ingredients to whip up something delicious. Anyone can do this, and that’s what we’re going to show you.

This September will mark four years of my career at Chandelier Restaurant here in Jackson, and I’ve enjoyed every minute, from my first years as a server to my recent promotion to fine dining assistant manager. Chef Jennifer Dickerson opened this fine dining spot in 2015, and I know the entire community would agree that it has raised the bar for our city’s cuisine.

I can’t quite remember my life before The Great British Baking Show, but for that I’m grateful. If you’re unfamiliar with this British TV show that’s invading America and likely your Netflix watchlist, you really are missing out. Polite bakers, quirky hosts, scrumptious desserts—I mean, come on. It’s a true cup of tea, and as a former baker myself, I often daydream of creating my own treats under the white tent in that storybook-like field. All throughout high school, I was known as “the cake girl.”

“third wave coffee.” noun. 1. The most recent cultural phenomenon in the history of the coffee industry and consumption. Comes after the first wave of coffee, which included “growing coffee consumption exponentially,” and the second wave of coffee, which began to “define and enjoy specialty coffee.” 2. Purchasing coffee due to its “origin and artisan methods of production.” 3. A movement aspiring to produce the highest quality of coffee possible at every level while pleasing and intriguing the coffee consumer. “UrbanHouse.” noun.

I’m sitting by myself, the steady thrum of others’ voices around me, and I’m looking at a white sign with neat black lettering: “WHERE HOT COFFEE AND WARM CONVERSATION FLOW.”I’ve got the hot coffee part—it’s steaming pleasantly in a glossy brown mug—and I can hear the groups talking around me. There are some college students in the corner of the room. (I can tell they’re in school because of their tired eyes trained on the laptops perched in front of them, even as they continue to hold conversation with each other.)

I woke up to a phone call around nine in the morning; my friend’s neighbor’s grandmother’s employee had just quit his job, and they needed someone to come in immediately. Naturally, I was next in line. I drove across town to a strip mall I had never seen before and wandered into an unmarked restaurant where I was greeted by two golden lions, the king of Thailand (who was placing a call on an old brick phone), and a particularly satisfied Buddha.

While perusing the West Tennessee Farmers’ Market, it would be hard to pass by the mountain of deep green vegetables and neon radishes of Rose Creek Farms, owned by Ray and Ashley Tyler. Their farm is nestled in a valley in Selmer, Tennessee, with a little over one acre of active farming land. With the help of high tunnels and row covers, they’re able to extend the typical season barriers to grow deliciously tender greens and veggies all year round.

Stacey Fain’s journey to opening her own ice cream truck started when her husband asked her what her dream was. Just a few hours after that conversation, they were searching for the perfect truck to get started! Although they also serve banana splits, sundaes, and shakes, as well as dairy- and gluten-free packaged products, Stacey’s Ice Cream Cruiser is best known for their delicious soft serve ice cream in chocolate, vanilla, and twist.

A morning ritual, a conversation piece, a shared bond: coffee adopts whatever role its faithful consumers may assign. It’s one of the few addictions that our local cultures openly embrace. Even just the word “coffee” can be seen on decorative signs for the home, on t-shirts, on mugs. Coffee has transcended its place as a drink to an idea: the symbol of incentive in an increasingly demanding world. “I can’t do anything before I have my coffee” is not a personal statement; it’s a cities-spanning mantra.

In March of 2016 I began dating my girlfriend Natalie, a girl who was born and raised in Jackson and who had the knowledge to back it up. Me being an out-of-town transplant, she thought that it was of great importance for me to learn a little culture and history of this city that we know and love. I gladly complied. Usually these lessons were unplanned and casual. As things came up in conversation she would explain to me the history as best she knew it. One of those things was Waffle House.

It’s dark as Aaron Witmer trudges out to his food truck at 3:30 on Saturday morning. Stars twinkle overhead and moonlight throws shadows as he unlocks the door and climbs into the back. With careful precision, he measures out flour, oil, eggs, and other ingredients and dumps them into the stainless steel mixer resting on the floor. At the flip of a switch, it comes to life and beats the disparate ingredients together into cohesive dough—the first donut dough of the day.

In his essay collection Heretics, G.K. Chesterton extols, “Once men sang around a table together in chorus. Now one man sings alone, for the absurd reason he can sing better.” In other words, as our scientific age has grown in competency and achievement we have become isolated from the rootedness which gave rise to our confidence in the first place—experts in everything but being human. Can there be any question this is more true today than when Chesterton wrote almost a century ago?

There’s a lot of jerk chicken in Joseph Kabre’s future. It’s the most popular dish at Jamaican and African Cuisine, the restaurant he manages. On a typical day, he has enough ready to serve a couple dozen people. But Saturday, March 4, he’s hoping for potentially four times that many customers to show up hungry for the spicy dish. It will take him two days to prepare enough. The chicken has to be smoked, seasoned correctly, and then finished out in the oven.

Eggs. Flour. Milk. Sugar. Your basic ingredients for a cupcake. But so much more than that goes into the cupcakes at HaliHannigan’s Café & Cakery. Five years ago a cozy little space in the Columns bedecked in pink and black opened its doors—and its heart—to the Jackson community. Neill and Christi Bartlett, the husband and wife team that co-own HaliHannigan’s (whose name is derived from various parts of the names of their three daughters), were ready for a change.

“Your destination is on your right,” said my iPhone, notifying me that I had reached 1683 South Highland Avenue. I turned my head and saw nothing. Where was the food truck? I pulled into Popeye’s, put the car in “Park,” and stepped outside into the slightly muggy end-of-September-in-West-Tennessee weather. Scanning the landscape, my eyes fell onto a neon green trailer in the middle of a parking lot. I began my approach and saw “KC Finn’s” printed on its exterior, accented by several four leaf clovers.

To call Jackson home sometimes feels like a betrayal of the place that taught me the meaning of that word. Two hours east on I-40, home is a small white farmhouse on top of a hill with a porch swing and a bed of roses that welcome you to the front door. At home, the sound of that swing’s rusty metal creaking still steadies me like I imagine the ticking of a metronome does for a novice musician. There are days when I ache for the rhythm of home, just as we gasp for air when deprived of breath.

Paul Latham’s Meat Company, commonly known as Latham’s, is a name familiar to almost everyone in the Jackson area. Since 1991, Paul himself has been providing our city with a variety of quality meat and a high level of service. The friendly atmosphere of his current location on North Highland Avenue is felt immediately upon entering the combination butcher shop, barbecue stand, and cafeteria.

Entrepreneurs are sometimes the kind of people who come up with an idea and ruthlessly execute it. Others stumble into businesses ownership when their hobbies or passions lead them down a winding path of challenges and unexpected joys. Walt and Michelle James, the new owners of the Downtown Tavern, fall into the latter category. They are a pair of charitable entrepreneurs who were flung into the revitalization of downtown Jackson.

The first job I remember having was working a lemonade stand. My cul-de-sac was having a yard sale, and I took my Fisher Price cassette player and microphone out front and sold cold drinks to passersby. My brother and I kept the money in a pencil case, and my mother baked some treats to attract more people. From the very first sale, my brother and I were hooked on lemonade stands. We got more sophisticated as the years went on with handmade signs and slogans.

Loading my three children into the car to take the oldest to school in the early morning is usually a pretty somber and quiet routine. However, sometimes my kids have the craziest conversations. Recently my daughter, who is five, asked, “What are we doing today?” This is a common question for her to ask, as lots of times she runs errands with me or visits friends. On this day, though, we were going to check out Marmilu Farms, a recently established farm in Jackson raising organic animals.

Two hands carefully hold the wet clay as it spins around and around. They shape it and form it to be beautiful, throwing the clay with force onto the wheel. The clay becomes centered as the hands see that it spins perfectly and smoothly. They begin to open the top—carefully, though, because they know if it isn't done correctly, they will have to start the process over again. From there they form the base, they thin and raise the walls, they go through each step with love.

Upbeat music pounded against the walls and colorful lights flashed as we (Kimberly and Melissa) found ourselves on a dance floor. People of all ages and various ethnicities surrounded us as we all did dance motions to the best of our abilities. Women in bright traditional Indie dress flashed smiles as their friends joined the circle. A small boy laughed as he bounded from one side of the stage to the other and dodged between peoples’ legs.

No, I "ain’t from around here." I’m neither a born Tennessean nor even a Southerner. I’ve been here since 1982, but I’m not trying to pass for something I’m told I’m not. I do identify with the South, but as a Judge recently observed, my “smart Yankee mouth” probably got me in a lot of trouble. I suspect that will continue. I was born in Washington, D.C.; I grew up in the suburbs of Maryland, and then my family moved to Illinois, where I attended high school and college as an undergraduate.

Tranquil excitement, an exotic assortment of colors, and upbeat music greets my senses as I walk through downtown Jackson. I can't make out the words of the deep melody that I hear, but it reminds me of the Turkish music so dear to my heart. Walking through the streets of East Main and Highland, I feel more like I am back in Mexico City or Istanbul rather than West Tennessee.

Before opening his bakery’s doors, Matt Childress spent several years racing cars competitively. Because of his competitive background, he grew up knowing he didn’t want to work a “normal job.” He took his love for vintage aesthetic, his mom’s cake recipes, and his dad’s idea for a name—Woodstock Bake Shop—and ran with it. September 11, 2012 he opened for business on Innsdale Cove in Jackson.

“I don’t want to live to be rich; I want to live to be satisfied.” These are the words of Alex Hanson, a Lebanese man who owns the International Food Market off of Hollywood Drive in Midtown. For the past nine years, Alex has been supplying Jackson with shelves of hard-to-find international ingredients as well as refreshing Middle Eastern and Greek cuisine.

If your coffee education has been anything like mine, you were probably introduced to the centuries-old beverage that’s been studied and practiced and thought about deeply by way of the Just Add Sugar method. You know what I’m talking about. Your dad might have taught it to you and maybe still practices it to this day. He tears those little pink packets open and pours their contents into his steaming cup, and you see a look of satisfaction on his face after that first sip.

There are plenty of Mexican restaurants around Jackson, but one stands out among the crowd: Takos Borukas. This taco truck turned dine-in restaurant has built a loyal following in town with a personable owner and authentic menu.

I love a good recommendation. If you can tell me what you love and why you love it, chances are it will open me up to trying a new dish I wouldn’t have tried on my own. Chronic indecision? Let someone else decide for you.

This summer has been jam-packed of great meals, a lot of which were enjoyed at restaurants celebrating new locations. Get the scoop on where we’ve been, old and new, and what’s tickling our tastebuds right now.

After taking a year-long hiatus from #OurJacksonTable weekly visits, we’re back and at it, and we’re proud to say that Jackson’s food scene has grown majorly since 2017! Check out where we hit up this spring, and follow us on Facebook and Instagram to see where we’re headed next.

WOW. We did it. We ate at 100 local restaurants. It seems like just yesterday we were launching this fun campaign to #eatlocal on that first day of spring in 2016. Here we are, two years later, glad for all we've learned about our city along the way and our bellies hungry to return to some new favorite spots. Enjoy this final #OurJacksonTable review by Katie Howerton of the last few restaurants we visited this winter.

This fall we cozied up at some favorite local spots for warm meals, including a handful of food trucks and a couple of new businesses, too! If you're unsure where to go for dinner tonight, check out Katie Howerton's reviews below, then join us for our last season of #OurJacksonTable this winter as we hit 100 local restaurant visits.

It's been another great season of flavors classic and adventurous, hot and cold, casual and elite. Check out Katie Howerton's review of our spring 2017 #OurJacksonTable dozen, and join us in trying even more local restaurants, food trucks, and snack shacks this summer!

We really did it! We ate at fifty local restaurants in a year! And guess what? We're doing it again! Yep, we're challenging you to join us in hitting 100 local meals by spring of 2018. Where have we been so far, you ask? Winter has brought so many opportunities to cozy up for some of Jackson's best comfort food. Check out Katie Howerton's play-by-play below.

Summer brought a whole new round of fresh Jackson cuisine to our diets! Check out these twelve local restaurants and food trucks, four of which are brand new to our city, then join us for some cozier options as fall approaches.

It was late, and the ferry felt cool in the summer’s evening breeze. We were only a week into my summer in Istanbul, but in our short time learning basic Turkish, navigating public transit, and hopping between Asia and Europe the way I do now between Highland and the Bypass, we felt like naturals. The warm glow of the nearest café’s neon sign welcomed us to the European shore where the five of us girls were staying for the week, and we didn’t need much convincing to stop in for a late-night dinner of pasta and whatever scrumptious-looking mystery pastry the shelf held.

I had a college professor tell me once, “Remember, you are changing your generation and the generations of the people around you.” Those words are so true and are still relevant in my life today. In fact, that professor was living proof of that statement by changing my life with mentoring, advising, and pushing me to be better. It was not just that one professor, of course. There were (and still are) many people who continually wanted to invest in me as I grew up here. My father and mother met at Lambuth University, but my dad was not in school there.

“Where are you from?” The dreaded question. Whenever someone asks me this, I laugh and try to assess whether the person asking wants the long answer or the short one. Even the long version has been condensed for convenience over the years. This question has had different answers at different points in my life. When I was ten, I was from Northern Kentucky. When I was eleven and my family had moved to South Africa as missionaries, I was from America.

Eight days late and after thirty-six hours of labor from my hard-working mother, I was born at the Jackson-Madison County General Hospital on a hot April day in 1976. Forty-two years later, I am an attending physician in that very same department. It’s very unusual for a physician to practice in their hometown, but I am thankful that my journey has brought me back to where I started. My earliest memory of life in Jackson is from First Presbyterian Playschool.

Eight days late and after thirty-six hours of labor from my hard-working mother, I was born at the Jackson-Madison County General Hospital on a hot April day in 1976. Forty-two years later, I am an attending physician in that very same department. It’s very unusual for a physician to practice in their hometown, but I am thankful that my journey has brought me back to where I started. My earliest memory of life in Jackson is from First Presbyterian Playschool.

2002 was the year that changed my life. I had just moved to “the big city” of Jackson from the incredibly small town of Trezevant, Tennessee. My new journey started at Union University as a Christian Studies major, and quickly I realized I had turned religion into a textbook, not an action. It took a while to recover from the shock of not knowing what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, as this was my plan for quite some time—going into ministry. I continued pressing on with my major until 201 Ash Street happened.

Never ever in a million years would I have guessed that I would be a small business owner living in Jackson, Tennessee. I am one of the most shy people you will ever meet. That ambitious entrepreneur spirit is in me, but growing up, it wasn’t readily apparent, even to me. My husband, on the other hand, always knew he would work for himself and probably stay here in Jackson. Both of our grandparents owned their own businesses, and their examples shaped our lives. When I think of Jackson, I think of my family.

“Community is not something you have, like pizza,” wrote social critic James Howard Kunstler in The Geography of Nowhere. “Nor is it something you can buy. It’s a living organism based on a web of interdependencies—which is to say a local economy.” Americans, perhaps above all others, have bought into the lie in the last couple of generations that each person is an island, shaping her or his own destiny with nothing but a morning shot of caffeine and a solid WiFi connection.

If you had asked me about my future in the fall of 1994, I would have told you that I was planning on moving back home to Paducah, Kentucky, as soon as I finished college. I was supposed to live on Jefferson Street, right next door to my life-long BFF, Laura. She was going to live in her grandmother’s house, and I would buy the house next door. Twenty-four years later, she still reminds me of that broken promise. I had roots there in Paducah. They were strong and firmly planted. My daddy grew up there, too

If you told the twenty-year-old me that I would eventually live in Jackson, Tennessee, he would have died laughing. I wasn't even sure I would be living in Tennessee period. Twenty-year-old me was an M1-A1 Abrahms Tank System Specialist (tank mechanic, y'all, I was a tank mechanic) that had dreams of completing a twenty-year career and retiring. And then after my retirement, I would launch some sort of startup with the security of a nice, fat check to fall back on if things didn't work out. Twenty-year-old me was married to the first of two ex-wives and had no kids.

Anyone who knows Winfred Keith Davis knows there’s something to be discovered at every turn. To some, he is a yoga teacher, leading meditations and creating space to heal body and mind. To others he is a mentor, reading with a student at a local elementary school, or a voice in the community choir, or an actor on the stage at the Ned.Standing in his garden, this kind of fullness of life is on clear display. It’s a teeming work in progress. There are trays of plants waiting to be planted in the earth, and a wheelbarrow full of mirrors that will be placed to reflect more light in the garden.

Only sixty years ago, our town, like much of the south, was in the middle of its own pain. Jim Crow laws had allowed states and communities to practice legal segregation under the guise of “separate but equal.” While clearly separating “coloreds” from “whites”, the results of that separation were anything but equal. Many times, these laws would be enforced by racist vigilantes before they were ever enforced by local law enforcement. Law enforcement would take a protester to jail; a vigilante would degrade a protester through physical and emotional violence.

Why do we create monuments to the past? What is it about physical reminders—be they statues or plaques—that move us? Why do we feel the need to travel to the places of great historical events and walk the same ground? I am struck by the words of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, the hero of Little Round Top at the Battle of Gettysburg: “In great deeds, something abides. On great fields, something stays.”

When I was young, my family would take vacations to different cities to watch baseball games. While I loved baseball, the thing I looked forward to the most was seeing the skyline of whatever city we were visiting. In my single digit years, it was always St. Louis. Driving past the multitude of Drury Inns in the suburbs and waiting for the skyline to materialize in the distance never got old. Seeing the Arch stretch across the sky is something I can still see in my mind today. As I got older, the cities became larger: Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, New York.

Great art is meant to be experienced. It is not enough to see a picture of a painting by Delacroix or Jacques-Louis David in an art history book. You must tramp across the wide corridors of the Louvre and encounter them in all the massive, unbelievable glory and beauty; anything else is only a poor substitute. This sort of artistic experience is a great blessing, and it explains why so many people continue to visit the great museums of the world.

What will a person not do because of love? With love, the seemingly absurd and impossible becomes logical and likely. Love is what drives us to actions and accomplishments, from the noblest and greatest to ordinary and poignant. To paraphrase the famous early twentieth century English author G.K. Chesterton, something becomes great or beautiful or indeed lovely because we love it. Not because it was great, beautiful, or lovely before we came. This is because love is transformative.

What would happen if a natural storm wiped out the heart of a city? How would the identity of a  community remain intact if vital parts of it are destroyed? These are questions that the Madison County Archives prepares to answer with every property deed, court record, and legal notice that is carefully preserved on its shelves. “You could re-create local history with the files we have,” Archivist Thomas Aud tells me from his seat in the Archives atrium.

All my life I have heard people talk about how time flies. I have never actually witnessed a clock sprout wings and take off, but as a child, that's the only way I could picture time flying. As I got older and little bit wiser, I knew clocks did not really fly and understood it was just a figure of speech—but to me, it seemed like a joke because time felt like it was crawling. For many, it becomes a reality when children are born. One minute, you're holding your precious baby; the next, they are having babies of their own.

Inevitability is the evil twin of hope. Hope is when we’re not quite sure what will happen, but we’re certain that we want it to happen. The mystery of hope and, to be quite honest, the appeal of hope rest in its uncertainty. There’s the idea that what we are hoping for will eventually morph into reality and, if we’re lucky, possibly exceed our original expectations. Hope is why the idea of something is oftentimes better than the thing itself. We survive on hope. Hope keeps us moving.Inevitability, however, is certain.

It was partly selfish. Admittedly, I wanted to feel closer to home. Reflecting back, I wanted to reconnect with a meaningful period of life in a place I loved. Like many folks sprouting a few gray hairs, I felt like I could offer a bit of advice to the generation just behind me. The blank spaces in our daily schedules during the 2020-2021 COVID year(s) provided a moment to brainstorm about how we could build on the Jackson Grown series started in 2017 and published in Our Jackson Home magazine.

However one might choose to gauge her, Lauren Pritchard, who goes by the stage name LOLO, does not situate comfortably into the traditional West Tennessee templates assigned to a middle class white girl. The church choir, theatre class, prom-going standards simply don’t work.

Drew Sutton and I were skinny, rival players with more or less realistic hopes of playing baseball for a low to mid-level university... somewhere.

August 1966 was a complicated time in the United States. Across the American landscape, leaders emerged, convictions solidified and movements progressed around highly-charged civil rights issues such as voting, education, and worker rights. It was also host to a range of less visible currents that touched the lives of African Americans. Frances, the daughter of West Tennessee sharecroppers and devoted parents, grew up in this time of tectonic social and political shifts.

The year was 1984, and a young student from a remote region in the heart of Africa walked out of a small Jesuit mission in what is today the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Makim Mputubwele was leaving a torn country to study applied linguistics in the sprawling, peaceful landscapes of Indiana.

It is one of the most tense places in the world. A tightly packed geographic meeting of three major religions and a nervous geopolitical flashpoint, the area sits within the inner circle of major foreign policy decisions for most countries. Needless to say, the Old City of Jerusalem does not regularly serve as an exhibition stage for fringe outdoor sports. On May 2, 2016, however, visitors to the Tower of David on the western edge of the Old City saw something unique.

There is a little Italian café in Geneva, Switzerland, that sits just across the street from the headquarters of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. I found myself there one rainy morning in February hunched over coffee with a colleague. We ran through the updates of the people around us who were doing their best to keep their flags flying in the midst of deep decreases in global budgets and broad increases in needs for life-saving work in areas such as human rights and global health.

In Norway it gets dark early. As we left for the arena around 4:00 P.M., the hazy glow of the daytime winter sky in Oslo had faded. I was on the bus headed to a concert honoring one of our own. Daniel was a member of our little band of misfits living in Geneva, Switzerland, who worked in and around the United Nations on issues ranging from poverty, hunger, and demining to human rights, health, and humanitarian relief. By all measurements, Daniel had “made it.”