Deep South - Final Stretch

Oscar Wilde, author of The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Importance of Being Earnest is full of good advice along the lines of “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken,” and “You can never be overdressed or overeducated.”  One of my all-ti

Oscar Wilde

me and often-quoted favorites of his is, “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”  And so it was, on the way home that we broke two of the Hicks rules.

We left the condo by the agreed upon time of 10:00 a.m. and then proceeded to weave our way out of Louisiana via a “scenic byway.” Our purpose was to avoid I-10 and I-12 at all costs and we did accomplish that goal.  Unfortunately, our little “alternative route” added another hour to our drive because we happened to jag where we should have jogged on one of the myriad of turns I plotted through the Louisiana plantation country. 

Allow me to again say that driving through Mississippi and Louisiana is not for the navigational novice.  I had an atlas, a state map given to me by an elderly woman at the visitor’s center and my cell phone with Google maps and I was checking all three constantly to ensure we were on track.  GPS is not helpful because it seems, at times and maybe just for fun, the locals intentionally change the road signs – adding numbers and even towns that don’t exist on maps anywhere.  I’m convinced this is purely to confuse the tourists.  Much in the same way stop signs in small towns are just for out-of-towners. 

Google maps was my best resource – that is, when I had a signal.  I found myself quickly checking Google maps to memorize the quickest, best route when I had a good signal.  Then I filled in with the atlas and the ridiculously unhelpful state map when my signal failed me.  Finally, we ended up back on the Interstate at Alexandria, Louisiana and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of heavy rain and flash flood warnings that extended the entire way to Shreveport.

By the time we reached Alexandria, we were so far behind schedule that we broke one of our rules – the one about stopping every two hours.  Hunkering down, we pushed through the storm and the

northeast part of Texas stopping only when absolutely necessary and to quickly chow down on a hamburger at the Whataburger in Marshall.  We finally made it to our McAllister destination just before 7:00 p.m. and crawled out of the car to our room grateful the day was over. 

Isaac wanted to swim so he and I spent about an hour more of quality time in the hotel’s recently vacated indoor pool.  None of us was speaking much, the toll of the day and the push to our destination working itself out in various ways.  When we finally woke up the next morning – Ross and I had a little difficulty moving properly.  Too much time sitting in one position had atrophied our limbs.  These are things that one

Dos Margaritas, Henryetta, OK

simply cannot recover from easily the older that one gets.  Consequently, we broke another one of our rules….we didn’t go to church.

Once we finally managed to work a little limberness back into our arms and legs, we got back in the car for the final drive home.  To make up for church absence, Ross found a local radio station covering a local service and we listened to that.  This time, after the immediate and intimate reminder of WHY we stop every two hours to stretch, we stopped every two hours to get out, walk around and stretch a bit.  The stops weren’t sexy – mostly truck stops and gas stations – but we did manage to have a relaxing lunch at Dos Margueritas in Henryetta, Oklahoma.  Great service, wonderful food.  We got home around 4:00 p.m., just in time to unpack, settle in and catch the KU vs. WSU game on TV.



Spring Break 2015: A Job Well Done

Another successful vacation on the books.  As we grow closer to having one in college, I am thankful that the boys still enjoy taking a time out each year to hang with their mother and father.  We always vote at the end of our vacations on our favorite parts of the trip.  My favorite location of the trip was definitely the cabin in the woods and the activity I enjoyed the most was the tour in the swamp with Coerte.  Sam's favorite location was the houseboat and couldn't decide if the swamp tour or hanging out on Ship Island was more fun.  Isaac's favorite location was the houseboat and his favorite moment was holding a baby alligator in his hand.  Ross' favorite location was the condo on the beach and said, "It was a brilliant vacation from beginning to end."  High praise indeed.  Spring Break 2015 has ended.  Time to begin dreaming for Spring Break 2016. 

Deep South - Day 8

The morning started early today because we had to catch a 9:00 a.m. ferry to Ship Island.  Our condo, located in the Sea Breeze Condominium complex, was in beautiful Biloxi, Mississippi - just

Capt. Pete

north of Beauvoir on Beach Boulevard.  (Beauvoir is Jefferson Davis' retirement home and - get this - Presidential library.)  The ferry leaves from Gulfport, which is the next town over from Biloxi.  The ferry, Capt. Pete, has been making the trip back and forth to the island since the 1950s when the original Captain Pete Skrmetta and his wife started the business.  In the spring they complete one trip in the morning from 9:00 to 2:30 p.m.  On the weekends and in the summer, they run two trips – one in the morning and one beginning at noon and departing at 5:00 p.m.

Smile Sam

It was a beautiful day to visit the island – but unfortunately there was no breeze.  I say unfortunately because without a breeze, the gnats had nothing to else to occupy their time but dive bombing the ears, eyes, nose and exposed parts of the humans around them.  Consider one exchange I overheard on the beach:

“These gnats are killing me!” yelled an elderly gentleman wading in the Gulf surf.  A young mother of two responded helpfully, “Would you like some bug spray?”

“I have some,” he replied.  “I think they like it.”   We could empathize.



Isaac and the Louisiana State Bird

The 50-minute boat ride through the Mississippi Sound was awesome because of one thing – dolphins.  The captain pointed them out over the intercom when he would spot them and we found ourselves running (ok....walking fast) from side to side of the boat hoping to catch a glimpse.  At one point, he noted that there were two dolphins frolicking in the front.  We quickly ran to the bow of the clipper.  There they were goofing around and waiting for a good sized crowd to gather. 

When enough of us were in the front watching, they dove directly under the boat, one on each side of the prow and rode the water, belly up for a good 5-6 minutes.  I

Walking in the Gulf of Mexico

found myself standing directly above the one on the port side.  The dolphin was literally four feet below me.  It was one of those moments in life you know instinctively you will never get back, so you enjoy it to the fullest while it is happening.  You also forget to take pictures.  When it was over, I couldn’t help myself, “That was SO cool!” I said loudly.  A sentiment that was quickly echoed by the 7 or 8 people standing around me.  Together we had witnessed something very special.

West Ship Island is a about a city block in width and contains a white sandy beach on both sides.  The water on the far side of the island is the Gulf of Mexico.  The island and it's partners provide a protective barrier for the town of Biloxi and Gulfport.  The entire string of islands separate and buffer the Biloxi shore from

Post Dolphin Sighting

the Gulf creating in between the peaceful waters of the Mississippi Sound.  West Ship Island is also part of a string of Islands owned by the National Park Service.  Together they are known as Gulf Islands National Seashore.  Two of the islands - East and West Ship Island - were once one large island until Hurricane Camille cut them in half in 1969.  Hurricane Katrina came along and made the cut more permanent.
The islands are also home to several cool critters.  Besides the dolphins, we spotted at least ten manta rays playing in the shallower waters by the beach on the Sound side.  There were also two star fish tossing about in the wake of the boat as it docked.  On

Time to Eat

the gulf side, Ross and I spotted three crabs doing their best to hide from us and the gulls flying around the beach from above.  Two of them played peek-a-boo with us for a while as they scuttled in an out of their sandy dens.  The best critter moment, though, was when the boys were playing in the water.  Ross and I watched as two dolphins surfaced and played not 10 yards from where the boys were standing.  The boys had no idea.  And we weren’t quick enough to get a picture.  Another one of those memories to file away in the “once in a lifetime” category.

The crew of the boat were great and from all walks of life.  We got to know Minnesota Steve who was introduced to us at the ticket window.  I was standing with the boys getting our tickets when he walked into the booth and announced happily to the lady helping me, “Another day where I haven’t

Fort Massachusetts

had to use Algebra even once!”

“Shhhhhh,” I quickly rejoined.  “I’m sure you use Algebra every day, right?”

He looked up, noticing me and my companions for the first time.  “Riiiiiight,” he said, “I don’t know what I was thinking.  I use Algebra all the time.”  After that, Minnesota Steve was part of the family.

He pulled out his lunch cooler while we were eating and shared some of his chips with the boys.  His wife thinks they are too spicy, but he likes them.  And, he ended up leading our 1:00 p.m. tour of Fort Massachusetts – the ancient fort built by the French and used during the revolutionary and civil wars.  Steve was a retired postal worker who spent a little time in retirement working for the national park service before heading to Biloxi and Ship Island Excursions.  He gave a great tour.



The Ride Home

It was a beautiful, partly cloudy day on the island and we were very glad that we went on a Friday.  Rumor had it that they were expecting 1,000 people on the island that Saturday.  We toured with about 30.  Even with the spf 30 sunscreen – all of us had a sunburn on some parts of our bodies by the end of the day, so we rode back in the boat snack bar listening to the fans and the drone of the motor and lulling ourselves into a nice, easy sleep.

We were all silent driving the short way back to the condo.  We were all a little sun drowsy and by this time of our trip - had experienced plenty of togetherness.  I believe the saying is “fish and family start to stink after three days.”  We were going on nine. 

Turns out the best thing about our condo (at least that afternoon) was the three TVs.  When we

Sea Breeze Living Room

returned to our oasis to cool down after our excursion, the boys disappeared into their shared bedroom where they set up a picnic of snacks and drinks and messed with the WiFi and gladiator movies on AMC.  Ross headed to the master bedroom and the basketball game.  And that left the living room for me and a documentary on Judy Garland.  I’m pretty sure we all took a little nap.

Sea Breeze Condominiums is directly on the beach.  And when I say directly – I mean directly.  Every apartment has an unobstructed view of the Mississippi Sound.  When we surfaced again after going our separate ways – Ross and I, sans shoes and socks, went down to the second floor where the condo stairway connected directly to the white sand and surf.  We spent the next 45 minutes walking the beach, wading out to sandbars and watching the evening tide.  We offered it as a family excursion, but the boys weren’t interested.  They'd had enough of nature that afternoon.

We agreed – another good day to cap off a successful vacation.

Deep South - Day 7

So after a pretty good day out in the swamp, it was time to pack up The Houseboat and head for classier parts.  The Houseboat was a good place to stay – another tip from VRBO.  For me, it had a nice collection of chick flicks that I had not seen in a while.  For the boys….duh….the boat has five

fishing poles, a tackle box and a “step outside the door and fish.”  For Ross, there was a hot tub with a great view of the night sky and some neighboring gators who weren’t shy about swimming up to the boat (although the biggest one spotted turned out to be a tree with a bunch of turtles hitching a ride on its gently floating trunk).

But.  It was time to head to NOLA and the Gulf.  As I was settling into navigating, I suddenly remembered something my tweenage ears heard during my earlier trips to the area – complaints about the roads.  To be frank, there are no direct routes anywhere in the Atchafalaya Basin.  The map has the scattered appearance of roads that have been haphazardly planned; roads that follow channels cut into the swamp deep enough to carry barges and spider webs of back roads leading to

small communities, side of the road dives and clusters of trailers and homes.  And then, there is Highway 90 and I-10.  This is, of course, where you find anyone and everyone else in Louisiana trying to get from place to place.  Literally.  Everyone.

Traffic. Is. Everywhere.  Semis. Are. Everywhere.  So much so that on I-10, semis are limited to driving in the right-hand lane leaving you and everyone else fighting for position in the left-hand lane hoping that when your exit arrives there is a gap in the semis big enough to let you through.  This is how we drove to New Orleans.  We should have just put the car in neutral and allowed the traffic to carry us the entire way – we would have saved a little gas.

Somehow, we arrived in downtown New Orleans.  Out of desperation, we dipped down off of the weaving, winding elevated highways onto Poydras Street.  New Orleans proper is thankfully laid out in a properly gridded albeit one-way network of streets that are well marked and easy to maneuver.  Slowly directing our path to Magazine Street and the World War II museum, we had to jockey to make it to the designated parking area.  With relief, we donned our tourist gear.

Final assessment: we enjoyed the museum.  It is touted as one of the best museums in the country.  We would agree.  The best exhibit for Ross and I was the overview of the entire war and its battles at one of the very first points in the museum.   There are several interactive aspects of the museum including one that has become semi-normal in national quality museums.  At the ticket booth we were given a set of “dog tags.”  The tags contained a number and website.  We then stepped aboard a train where we picked a soldier to follow throughout the museum.  We were told we could collect the soldier’s story as well as other images that would be stored to our online account as we toured.

This was a highlight for the boys.  My solder, a navy pilot, died in the war and went missing in action until 1993 when the wreckage of his plane and his burned personal effects and bones were

discovered and shipped back to the states to be buried in Arlington Cemetery.  Sam’s soldier had the best story – he and three others bluffed a town full of German soldiers into surrender by telling them that they were an advance unit of the American forces.  Ross registered as a war correspondent, but the lines at the interactive kiosks were so long – he didn’t want to wait to hear his information.

We, of course, bought the “full package” which included an interactive submarine experience and the 4D movie, Beyond All Boundaries.  The submarine experience is ominously called FINAL MISSION: The USS Tang Experience.  So basically, you know you are going down at the end of the 11 minute show.  Like the larger museum, as you stand in line to go in, you are given a soldier and a battle station.  The Hicks family manned the radar.  Our job was to pinpoint enemy ships to sink.  We did our best – although the boys got the gist of what we were supposed to do just a tad bit quicker than mom and dad.  We learned after the sub was inevitably sunk that only 9 of the 80 sailors on board survived the experience.  Ross’ sailor was one of the 9.  The rest of us didn’t make it.

Beyond All Boundaries is a movie that took five years to make and features several well-known voices including most notably the narrator – Tom Hanks.  The movie was great – we kind of wished the tank and airplane sequences would go on a little longer because your leather seat vibrated in a massage chair kind of way.  The film did a nice job of explaining the importance of the conflict and its pivotal role in world history.  It’s worth the expense to see it, if only to experience a snow storm in the middle of an eighty degree day.

I do feel I need to go back to see the museum again on a day when there aren’t so many people.  Most of the folks attending that day were older; I assumed veterans of the war themselves or

children and direct descendants of veterans.  There was a woman in a wheel chair who stopped at an exhibit showing letters that soldiers wrote to their loved ones back home – touching the glass in a heartbreaking way.  There was a room full of elderly folks – silent – all eyes trained on a brutal video showing the landing at Omaha Beach and memorializing the thousands of soldiers killed on the D-Day beaches.  There was an elderly man having difficulty in the Soda Shop maneuvering his motorized chair through a cluster of teenage patrons.

In essence, I was unable to focus on the exhibits because of the real life drama occurring directly in front of me.  Instead of reading or listening, I found myself wondering how these exhibits played to people who experienced real loss as a result of that war.  The total death tally for the war was 75,000,000.  There are at least as many families, sweethearts, mothers, fathers and siblings directly affected by the human sacrifice.  How many of those were right before my eyes and to whom I owed deference, silence and respect.

Rips on the Lake

We finished the movie about the same time the museum closed, so we hopped in our car and took a deep breath.  Time to head back up on I-10.  This time, we went north to Mandeville.  We visited partly as a nod to my cousins who lived there for several years and partly so we could travel the Pontchartrain Causeway – the world’s longest bridge over a body of water.  When you are that close to a superlative, you have to partake.

We ate dinner in Mandeville at Rips on the Lake which is on the

Lake Ponchartrain

shores of Lake Ponchartrain.  I pulled my restaurant trick at this spot and had the waiter pick my dinner.  While the boys dabbled in stuffed crab and fried whatever – I consumed a terrific Blackened Grouper, grilled vegies and potatoes.  We ate on the porch, enjoyed the sun, sipped tea, talked about basketball with the waiter and had a leisurely, pleasant meal.  When finished, it was time to hop back in the car and head to our final VRBO stay – The Biloxi Condo.

Deep South - Day 6

Ooohhhhh my goodness.  Today was AWESOME.  There are no other words to describe it.

We met Coerte (pronounced “Kurt”) and his son on Exit 121 off of I-10 on the porch at the Atchafalaya Visitor’s Center.  There were several of us waiting – including a couple and their grandson from Wichita, Kansas.  Small world.

Coerte

 Up pulls Coerte and son and their two high speed swamp boats.  After a tiny bit of organization, we proceeded with them to a public dock just below the highway.  They were friendly and funny men – Coerte was (we guessed) in his mid-eighties and his son was sixty-two.  Coerte told us that he had a Master’s Degree in Geology and still consults occasionally.  He does these swamp tours in his retirement for fun and to keep himself sharp.

We rode in Coerte’s boat which had a net about 3 feet high circling the entire surface.  I asked him if it was there to keep the critters out or the people in.  He then proceeded to tell me that it was to protect me from the flying carp.  I thought he was pulling my leg, but more on that later.  The boat had room for seven seated people.  We rode with a young couple from Germany who were very quiet – but taking lots of

Under I-10

pictures.  The family from Wichita and another grandmother and her two grandsons from Texas rode with Coerte’s son in his boat.

We backed out of the dock area and the two men proceeded to take us on a two hour tour of the basin that was one of the coolest things I’ve done.  We saw several Osprey in their nests.  One was flying high above us with a fish in its talons.  All of them were talking.  We saw great blue heron, we saw regular blue heron, we saw these furry, brown peaceful creatures that looked like a cross between a beaver and a river otter (Coypu – a.k.a. river rat – Coerte says they taste good), we saw snowy egrets, we saw snakes, we saw frogs, coot ducks (Coerte called them Jesus Ducks because they walked on water), black-bellied whistling ducks, we saw dragonflies, we saw tall, regal cypress, duck blinds,

Small Alligator on a Log

houseboats, fishermen and yes, we saw alligators.

Not only did we see a really BIG alligator sunning himself on a log at almost the first area we stopped at, but we also saw a smaller one back in the recesses of the swamp.  Coerte’s son had a big net with him (He used it mostly to pick up trash that he saw in and around the water.  He’d reach out with the net, pick up the trash and then proceed to lecture loudly about people and their disregard and disrespect for nature.  Love that man for his passionate and personal fight against trash in the swamp!)  But one time, he used it to catch two baby alligators and a one year old alligator for all of us to examine up close and personal.  We passed those alligators around

Alligator Walking

holding them, examining them up close, talking, telling stories and taking pictures for about 10-15 minutes of the tour.

Coerte and son were characters.  They were very comfortable with strangers and conducted their business as if we were all sitting in their living room watching TV.  They both had their cell phones and took phone calls when there was a signal of any worth and one could get through.  Cell service, as you can imagine, was spotty in the swamp.

“Hello, this is Coerte,” he would say.  “Well, I’m out in the middle of the swamp right now giving a tour, can you call back around 2:30 and I’ll get you in the book?”  A pause.  “What’s your name?  What?  John.  OK, John.  I’ll make sure to give you first chance when you call back on the boat tomorrow.”  He hung up.  “Some people,” he then remarked to the

Coerte's Son

group.  “They think we have a storefront or something.”  It was like being out in the middle of the swamp with your favorite uncle.

Coerte had several good, well-seasoned lines.  “Now, you’ll notice I don’t have a compass,” he said.  “Do you know how I can tell which direction we’re headed?”  We, of course, all dutifully swiveled in our seats to see.  He held up his finger, licked it and pointed it forward. “We’re going that way.”

At one point, and in chase of that smaller gator that we saw mucking around in some tightly spaced trees, he maneuvered the boat into a pretty tight spot and

Sam and an Alligator Selfie

we were all slightly concerned that we wouldn’t actually get back out.  After a little wiggling, grabbing of trees and branches and back and forth with the motor we were finally freed.  “See?” he said, “Even at my age I can still get the girls back in the bushes."

He was generous with information and didn’t ever say anything that he didn’t know for sure.  I asked him after seeing one of the alligators dip into the water how long they could stay down there.  “As long as they want,” he said.  “I’m not gonna argue with them.”

The whole trip he was being teased by his son and some of the other boaters about the net around his boat.  (When we would meet another boat there was always some friendly back and forth banter – just like

Lovin' the Boat Ride

walking down a street in a small town.)  “Mark my words,” he would say, “there is going to be a fatality someday here.  One of them carp is going to jump up and knock someone off their boat and they are gonna drown.”  To prove his point, he kept running the boat in circles periodically to see if he could get a carp to jump.  And I’ll be danged if he didn’t do just that.  The carp was big, jumped high and right behind our boat where there was no net.  Unfortunately, those of us in the boat were the only ones who saw it, so his son still thinks Coerte is pulling his leg and we are now all in on it.

Deep in the Swamp

The Atchafalaya Experience was a definite cool ride that we all enjoyed.  It’s a little too early to say – but it is definitely in the running for #1 on this trip.

Oak Alley

After we said goodbye to Coerte (He got a hug from me – somehow he now feels like family), we headed down to tour Oak Alley Plantation which is south of Baton Rouge and east of Morgan City and “sort of” on our way back to the houseboat.  Using Google Maps, we were able to navigate some backroads and save ourselves a little time getting to all these places.  We arrived around 2:30 and were ready for something a little more than trail mix and fruit jerky.  After refueling in the Plantation Café, we stood in line (that’s right….stood in line) to tour the home.

Oak Alley was built by a sugarcane farmer very early on in the South’s history.  The best thing about this particular plantation is the stand of perfectly spaced, ancient oak trees that line the quarter

300 Year Old Oak Tree

mile long avenue in front of the house and leading down to the edge of the Mississippi.  These twenty eight oak trees are some of the most massive, and most beautiful I have seen.  It’s what Ms. Austin would definitely call “a fair prospect.”

The Foundation that owns the plantation has recently created a six cabin exhibit featuring reproductions of the 20 slave cabins that existed in the rear of the house.  There cabins housed just under 60 slaves at one time – typically having two families and as many as 10 people living in one building. 

This exhibit does an excellent job explaining the life of a slave on a sugar plantation.  In one is a wonderful tribute to the names of the 150 or so total slaves that had lived at one time on the plantation and credits them with the hard work that they did to make the farm as prosperous as it

Blue Catfish

was.  It’s the best representation of the intelligent and hardworking minds, hands and backs that supported the economy of the south.

After that brief diversion we drove backroads to the houseboat and the boys spent some more time hanging off the back and fishing.  Isaac caught the most – including his very first, unassisted catfish that was probably the biggest fish that I have ever seen caught by a simple pole and worm.

After that successful evening, the whole family hopped in the hot tub on the upper deck to stare at the stars and enjoy our final evening on the boat together.  I hear that there is some early morning fishing planned….I might just skip that part.

Deep South - Day 5

Another day to putter.  And the final day in the cabin.  Today is a driving day – nothing much planned but traveling from place to place.  We are leaving our peaceful home in the woods to travel across the Mississippi and into the Atchafalaya swamp – and I find myself this morning in another philosophical mood.

River Bridge at Baton Rouge

What is it about this river?  It “defines” things.  Even Southwestern College – as far as we are from the river itself – has something that is defined by it.  Our tour guides are fond of recounting to numerous visitors and guests how our gymnasium is “the oldest active gymnasium used for its original purpose west of the Mississippi.”

What would happen if there were no Mississippi?  What would the United States look like?  How would it define its boundaries and superlatives?  This river, this “Father of the Waters,” as the Native Americans called it, is as linked to the history of our nation as a bodily organ.  It is difficult to imagine life without it.

And so it is that when you turn at Baton Rouge onto I-10 west and you look ahead and see the large, high bridge that crosses the river, you sit up a little straighter in your chair.  You tap the children on the leg or arm and say, “Take the headphones out of your ear, we’re about to cross the Mississippi!”  And they do.  And then you all sit in reverent awe, staring out the windows at this moving mass of muddy water.

It was busy today – this water highway.  There were barges loaded down with cargo as far as the eye can see.  What is on the barges?  Where did they come from?  Where are they going?  You look at the trucks littering I-10 east toward the city and wonder how many of those are headed to the port so their contents can be off-loaded onto one of the barges that will carry it down to the gulf and eventually the sea.  How many of the trucks going west are carrying cargo that they picked up?

Mark Twain

All of this free flowing exchange of goods.  People to sell and people to buy.  Maybe Mark Twain is on to something when he equates the river barge pilot with the very essence of American freedom.

“…all men – kings and serfs alike – are slaves to other men & to circumstance – save alone, the pilot – who comes at no man’s beck and call, obeys no man’s orders & scorns all men’s suggestions…It is a strange study, -- a singular phenomenon, if you please, that the only real, independent & genuine gentlemen in the world go quietly up and down the Mississippi river asking no homage of any one, seeking no popularity, no notoriety, & not caring a damn about whether school keeps or not.”  Letter to Will Bowen, August 1866.

The river’s meandering ways are free.  It is not even limited by its banks which notoriously change.  Man has attempted to tame it – and sometimes it appears to have happened.  But only because the Mississippi allows it.  In reality, the Mississippi does what it wants.  No one can control it.  No one can tell it what to do.  You can only ride its currents and enjoy the scenery.

I-10

Until, that is, the scenery changes.  After crossing the Mississippi at Baton Rouge, we quickly found ourselves “smack dab in the middle” (so the sign at the visitor center said) of the Atchafalaya swamp.  (Atchafalaya is pronounced:  Ah-CHAH-fuh-law’-ya – make sure to put the emphasis on the second syllable.  I heard some southern gentlemen up further north soften the ‘ch’ into more of an ‘sh,’ but the locals all pronounce it as above.  When in Rome, I say.)  The visitor center nearest Lafayette on I-10 gives an excellent introduction of the importance of the swamp in a five minute continuously looping video.  As a result, we learned very quickly that the Atchafalaya basin (translate swamp) is the largest wetland in the United States.

First – a little terminology.  A river is a large, natural stream of water that flows in a channel to the 

sea, a lake or another stream or river.  A bayou is a marshy outlet of a lake or a river.  A swamp, on the other hand, is an area of low-lying, uncultivated ground where water “hangs out.”  Regardless of whether we were driving through bayou, swamp or across a river – the fact was – there was water everywhere.

Within a two hour space of time, we had gone from a national forest where water was present in the form of creeks and puddles, to crossing the Mississippi with its barges, industry and boats, to driving on an elevated highway thick in the middle of a swamp.  The area down here is “tight” with nature.

We drove into Lafayette and stopped for some fried shrimp, fried catfish and a little Louisiana

gumbo at Vermilionville – a small, living museum with various homes and buildings representing Acadian culture throughout the years.  After that satisfying stop, it was on to Rouses in Morgan City, LA to replenish our supplies and head out to a Hicks' first - a stay on a houseboat in the swamp.

And it was on the houseboat on this first night that a small miracle happened.  We entered and unloaded the car and within minutes – the boys had found the 5 fishing rods and tackle box stowed in the back closet.  They loaded those things up with bait and had those lines in the water faster than you can say Atchafalaya!  Their I-Phones were laying on their beds where they had laid them when they took their clothes in from the car.  I checked.

I think we are going to have a good time here.

 

 

 

Deep South - Day 4

My favorite way to wake up in the morning is to putter.  The Tinmann Retreat is perfect for

Tinmann Kitchen

puttering.  After the kind of sleep you can only get in the country – miles from highways, cars and all kinds of man-made noise – I was the first to wake up.  I got up and I puttered.  I made a little coffee, read a little, wrote a little, listened to the birds a lot, and then waited for the boys to wake up.

And then we all puttered some more.  No rush.  No schedule.  Nowhere to be anytime real soon.  At one point, Ross walked outside and down to a little creek west of the house.  He stood there for 10 minutes watching for wildlife.  While I sat in a comfy leather chair the boys would wander in and out from their bedroom foraging for food and stopping

Tinmann Living Room

to chat.  We all ate our breakfast in courses and stages and basically had a very relaxing morning just doing a little bit of nothing.

If you are ever this way and want a little slice of perfection in the woods – we highly recommend this place.  It is located a little over 20 minutes from Natchez and even less from the Natchez Trace.  It’s the perfect distance to serve as a home base of operations.

When we felt like it, we headed out to tour a couple of antebellum homes in nearby Natchez.  Founded in 1716 as a French fort, Natchez is the oldest city on the Mississippi River.  Next year, Natchez will be celebrating its 300^th year of existence and, according to the locals, it will be a party all year long.

Longwood Front Porch

Natchez is special just because it isn’t special.  The spot it occupies on the Mississippi is not strategic in any way – so General Grant and Sherman left it alone.  As a result, it is home to more than 600 examples of antebellum architecture – more than any other in the south.  You can spend several days just touring the historic homes within the town and its surrounds. 

We toured two.  We started at Longwood Plantation which – if you are a family made up of mostly males – is really the only one among them that will be interesting.  First, Longwood is in the shape of a hexagon, so even before you walk in the door you know there is something different about this home.  Second, and the thing that makes Longwood unique, is that it is unfinished. 

Longwood was under construction as the civil war began.  Its builders had

Longwood Upper Floors

all come from Pennsylvania and other parts north.  So when the war began, the builders promptly put down their tools and left the area.  The family and their eight children continued living in the 10,000 square foot basement until ultimately, they turned the mansion over to the Natchez Garden Club for preservation and restoration.  If the mansion had been completed, it would have been 6 floors and 30,000 square feet of living space.

Once you are finished touring the rooms on the first floor, you climb the stairs to the upper floors which are all unfinished.  The Garden Club ladies have graciously

Lunch at The Camp

enhanced the building plans so you can catch the vision of what the mansion would have been when it was finished.  And it would have been something very special.

From there, we headed to Natchez Under the Hill for lunch.  This area was the original “City of Natchez.”  Its 20 or so buildings were all the city contained until shortly after the Revolutionary War.  According to historians, the area was a frequent visitation spot for gamblers, river pirates, highwaymen, cut-throats, prostitutes and all manner of despicable characters.  It was described in one publication like this: “for the size of it, there is

Skipping Rocks with the Old Man

not, perhaps in the world, a more dissipated spot.”

Today, you will not want to miss poking your head into the Natchez Under the Hill Saloon which has a rich history.  The saloon frequently has live music and a regular crowd of afternoon patrons who gather on the porch to shoot some bull.  We ate lunch next door at The Camp.  We sat on the front porch and polished off BLT’s, Grilled Cheese and a BBQ Chicken sandwich while watching several logs and one barge float down the Mississippi in front of us.

During lunch, we found ourselves getting philosophical.  There is something romantic about passing

All You Need is a Stick

the time, casually eating and staring at the activity on the river.  It’s slow, lazy and carefree time.  It’s time made for thinking big thoughts.  It’s time made for dreaming big dreams.  And so like moths to a flame, as soon as we were done eating the boys left me to pay and wandered down to the water’s edge.  And I didn’t mind – because something primal inside of me told me they needed this time to commune together with the Old Man.  They came back bearing a single, yellow Jonquil and I knew I’d done the right thing.

From there, we drove to High Street and Stanton Hall.  Frederick Stanton was an Irish immigrant and cotton merchant who made a bundle of money off of the cotton industry in the mid-nineteenth century.  The mansion cost $83,000 to complete – a cool $3 million in today’s dollars.  The Pilgrimage Garden Club owns and gives tours of the property.  According to the local guides, the family is

Stanton Hall

slowly returning the original furnishings to the home – including an entire 5 piece bedroom suite that just arrived.  Of particular note also is the entire set of hand painted china original to the home.

It’s a beautiful home furnished with mirrors imported from France, gasoliers from Philadelphia, and marble mantle pieces from New York.  The guide indicated that much of the wood to build the home was the cyprus and pine native to the area.  To make it appear fancier, the owners would faux finish the wood to make it look like more expensive mahogany and oak.  They would also finish the floorboards to look like black and white marble.   Decorating this way was apparently preferred to ordering the real stuff because that would, of course, just be showing off.

After the tour of Stanton Hall, we drove around town looking at additional homes and then headed up the Natchez Trace to look at EmeraldMound.  Emerald Mound is one of the largest ancient Indian mounds in North America.  The mound is 35 feet high and contains two smaller mounds on top of

Emerald Mound

the large one.  Scholars feel it was built and used between 1250 and 1600 A.D.  Its builders were the ancestors of the Natchez Indians and the site was used as a ceremonial and cultural center for the local population.

We had the mound to ourselves with the exception of two young women and their dog Miles who took an instant interest in the boys.  Miles and the boys played “chase” and “catch” on top of the football field sized surface while his owners and mom and dad looked around.  This site is worthy of seeking out if you have the time.

We drove back to the cabin using the Natchez Trace, getting out of the car at one point to put actual foot to original road.  It was here that we found a spot to satisfy a curiosity that had been bugging us since Vicksburg – what exactly does Loess feel like?

Walking the Trace

And it is definitely interesting.  The area had experienced a little rainfall so the Loess soil was wet.  If you have ever played with the play sand that exists in toy stores these days – the kind that holds it shape but doesn’t dry out – it feels kind of like that.  In other words, it feels a little like non-gritty sand, but looks a lot like regular dirt.  There is definitely no evidence of the clay that is so common in the dirt in Kansas and Oklahoma.  Even rolling a tiny bit of the damp soil around in our hands left no trace of mud.  It simply balled up in smaller and smaller pieces until we tired of rolling it around.  We brushed it off and it was as if we never held it.  Fascinating stuff, I tell you.

From there – it was back to our cabin in the woods and a relaxing evening.