Jackson Free Press

We went crazy in June and painted our sun porch Martha Stewart Monarch Red, a brilliant terra-cotta that glows like a furnace when viewed from the street. It was our first real step toward turning the little brick ranch house in the middle of Northeast Jackson into home. For five years, we had kept the interior in pleasing neutral tones so it would be easier to resell. In my mind I was always leaving, moving onto the next big thing. The elusive place I thought I'd call home was anywhere but here.

Jerry and I went from being roaming archaeologists in the fields of the Southeast and Mexico to stay-at-home Mom and corporate computer-analyst Dad. After our first child was born, we worried about the things most parents worry about: money, security, a place to raise a family. Our son had lived in three different states and a European country before he turned 2, so when Jerry finished his MBA program we thought it was time to go home, get a "real" job, buy a house and put down roots. We gave up globe-trotting and digging in the dirt in exchange for grandparents, old friends and the booming company that promised a solid future in Mississippi, our home state. WorldCom was here, and we opted — or "sold out," some would say — for a giant leap onto the technology bandwagon to get a little of what everyone else seemed to be getting. Jerry says now, "We must have thought we could buy roots."

WorldCom was Jackson's "hometown hero" bringing all kinds of people and prosperity back to the state. While Jerry's business school classmates were taking jobs in the bigger cities with starting salaries at six figures, we felt lucky to find employment in the Capitol city that didn't involve doctoring, lawyering or truck driving. Central Mississippi was not quite Silicon Valley (thankfully), but it was home to the world's second largest telecommunication company. And they were moving our furniture for free. For a couple who had gone to work in cut-offs for seven years, this was a big deal. Our children growing up near family and the promise of increased stock options made up for the mediocre salary and long hours, we thought.

I believed that buying a house would make Jackson home, but the roots didn't take hold right away. The elderly couple that lived in this house before us had kept the yard immaculately groomed with Disneyland-like hedges and not a weed in sight. With two kids and a mole-digging dog, we have failed miserably to keep any semblance of the manicured lawn we inherited. Our sweet neighbors wouldn't say a thing, at least not to our faces, about the weeds that have taken over our corner azalea bed that sits on prominent display at the three-way stop or the poison ivy vines wrapping the light pole that showcases the latest missing pet. Occasionally a neighbor would wistfully recall the past life of our yard, "The Gibsons always had the prettiest little zinnia bed over there," pointing to the dry barren spot on the side of our house. I'd just smile and think, "Well, maybe if this were our real home, I would whip this yard into shape."

But I would eventually stop complaining about missing dread-locked street musicians, Starbucks, and Wal-Mart-sized health-food stores. I finally started to sense what I couldn't feel anywhere else we had lived: a sense of belonging. We ran into people here who had known us as children and worked with our grandparents. I'd go to Kroger at 5 p.m., and it might as well have been happy hour at The Gin 20 years ago, there were so many people here from Ole Miss. And an artistic renaissance was taking shape here that we wanted to be a part of. We didn't have to search for greener pastures. It's plenty green right here.

We've settled in now. Ben started "big boy school" at his father's alma mater, and our baby was christened in a church where the priest knows our names. Jerry has just finished building a grand L-shaped red oak desk that sits in the windowed corner of our red room so I can watch the birds or the kids in the backyard and get inspired. But now there are layoffs, indictments, depleted 401Ks and totally worthless stock options. By the time my sister's baby is born in January, we could be living in another state, perhaps not even in the South.

I thought we might leave someday, but not now and not this way. I'm clinging as tightly to this place as the poison ivy once clung to our lightpole. Let's just hope Martha stays afloat longer than WorldCom. The next owner may need a little Monarch Red for touch-ups.

Mimi Holland-Lilly is a writer, an anthropologist and a stay-at-home mother of two.