Ghosts of the Delta: A Journey Through Time’s Ruins
- Jason Lykins
- Sep 10
- 11 min read
I kicked off this Mississippi Delta adventure by Jeep camping just outside historic Vicksburg, my trusty home-on-wheels parked in a familiar field from my June escapade. Back then, towering corn stalks played peekaboo with the distant road, but this time, the harvest had cleared the view, leaving me with a front-row seat to... well, not much, just a quiet stretch of asphalt. I went through my usual routine like a seasoned nomad: unloaded the Jeep, transformed the back into a five-star boudoir with an air mattress, crisp sheet, pillow, and—because I’m fancy—my Canadiens de Montréal blanket, ready to fend off any Mississippi chill with hockey flair. I whipped up some gourmet camp grub (okay, probably just ramen), cracked open a book, and settled in. The night was warm, but not “swamp sauna” levels, so I turned in, dreaming of abandoned treasures.Up at the crack of dawn—6:00 a.m., because who needs sleep when there’s history to chase?—I hit the road for my first stop: the Onward Store in Onward, Mississippi. This legendary pitstop, a Delta icon where Teddy Roosevelt’s 1902 bear hunt sparked the teddy bear craze, was sadly shuttered, its windows staring back like a sulky old friend. I’d hoped to sweet-talk my way into its historic interior, maybe charm a ghost or two, but no dice—the doors were locked tighter than a miser’s wallet. I settled for snapping photos through the dusty glass and circling the exterior, imagining the days when this place buzzed with locals and travelers. Here’s the kicker: it’s not totally abandoned. The hum of an air conditioning unit out back and a flicker of power suggested someone’s keeping the lights on, probably just to tease nosy explorers like me. With a sigh, I pointed my Jeep toward my next haunt, Pleasant Valley Church, ready to uncover more Delta secrets.
Pleasant Valley Church: A Sunset Memory Vanished in Panther Burn
I swung back to Pleasant Valley Church in Panther Burn, Mississippi, a haunting spot I’d visited twice before. On my first trip, I captured an iconic sunset framed between two graveyard trees—a Delta postcard moment (see my first pic below). I also brought my daughter once to share the eerie beauty of this place. That same visit, a local couple rolled up to check my intentions, but once they realized I was just there to snap photos and preserve history, they gave me a heartfelt tour. The man pointed out his baby brother’s grave and the founding pastor’s resting place, then they wandered off, hand-in-hand, for a romantic evening stroll through the fields. This time, though, the church was completely gone, just a patch of empty ground. A tornado had battered its backside years ago, so its collapse wasn’t a total surprise, but man, it still stung like a bad breakup. My photos captured the void where the church once stood, a stark contrast to the weathered sanctuary in my older shots. With a heavy heart, I pointed my Jeep toward Hollandale, ready to chase the next Delta ghost. More 👉 https://www.lykinsfilms.com/collection-plates
Hollandale Cotton Oil Mill: A Delta Giant’s Empty Echoes
In Hollandale, Mississippi, I visited the old Hollandale Cotton Oil Mill, built in 1900 by R.W. Bolt, a once-thriving hub that turned cottonseed into oil and meal, fueling the Delta’s economy until its closure in the early 2010s under names like PYCO Industries. This relic on West Mill Street, now an empty shell, whispered of its past glory when locals flocked to gawk at its novelty—and one Mrs. R.W. Golden nearly took an unintended oil bath after slipping into a tank. On this Saturday morning, I found a gap in the fence on the backside, letting me slip into the property like a Delta ninja. The main structure was barren, save for a lonely boiler squatting at one end. Across the concrete floor, two massive round holes gaped like crop circles, as if aliens had come for the cottonseed and left disappointed. The east side buzzed with life—folks strolled a nearby walking trail, cars zipped in and out, dropping off and picking up. I froze like a startled possum a few times to avoid curious eyes. Venturing west, I poked into another building with a towering vat—or maybe it was a cottonseed silo with dreams of grandeur. A fox bolted out as I stepped in, clearly unimpressed by my urban explorer credentials. I crossed a field to make my exit, camera full of this hollow giant’s story, and pointed my Jeep toward Shaw, Mississippi, for the next adventure.
Shaw High School: A Musical Mystery and a Barking Surprise
In Shaw, Mississippi, I pulled up to the hulking Shaw High School, a 1923 behemoth designed by N.W. Overstreet that’s been crumbling since its closure in the 2010s. I circled the massive three-story building, dreaming of its inner secrets, but every door was locked tighter than a bank vault. Peering through a window, I spotted drums—drums!—teasing me with visions of a long-lost band room. No luck getting inside, so I turned to the open cafeteria/admin building, where round-seat dining tables sat like they were waiting for lunch to be served. The hallway was a jaw-dropper: four, count ’em, four pianos lined up like forgotten rock stars, surrounded by scattered records that whispered of the school’s past life. The kitchen looked so pristine it could’ve been fired up for tacos tomorrow. On my way to the gym, I stumbled on a furry surprise—a mama dog, curled up in plain sight, guarding five rambunctious pups, probably a few months old. I must’ve startled her, because she unleashed a barking tirade that blew my stealthy explorer cover. No amount of “good doggo” vibes could calm her down. The gym door was open, but the rotten steps to the floor were a wobbly death trap, so I tread lightly, snapping shots of the decaying space. Eager to escape the canine chorus, I grabbed my final photos and hit the road for Merigold, ready for the next Delta adventure. More 👉 https://www.lykinsfilms.com/shaw
The Gong Company: From Dusty Shelves to Hey Joe’s Hot Plates in Merigold
Years back, I wandered into Merigold’s downtown—calling it “downtown” feels generous, like naming a puddle an ocean, but bear with me. I met Ben, who was elbow-deep in clearing out the old Gong Company store, a circa-1925 gem that once sold “Fancy Groceries & Kansas City Meats” for the Delta’s Chinese-American community. He kindly let me slip inside to photograph shelves still stocked with relics of its grocery days, though the creaky wood floor threatened to send me to the basement with every step. Fast forward to this trip, and holy transformation, Batman! The Gong Company’s been reborn as Hey Joe’s, a lively restaurant spun off from its Cleveland, Mississippi, roots just down the road. I plopped down, scarfed some seriously tasty grub—think burgers and nachos that hit like a Delta sunset—and got the green light to snap photos of the revamped space. My new shots show a cozy, bustling vibe with a bar and patio, a far cry from the dusty time capsule in my old pics. If you’re cruising through Merigold, swing by Hey Joe’s at 100 1st St for a meal that’ll make your taste buds sing. Highly recommend! Next stop: Po Monkeys.
Po’ Monkey’s Lounge: A Blues Legend Fading in Merigold
Po’ Monkey’s Lounge in Merigold, Mississippi, a cypress-shack juke joint founded in the early 1960s by Willie “Po’ Monkey” Seaberry, was once a Delta mecca for blues lovers. Tucked on the Hiter family farm, this vibrant spot hosted world-class blues musicians, drawing locals, Delta State students, and global tourists with its stuffed monkeys, Christmas lights, and Seaberry’s flamboyant suits. A Mississippi Blues Trail marker in 2009 cemented its legend, but after Seaberry’s passing in 2016, the joint closed, its contents auctioned off in 2018. Now, it’s a crumbling shadow of its glory days, unpreserved and left to time’s mercy. If I had a DeLorean to zip back to its heyday, I’d be front-row for those soul-shaking blues nights, but alas, I’m stuck in 2025, camera in hand, chasing ghosts.On this visit, Po’ Monkey’s was in dire shape, the exterior looking like it’s one stiff breeze from collapse. Part of the door was missing, practically begging me to sneak inside, but it felt downright irreverent—like crashing a sacred party uninvited—so I stuck to snapping shots of the weathered outside. The outhouse on the side was a hilarious time capsule, screaming “vintage Delta” with its rickety charm. My photos, compared to ones from eight years ago when the place still had some of Seaberry’s quirky decor, show a heartbreaking decline. I left with a heavy heart, wishing I could’ve heard those blues echo, and headed for Mound Bayou, chasing the next Delta relic. More 👉 https://www.lykinsfilms.com/poor-monkey
I.T. Montgomery House: A Fading Beacon of Mound Bayou’s Legacy
In Mound Bayou, Mississippi, I visited the I.T. Montgomery House, the 1910 home of Isaiah Thornton Montgomery (1847–1924), a former slave of Joseph Davis (not Thomas Jefferson, as commonly mistaken, though Joseph was Jefferson Davis’s brother). Montgomery, a civil engineer and the only African American delegate at Mississippi’s 1890 Constitutional Convention, co-founded Mound Bayou in 1887, one of the first all-Black towns in the South, hailed as the “Jewel of the Delta” by Theodore Roosevelt. This two-story, twenty-room brick mansion, with its wraparound porch and vault-like basement room (possibly a post office), stood as a symbol of Black self-sufficiency, later serving as a nurses’ home for Taborian Hospital in the 1940s. Designated a National Historic Landmark in 1976 and a Mississippi Landmark in 2003, it’s a testament to Montgomery’s vision.
On this visit, I found the house in sorry shape, boarded up tighter than a drum, with no way to peek inside its historic walls. Restoration efforts, backed by a $284,000 National Park Service grant in 2016 and $2,250,000 in Community Project Funding in 2022, seem to have fizzled out, leaving the place looking like it’s on borrowed time. A QR code on a sign led to a defunct website, which felt like a digital ghost town—fitting, but frustrating. Try the code yourself. I couldn’t help but wonder where all that money went; did it vanish into the Delta ether? My photos captured the boarded-up exterior, a stark contrast to its proud past, and I left Mound Bayou pondering the mystery, heading next to Sledge.
Holly Grove M.B. Church: A Crumbled Sanctuary in Sledge
In Sledge, Mississippi, I revisited Holly Grove Missionary Baptist Church, a historic African American church that’s been a Delta fixture since at least the early 20th century. On my first visit years ago, the place was sagging so badly it looked like a gust of wind could send it toppling. The 2x4s propping it up seemed more like hopeful toothpicks than structural saviors, so I didn’t dare step inside, settling for exterior shots instead. This time, I found it completely collapsed, just a pathetic pile of rubble where a sanctuary once stood. I poked around the debris, hoping to spot the piano I’d glimpsed at the back of the church on my earlier trip, but it must’ve been crushed in the collapse—another Delta treasure lost to time. My photos captured the wreckage, a far cry from the bowing but intact structure in my old shots. With a sigh, I left the ruins behind and headed to my second camping spot on Enid Lake, ready to trade ghosts for a lakeside sunset. More 👉 https://www.lykinsfilms.com/holly-grove
Enid Lake: Chili, Chills, and a Cozy Jeep Camp
On my way to Enid Lake, I swung by the Enid Grocery Store to grab some firewood, gearing up for what promised to be a crisp Delta evening. Spoiler alert: it delivered, and then some! I set up camp near the lake, converting my Jeep into a cozy fortress with my trusty air mattress, sheet, pillow, and that Canadiens de Montréal blanket—because hockey vibes fend off the cold, right? I cooked up a pot of chili that could’ve won a Delta cook-off, cracked open a couple of beverages, and settled in to watch the sun dip below the horizon in a blaze of glory. With a fire crackling, I was living the camper’s dream—until the temperature plummeted from “cool” to “did I move to Antarctica?” I crawled into the Jeep, grateful for my setup but kicking myself for not packing an electric blanket. Brr! Come morning, I wasn’t exactly leaping out of bed; the trip’s adventures had me beat. I finally rolled out, whipped up some breakfast, packed up my mobile palace, and pointed the Jeep toward the Chakchiuma Swamp, ready for the next Delta mystery.
Chakchiuma Swamp: A Glimpse into Aiyana’s Ancestral Lands
The Chakchiuma tribe, a small Native American group in northern Mississippi, lived along the Yalobusha and Tallahatchie rivers from at least the 1540s, when Hernando de Soto encountered them. Known as the “red crawfish people” or “those who gather red crawfish,” they were skilled farmers, hunters, and warriors, allied briefly with the French against the Natchez and Chickasaw in the early 18th century. By 1830, the Indian Removal Act forced their relocation to Oklahoma, merging them with the Choctaw Nation, leaving only archaeological traces like the Batesville Mounds. The Chakchiuma Swamp, a 15,000-acre wetland near Grenada in Panola, Tallahatchie, and Quitman counties, is a remnant of their homeland, part of the Mississippi Alluvial Plain with bald cypress, water tupelo, and diverse wildlife like alligators and waterfowl. I’d been itching to visit the Chakchiuma Swamp for years, ever since dreaming it up as the ancestral backdrop for Aiyana, the Chakchiuma-descended wife of my Krewe of Discovery books’ main character. Finally, I hit the trail to this glorious, murky wonderland. Time slipped away as I wandered, the low water letting me wade deep into the swamp’s heart—sorry, no kayaks this time, but I’m definitely bringing one next visit! By the time I left, my stomach was growling louder than a Delta gator. My photos captured the swamp’s wild beauty, a perfect nod to Aiyana’s roots. Next stop: Vaiden with a stop over in Winona.
Vaiden High School: From Classroom to Creepy Market and Haunted House
Before hitting Vaiden, I detoured to Winona, Mississippi, to check on the Wisteria Hotel, a 1910 gem that’s like stepping onto the set of Somewhere in Time—all grand, romantic vibes with its three-story, solid-wood charm. Thankfully, it was unchanged, still standing proud at 100 S Central Ave, waiting for someone to restore its former glory. With my heart full of nostalgia, I headed to Vaiden, eager to explore two historic schools I’d heard about. One, North Vaiden High (later Percy Hathorn High), I’d visited before but found posted, so no dice. This time, I learned it’s been transformed into The Prissy Hen, a vintage market opened in 2018 by Cindy Williams, stuffed with antiques and quirky finds. Cool, but I was more excited about the other school I’d just discovered: Vaiden High School, built in 1943 by the WPA.
Rolling up to the bright white, Art Moderne-style Vaiden High School, I couldn’t believe my luck—the front door was wide open! No “keep out” signs, just an invitation to explore. I waltzed right in, and the auditorium hit me like a time machine; it looked like it could’ve hosted a pep rally yesterday. But broken windows and scattered debris told the real story: this place is long abandoned. The only traces left were spooky haunted house decorations—think cobwebs and creepy props from a 2022 Halloween event—giving it an eerie, B-movie vibe. Not much school stuff remained, just enough to hint at its past as a bustling campus for white students until 1999. I snapped some photos of the auditorium’s faded grandeur and the haunted house leftovers, then closed the door behind me to keep the ghosts safe. With my camera full, I hit the road headed for home. More 👉 https://www.lykinsfilms.com/vaiden
Homeward Bound: Reflecting on a Delta Adventure
With a four-hour drive from Vaiden back to the Mississippi Coast, I had plenty of time to let the past few days’ adventures rattle around in my head like loose change. The hum of the road and the mental slideshow of crumbling churches, haunted school auditoriums, and reborn grocery stores kept me wide awake. From the ghostly shell of Po’ Monkey’s to the vibrant plates at Hey Joe’s, the boarded-up I.T. Montgomery House to the collapsed Holly Grove M.B. Church, this Delta road trip was a goldmine for my camera and my soul. It was the final chapter of my four-part book series on Mississippi’s forgotten places, each site a story of resilience, decay, or rebirth. As I pulled into the Coast, I was beat but buzzing with questions: Where to next? Another abandoned juke joint? A forgotten plantation house? Maybe a swamp kayak adventure? I’ve got ideas brewing, but for now, I’m parking the Jeep, trading my Canadiens de Montréal blanket for a real bed, and catching some Z’s. The Delta’s ghosts will still be there when I’m ready to chase them again.
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