Ellington

My life was as normal as it could be my first half-century. I was planted here in front of the Old Capitol to highlight its importance and beauty. Hundreds of tourists and locals have paused in front of me, gazed at my beauty (blushing) and said with wonder, "I bet that tree has a story to tell."

I do.

It must have been 27 or 28 years ago, right around the time my new growth was coming in, when my easy life changed. Don't get me wrong, being exposed to the harsh but rare Mississippi ice storms, occasional hurricane force winds and the always wicked-humid summers that caused me to lose limbs and thirst for a scattered shower was not that easy. But none of those prepared me for the effects I feel from "the gathering."

It was early in the morning, and the street was abuzz with people. They were all dressed rather oddly, in my opinion. Green was definitely the color to wear that day. Never had I seen so many people congregating on the street in such a uniform style. There were not too many people lining the streets or even sitting under me that first time. Most seemed to be to my left and a couple of blocks away in cars without tops and even riding on horses.

I distinctly remember the O'Conners were with me. Guess it helps that I see them once a year now, and little Patrick is all grown up with a child about the same age he was that first time. However, instead of a blanket for comfort they bring these covers they set up, and they sit in comfortable chairs that come out of bags. And man, there surely are a bunch of them.

As Sam—that's the sun to you—began to glow brighter, the busyness of the congregation and on lookers reminded me of the hustle and bustle of the bees and butterflies that would be coming soon all around me. And to be honest, I had never felt my sap rush as much as it did at that moment. I waited anxiously—actually, what else could I do? All of us did.

I glanced down and overheard two college-aged girls discussing the Bluz Boys, some hip new band that would be playing on top of a flat bed. Seems the girls had been following them around the bar scene and were anticipating their show. As the event started, the Bluz Boys brief pass in front of me wound up turning into an all-nighter in the parking lot in front of the building that held the genesis of the event. That event still goes on to this day.

Only three women passed by that particular day; now I cannot count them all (I think some are men). All clad in sequined green dresses, really short sequined green dresses. I was not able to view their waists because their breasts, woooooo, their breasts blocked my view. Their matched red hair put Sam's glow to shame. Their sparkling eyes were covered with sunglasses—I know they were sparkling—and they danced past me like they meant business. Sweet Potato Queens they called themselves—still do. Only the thousands of smiles I have seen since overshadow the smiles they brought to faces that day.

People participating in the event were throwing things, anything it seemed. I saw cups, plastic coins and even Frisbees. That day I was not marred or bruised by these things because the slim number of on lookers made it easy for hand-to-hand exchanges. However, somewhere around the fourth green season, I started to see jewels being thrown to the thousands around me. I became decorated in all types of paraphernalia. Bruised, yes; unhappy, no. How could I be? My people were having the times of their lives, and they were united.

Even though I lose several new buds when those items are flung at me, I dare not complain.

I have not confirmed this, but I am pretty sure that one man named Mal started it all. The story has been told, retold, changed and embellished by many who have stood under me. Seems Mal fell in love with parades when he spent time in New Orleans. Once back in Jackson he realized there was no St. Patrick's Day Parade. So, he did something about it. Today, the Mal's St. Paddy's Parade is one of the biggest in the nation. Crowds gather, floats are built, libations are taken in, and the Sweet Potato Queens and Bluz Boys are still a part of this organized chaos.

What was once a normal life for me has turned into discussing the parade for 364 days each year. I anticipate it. I anxiously await the old friends I see and hear the stories of their lives as I shade them. I meet new friends that will return. And most importantly, I become decorated and adorned with many fine jewels that stand as a symbol, if only for a couple of weeks, as to what this city is—what I've known it has been for years. It is unity. It is hospitality. And most of all, it is ours.