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US Highway 49 is the measure of the land. The ends are in two different worlds, neither of which would recognize the other, had not they citizenship and roadway in common. Spanning from the alluvial plain to the pine barren, from the Delta Blues of Clarksdale to the Mardi Gras March of the Gulf Coast, 49 is as familiar with the metallic sound of the steel-banded wagon wheel and the clop of the hoof as it is with the drone of the crop duster, the gurgle of the flood, the roar of the convoy, the boom of the cannon, the tumble of the die and the rush of the wave . This great connection, The Jefferson Davis Memorial Highway, has a life of its own. The highway is integral to the aspirations of innumerable would-be-successfuls whose boundless imaginations reign unfettered along the sides of this four lane unlimited-access-market from Clarksdale to Jackson to Gulfport. The sellers of molasses, jellies, melons, tomatoes, sugar cane, peas, okra, squash, peanuts, pumpkins, peaches, pralines, pies, cakes, dolls, firecrackers and hub caps are well-known to the habitual travelers of this stretch.
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