Labor Day at Lake Mary: Serenity in the Midst of Climate Change and the Trump Derangement Syndrome

 My home sits on the banks of Lake Mary in southwestern Mississippi. Shaped like a ten-mile bratwurst sausage, Lake Mary is an oxbow lake formed when the Mississippi River changed course long ago--in the eighteenth century, I've been told.

Unlike my region's recreational lakes and waterways, Lake Mary is undeveloped. Even on Labor Day, when other watery playgrounds are packed with boaters, skiers, and jet ski enthusiasts, Lake Mary is virtually deserted. I saw only three boats pass by all day.

Lake Mary is only 90 minutes from Baton Rouge, a leisurely weekend drive. Why aren't there more lakefront homes here?

Climate change is the primary reason Lake Mary has been passed by, leaving it a Southern Living Brigadoon. In the mid-twentieth century, Lake Mary and nearby Lake Foster were a famous duck hunting paradise, and hunters came from near and far to hunt ducks and geese. A few lodging houses near the lakes catered to these seasonal visitors, but now they are largely devoid of guests.

What happened? Global warming changed the fly routes of migratory birds. Now, ducks are more likely to spend the winter farther north--in Oklahoma or Arkansas. 

Thirty years ago, Lake Mary was a reliable fishing spot where anglers could catch largemouth bass. No longer. Now the lake is stocked with Asian carp, an invasive species that swam into the lake from the Mississippi River. Wildlife officials along the Mississippi drainage system are fighting to keep the carp from extending their range, but Lake Mary lost that battle long ago, and the Asian carp have taken over.

 Alligator gar, a needle-nosed prehistoric-looking species, has also muscled its way into the lake, and together the carp and gar have pushed out the sport fish. Both species are edible, but few people want to eat them.

Another sign that the ecosystem is changing: alligators are moving north, and my family occasionally spots a gator sunning on the lake bank. Swimming in Lake Mary has become less inviting.

Feral hogs have also grown in numbers in southern Mississippi, and climate change may explain this expansion. These beasts roam the woods in large sounders--20 pigs or more-- and compete with the deer for forage.

Given all these disadvantages, why would I want to live on Lake Mary? Several reasons. First, I cherish the serenity and the solitude. 

My neighbors occasionally pass by my homestead on the gravel road that borders my property-- people in 4-wheel drive pickups or all-terrain vehicles. But there are no traffic jams or road rage, no carjackings.

I also love my Mississippi home for the abundant bird life: snowy egrets, great egrets, white ibises, blue herons, tricolored herons, kingfishers, and the occasional stork and bald eagle. Late in life, I've become a hack birdwatcher.

Even so, living on Lake Mary has a significant drawback. My property floods yearly when spring rains flow down from the upper Mississippi Valley, depositing as much as eight feet of water under my house.

Climate change? Many of my neighbors think so. According to the oldtimers, the Mississippi River hardly ever flooded this region until 30 years ago. People speculate that extreme weather events have caused more torrential rainstorms and that the excessive water has triggered soil erosion, silting up the Mississippi River and its tributaries.

No matter. My home sits on steel piers 15 feet above ground level. It would take a flood of biblical proportions to threaten my habitation.

So, as Waylon Jennings put it, "Let the world call me a fool." I'm content to live out my days in a backwater of southern Mississippi, where the sunsets are gorgeous and no one suffers from Trump Derangement Syndrome.

Catastrophic Weather Events and the High Cost of Living Make Flyover Country More Appealing

 Wildfires in Los Angeles have driven thousands of Angelinos out of their homes, and many won't return. California, with its spectacular weather and stunning beauty, has become too difficult for anyone but the wealthy to live.

Catastrophic weather events--wildfires, mudslides, and earthquakes--coupled with stratospheric real estate prices, sky-high taxes, and directionless political leadership have transformed paradise into a nightmare for people of modest means.

So, where will discouraged Californians go? Many are going to Texas and Florida, but taxes and the cost of living have climbed in those sunny states.

 Austin, known for its low cost of living in the 1970s when I was a student at the University of Texas, has become so expensive that a person of modest means can't afford to migrate there. 

Florida has been a retirement haven for almost a century but has become too pricey for many older Americans on fixed incomes. And then there are the hurricanes.

How about Flyover country? Would that be a good region to move to? 

The Cambridge Dictionary defines Flyover Country as "parts of the United States which many people only see when they fly over them on journeys to the other coast, but which they would never visit." In other words, Flyover Country is made up of the regions of the U.S. that were once known as Middle America or the Heartland.

As the Wall Street Journal noted in a recent article, some parts of Flyover Country are becoming increasingly attractive—specifically Middle Appalachia: 

Drawn by lower housing costs and living expenses, lower taxes, lower insurance costs, low crime, warm weather (but with seasons) and less chance of hurricanes, an older, wealthier population is arriving [in Middle Appalachia]and demanding a level of services from governments and businesses that neither had to provide in the past.

Other parts of Flyover Country are just as enticing but have yet to be discovered by the frazzled Americans trying to escape the high cost of living on the East and West Coasts.

I live on Lake Mary in South Mississippi, in the heart of Flyover Country, and I find it a congenial place to live. I admit that Lake Mary is not as prestigious as Lake Tahoe. We fish for catfish here instead of rainbow trout, but real estate is a lot cheaper in Mississippi than in the famous Nevada vacation spot, and the people are more interesting. 

And life in South Mississippi offers attractions you can't find on Cape Cod or the Hamptons. For example, we have an alligator season in Mississippi, and you can hunt feral hogs here day or night all year round. 

Marlin fishing in the Keys is all well and good, but it's nothing like hooking into a monster alligator gar or Asian carp on Lake Mary. And you can take my word: a fried Mississippi catfish tastes as good as any seafood you will eat on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. 

Not all Flyover Country is idyllic. We need better schools in the rural South and an economy that produces more middle-class jobs. Nevertheless, as coastal cities become increasingly expensive and crime rates rise, Flyover Country might be a better place to live and raise a family.

Image credit:  TV Tropes