Walking in Jean Lafitte's Footsteps

The BP oil spill has slid into all of the spaces once held exclusively by Katrina here in Louisiana. Area newspapers fill pages with stories of human, economic and ecologic despair in a region weary yet passionate about the impact that the continuous gushing of oil on the ocean floor has and will have on Louisiana. Local television fills in the gaps left by national coverage, illustrating how intertwined the land and water, the people and wildlife, culture, industry and tradition here are, like the water ways that relinquish Louisiana to the Gulf.

About an hour from Mom and Dad’s, through the city, across the river and beyond the scattering of Westbank towns lies an area of swamp and marshlands that form the Barataria Preserve, one of six designated areas that comprise the Jean Lafitte National Historic Park and Preserve. The preserve eases into Barataria Bay, familiar now to anyone keeping up with BP oil spill coverage, as a line of barges sit vigil across the narrow channel that connects the bay to the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway, hoping to protect the bay, vital to the shrimping industry from the sinewy encroachment of oil.

The beauty of the preserve, teeming with wildlife quickly diverted our attention away from the heat as Mom, Melanie and I took the kids on a walk through the swamp and marsh. Despite the ranger’s skepticism that we would see any wildlife at all, the slow approach of thunderstorms must have lured some of the creatures away from cool mud baths and sheltering vegetation. Noisy from bugs and thick with foliage it is easy to see why the Pirate Jean Lafitte and his band of pirates were able to remain hidden in the area. Two steps off of the path and the children would be instantly lost to us. Luckily (?) the steady presence of large spiders adorning webs along both sides of the boardwalk kept the children from wandering off.

Besides the aforementioned arachnid excess, the children soon began to spy an assortment of wetland inhabitants. Kate spotted colorful frogs that she and Rem, hoping for closer looks, would chase back to more protective spaces. Koby and Lise learned to focus on small areas where the overabundance of greens would suddenly reveal the coiled lengths of snakes. We followed their voices as they took turns calling us to them and pointing out the various reptiles and amphibians that they found. Lauren lagged with Mel to photograph the wide variety of spiders but caught up with the others at the first sighting of alligators. I moved them along when two gators began swimming straight at them.

“They can’t get up here, can they?” Miren asked pointing to the narrow boardwalk under her feet that didn’t even have a lip at its edge.

“This isn’t the zoo,” I answered. “Of course they could.” All of the children quickened their pace away from the ancient looking creatures.

A family of Common Moorhens noisily enjoyed the afternoon and from a footbridge we marveled at their bright red beaks and slick black feathers as they pecked in an open area of marsh grass. Layers upon layers of plant life filled the spaces before us. Huge swathes of Spanish moss draped from trees above us and palmettos fanned suggestively below. Cypress knees and duckweed dotted the wetter spaces along with cattails. Lightning flashes began to accompany the rhythmic rolling thunder as storms loomed and we raced them back to the car.

Leaving feels akin to the last visits we had with the old people of my family. I’d tell the kids to listen to the stories, take in the feel and smell of their great-grandparents and be sure to say “I love you” because it may be the last visit they had. “Remember everything you saw today,” I tell them as they fall asleep in the car, their attentions already turned to the promised ice-cream in the city.

Summer Welcomes the Cheneverts

Summer becomes official only after Miren and Lise have placed their favorite flip flops featuring bright colored toes over the threshold at Hidden Oaks and school pushed that moment further into June then ever before.  Last Friday, however, did finally mark the end of school and our house subsequently filled with a school year's worth of accumulation: prized papers, weathered art supplies and dingy gym clothes. Miren shed a few tears, reluctant to let go of a fantastic year and Lise spent a few hours in a manic phase of bad TV but their attention quickly turned to the necessary preparations to pack for our trip to Louisiana.

A blanket of lush greens, still bright and lively, slowly relinquished their hold as the van climbed up and out of the lap of our mountains and in and out of batches of fog, deeper and deeper into hot temperatures, humidity and the flat lands that lead to the Gulf of Mexico.  We made the trip under an expanse of bright blue sky with enough cumulus clouds to distract the three year old as he searched for images of dragons and giant dogs but posing no threat of rain in any of the states that we traversed.  Adding a cousin to our passenger list in Atlanta helped to pass the time along the longest stretch of our route that offered little to entertain beyond pine trees and the undulating grasses of the interstate median.

Welcomed by the differentiated insect calls that pierce the air thick with moisture and heat in waves, we stepped out of the van to an intense dampness that gathered on the backs of our necks and sprung in droplets on our upper lips. The girls, greeted by open-armed grandparents stepped into the house where the thermostat is set to erase the most recent memories of staggering heat and sighed loud enough for me to hear as I entered the house behind them.  Summer had begun.  Rem spun in and out of arms and rooms, deliriously happy to be released from the car seat and with blind faith jumped onto his sisters' bandwagon that designates this place as Utopia.

I, too, settled into a state of bliss, a more quiet, relaxed bliss void of urgency and chores and any mom or work related duties as Mom and Dad jumped in immediately and Rem tested them with non-stop requests with no boundaries.

We spent our first day complaining of the heat, with unfounded surprise at the effects of the humidity percentages that match the temperatures.  The kids additionally tried to relive their favorite recollections of summers past in this first "real" day of the season. I took to my childhood bedroom with a stack of books that my parents have accumulated since Christmas and savored a few moments of my favorite recollections of summer days marked by chapters read.

A quick afternoon with nearby cousins and a couple of beignets eaten between retrieving my sister and a blinding sheet of rain that cut short our day in the city punctuated our initial fervor.  Settled now into our holiday routine, the next couple of weeks unfold before us with childlike expectations (appropriate for all of the children involved but the almost forty-year old?) I hope Mom and Dad have the stamina to fulfill the summer fantasies that consist mostly of laughter, time together and good food.