Let me tell you about my time at the Hertz rental on Getwell Road.

I went this morning at nine to pick up my car to drive south to see my momma.

The lobby was crowded with people waiting for Ubers and talk of how to make some extra cash.

“You don’t transport people. You do food.” The wise one held court as she counseled the younger ones on the ways of Ubering.

“You don’t wait in the city. You go to the suburbs, to Germantown and Collierville, where the money flows more freely.”

I waited for my rental and listened to the talk, the laughter, the frustration, the hunger for something more.

The attendant, a twenty-something-year-old woman whose baby boy just went to kindergarten, said she was adjusting. It’s only been a month, but it’s been hard dealing with traffic and people. After five years of full-time mothering, she’s just learning how to dance the dance of working outside the home again. She snapped a few photos, cranked the car, and had me sign, with a reminder that my insurance would not cover the cost of tires and windows.

And then I drove south on 61, through Tunica, Lula, Lyon, and Tutwiler, passing cotton fields, pickers, and pickups with empty trailers parked on a bayou’s edge.

A hundred and thirty-seven miles and a few turns later, I pulled into the drive.

“It’s a perfect fall day in Mississippi,” remarked my mom when I walked in the door.

86 degrees and clear blue skies.

I showed her photos I had stopped to capture along the way—scenes of cotton ready and waiting, of men fishing, of fields freshly prepared for the next season’s planting, of the harvest taking place. Mostly homebound now, she held the phone close to her face and looked at each picture carefully, commenting on the stage of the cotton, the number of rows covered by the picker, and the tranquility of the bayou.

After prepping a roast with carrots, onions, and potatoes, we played Double Solitaire with two decks–one red and one blue with large numbers. Mom shuffled her red deck with ease and carefully placed each card on the table.

The roast’s aroma filled the house as the afternoon hours passed by. Then, after the table was set, I placed five yeast rolls on a small aluminum pan and drizzled them with butter. An early supper was followed by an evening ritual of mother and I working together–wiping the table clean, washing the dishes, and tidying the kitchen.

At dusk, I went out to look for the kittens—five born to a stray just four weeks ago. The momma watched me carefully, but her kittens remained hidden from view..

I pulled my rental into the carport, unloaded, and locked it as I thought about my time at the Hertz rental on Getwell Road.