In 2003, my husband accepted an offer to return to Mississippi to practice medicine following a two-year fellowship at Vanderbilt in Nashville.  We returned a few months before the end of the fellowship to begin the search for a house.  Our short visit to Mississippi included a delightful dinner with one of Daniel’s new associates and his wife, Dr. and Mrs. Haltom.  

We chatted amiably for a while, and then I asked Mrs. Haltom (“Susan,” she gently reminded me time and again) what she did with her days.  After all, I could foresee childrearing and housekeeping as my sole occupation in the near future and wondered what I might look forward to doing after my children were grown and flown away as the Haltoms’ children had already done.  She replied with a little shrug, “Oh, I piddle in the garden some….” Her husband benignly smiled at her, and our conversation took a different turn.

The following week, I was looking for an escape from the tyranny of three little children under the age of three, and I found it in the mailbox.  Hurrah!  Southern Living had arrived!  Ignoring the unending chatter, whining, and clatter of wooden trains tumbling down the stairs, I crawled into the window seat to peruse the issue for just a few precious moments.  The lead story was on Eudora Welty, an important native of Jackson, Mississippi.  I felt I should read it at once since I was about to join that society.  Within the first paragraph, I read a quote regarding Ms. Welty’s garden and home followed by the identification of the speaker: “Susan Haltom, master gardener.”  What?!? 

In time, I’ve come to understand that Mississippi is unique in many traditions, the most outstanding one to me being the natural reticence of great people to toot their own horn, so to speak.  Indeed, I’ve had to warn my family and friends who are visiting to let someone else mention their accomplishments instead of revealing it themselves if they want to find acceptance in Mississippi society.  I’ve always been one to speak my mind, especially if it’s the plain truth anyway, and my dear husband who has obtained more training by this special place simply as a by-product of his occupation, has had to pull me back, give me the eye, and even shush me at times to remind me that we’re not in Texas anymore.

Since Susan won’t ever mention it, I will.  She makes the most amazing meringue pies!

When Susan learned of this post, she simply forwarded me another post. OK, then she acted like a Texan and wrote a long, newsy email. She’s retiring from the Welty Garden, and here is the truly Southern post from Mississippi Today: