Church Hill: A Small Community Finds Salvation in an Old Church and a New Business

Last night I joined some friends for trivia night at Church Hill Variety, a little restaurant and sundries store in Church Hill, Mississippi, an unincorporated community of approximately107 people, about 20 miles out in the country, past the Natchez Trace in Jefferson County.  Church Hill Variety has become a gathering place, not only for the ever-present locals, but also for people from as close as Natchez and as far away as California.

The store/restaurant was started by actor, screenwriter, film producer and director Tate Taylor (The Help, Get on UP, Palm Royale, et al.) and his partner, producer John Norris, who live on Wyolah Plantation in Church Hill,  After moving there, they wanted to bring life back to the tiny community that had sort of died after the historic general store -- Wagner's Grocery -- closed in the 1990s.  Wagner's was one of the last old-fashioned general stores that served as a grocery, a post office and a meeting place for the residents of Church Hill.  It is now under the purview of The Historic Natchez Foundation, who are working to restore the quaint old store.

Church Hill was named for the old Episcopal Church -- Christ Church, 1858 -- which sits upon a terraced hill across from Wagner's.  The Gothic-Revival building looks like something out of old England with its ancient graveyard, surveying the comings and goings of still-living residents, patiently awaiting its next interment.  It was the first Episcopal congregation in Mississippi, and -- like Wagner's -- is on the National Register of Historic Places.  At present there is an effort underway to restore the old church, onto which time has left its mark.  At one time home to a colony of bats, it still holds services the second and fourth Sunday of each month.  A Go Fund Me account has been set up for donations to help fund restoration efforts. Click on the link to donate.

A wealthy planter community before the Civil War, land erosion and the boll weevil ate their way into the community, causing it to wither, turning back from farm land to hardwood forest and plenty of kudzu.  A few of the beautiful plantation houses are still extant, having attracted Hollywood in the 1980s when George Hamilton bought The Cedars Plantation, which he owned for a few years and then sold.

The first people I encounter upon arrival are my cousins, Eddie and Rose Thompson.  Rose grew up in Church Hill and was a Patterson.  Her mother, Jinny Patterson, held court almost every afternoon at Church Hill Variety, and became a favorite friend of Tate Taylor, who gave her and Rose bit roles in his films.  We had come to join some other Natchez friends for the trivia match, which we won, by the way.  Then I see my old high-school friend Carol Royals and her sister, Linda Flynn, who also grew up there.  Between rounds of trivia, we talked about what it was like growing up in Church Hill in the 1960s and 70s.

"It was so much fun growing up here," remembered Carol.  We all had horses and could ride them anywhere for miles and miles.  And we were always perfectly safe.  We would ride up to Wagner's and see who all was there.  I could walk down the road at night and not have to worry about anything." 

Her sister Linda remembered people saying "How's yo mama 'n em?"  or "Where you stay?"  "Be sure to tell yo mama 'n em hello for me, now."

Her eyes revealed an expression of love and loss in remembering a charmed existence that simply doesn't exist anywhere anymore.

Carol recalled my friend Kerry Dicks's (with whom I rode to trivia night) great-grandmother, Josephine Payne, who was one of the last old timers to live at Cedar Grove.  "She used to get all dressed up in English jodhpurs and those high boots, and ride sidesaddle like a proper lady," she said.  "Every day she came to get her mail on that horse.  We all rode Western saddles, so we were in awe at the English saddle and riding habit."

Kerry remembered that there's still a window at Cedar Grove where her great-grandmother had carved her name with a diamond.

I was introduced to a tall, lovely woman, Heather, who had moved to Church Hill from the Bay area in San Franciso.  "We knew we wanted to live somewhere other than San Franciso and took a rode trip through the South."  

There were several little towns that just seemed too run down to plant roots in.  Then they discovered Natchez and fell in love.  With everything:  the architecture, the river, the people.

"You know what I like about it here?" she said.  "The people.  I even enjoy going to WalMart because when you're done they tell you to have a blessed (pronounced blest) day, and they look you in the eyes and smile and you can tell they really mean it.  Everyone says hello.  I've never encountered that before."

We talked some more while everyone ordered drinks: gin gibsons, watermelon margaritas, wine.  I joined Carol for a cigarette on the back porch and we reminisced about old times and new.  Finally, someone said it was time to close, so we headed for our cars.

Outside, a mist hung low in the trees, punctuated by tendrils of Spanish moss.  It was so quiet, even the cicadas had abandoned their evening ululations.  On the porch and away from the air conditioner, Heather threw open her arms.  "Ahhh," she said.  "I even like the humidity.  It's warm and wet and it feels like a hug.  I was always cold in the Bay area."

And I thought what a perfect way to describe the indescribable feeling of friendly humidity:  a hug.  

And a place called home.

*I did not take the photo in this article.  If I've broken a copyright, please let me know and I'll take it down.  Thank you.