LaReeca Rucker

The recent passing of Mississippi treasure Lee McCarty stirred up memories of one unforgettable day I spent in Merigold several years ago — a day that felt like stepping into a living piece of art history.

Five years ago, I found myself on a Delta road trip that led me to the doorstep of McCartys Pottery, the legendary studio Lee and his late wife, Pup, built from the ground up in the tiny town of Merigold. If you’ve never been, let me offer this heartfelt advice: add it to your bucket list. Trust me, you won’t regret it.

That day, I toured the pottery shop, watched artisans skillfully shape clay into timeless works of art, and dined at The Gallery, a cozy restaurant tucked beside the studio. Crawdad’s, a beloved local eatery, rounded out the culinary adventure. And as if that weren’t enough Southern soul in one afternoon, some friendly locals led me to the famed Po’ Monkey Lounge, often described as one of the last true juke joints in America. It was a day full of culture, creativity, and Delta charm.

But what has stayed with me most is my time with Mr. McCarty himself.

Meeting him felt a little like meeting a character from a Southern novel — an elegant mix of gentility, intellect, and quiet charisma. He was dressed to the nines that day, polished and poised, and gave me a warm tour of the shop he and Pup poured their lives into. Every corner of the space echoed with their vision. You could feel it in the earth-toned glazes, in the Mississippi River symbol they famously incorporated into each piece, and in the stories Lee shared with affection and pride.

Their pottery was more than art — it was a tangible love letter to the land, to each other, and to the creative process. Listening to Mr. McCarty talk about their journey, it was clear that he and Pup were more than just business partners. They were co-dreamers. The story of McCartys Pottery is a story of devotion — to craft, to community, and to one another.

As a journalist, I’ve always followed the ethical rulebook: no gifts, no exceptions. But that day, Mr. McCarty bent the rules in the most gracious way.

As we said our goodbyes, he handed me a pair of handcrafted earrings — classic McCarty pieces, glazed in that earthy, unmistakable style, etched with the symbolic line of the river. I instinctively declined.

“I really can’t accept this,” I said.

He looked at me kindly, smiled, and replied, “You have to learn how to accept a gift.”

And so I did.

Those earrings are now among my most cherished possessions — not just because of their beauty, but because of what they represent. They’re a symbol of generosity. Of hospitality. Of artistry. And of a Delta legacy that continues to ripple through time, much like the river they honored in every piece.

Mississippi has lost one of its brightest creative minds. But in every hand-shaped bowl, every river-glazed vase, and every visitor who’s been lucky enough to walk through those pottery doors, his story lives on.

Rest easy, Mr. McCarty. And thank you — for the art, the warmth, the earrings, and the reminder that some gifts are meant to be received.