The heart of the Bulletin is its classified section, and it is unbeatable. Unlike Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace, where you are often dealing with anonymous strangers and scams, the Market Bulletin feels community-driven and safe.
Myra, who had known Earlene since they both lost power during Hurricane Katrina, took the check without a word. She pulled a faded index card from a metal recipe box behind her desk. Handwritten on it were the names of seventeen people—the last holdouts. People who wanted the classifieds printed on newsprint, not pixels. People who needed to know who was selling registered Angus calves, who had a working Massey Ferguson for trade, and who was looking for a used cane mill, all in a foldable paper that smelled like a feed store.
Earlene laughed so hard she spilled her tea. Then she picked up her pencil and circled the blue heeler again. Somebody in Yazoo City was missing that dog. And in the pages of the Mississippi Market Bulletin , even lost things had a way of finding their way home.
“Myra, I can’t click a button that ain’t there,” Earlene said, sliding a check for $18 across the counter. “But I can mail a check. And you can mail me my bulletin. Same as my mama did for thirty years.” mississippi market bulletin subscription
The cost of a subscription is incredibly low for what you get. It supports the Mississippi Department of Agriculture and Commerce and helps keep the local agricultural community connected. I have paid for my yearly subscription ten times over just through the money I’ve saved buying direct from local farmers and breeders rather than going through middlemen or big-box stores.
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If you live in Mississippi and have even a passing interest in agriculture, gardening, outdoor recreation, or rural living, the Mississippi Market Bulletin is essential reading. It is a true community institution that connects neighbors and supports the local economy. Highly recommended. The heart of the Bulletin is its classified
Myra slid the metal recipe box toward him. “These are my people,” she said.
Trevor flipped through the cards. Eighteen names. Eighteen addresses. Eighteen small-town Mississippians who would sooner give up cornbread than a paper bulletin.
“That’s illegal, ain’t it?” Earlene asked, smiling. She pulled a faded index card from a
“How much for a one-year paper subscription?” he asked.
“Only if they catch me,” Myra said. “And so far, the only person reading the Bulletin in Jackson is some twenty-two-year-old digital coordinator named Trevor who thinks a ‘broiler house’ is a dorm for fraternity brothers.”
“You’re number eighteen now,” Myra said, adding Earlene’s name. “I print the online listings every Tuesday night on my home printer. Staple ’em together. Mail ’em out Wednesday morning.”