Appalacha and Home

We left Alabama and didn't arrive in Chattanooga, Tennessee until late in the evening. With Larry's help driving, we're able now to go longer stretches of driving without being too exhausted. We stopped for lunch in downtown Chattanooga that is a very hopping little city! The diner we had lunch in is owned by New Yorkers and we had finally arrived in a place where we could have vegetables in abundance. In Chattanooga we only had a couple of hours to tour so we chose to see Ruby Falls "in" lookout mountain. The falls are subterranean and include a walk in a cave.

Ruby Falls however is a bit different because of the lovely waterfall that comes from a mysterious origin, pools in the cave, and then makes its way to the Tennessee River. We were in the mountains though and my experience along the Appalachian mountains has always been positive. Eastern Tennessee is a rapidly growing place with replaced Northeasterners and the most tolerant Southerners I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. My dear friend Amy moved to Knoxville so I have been to see her a few times and met really nice people in Tennessee.

We drove to Knoxville with a happy heart knowing I would see Amy and her lovely family for the holiday of Rosh Hashanah which is the Jewish New Year. Amy lives in a "castle"...seriously. Her home is like a modern day fairy tale home and Amy has a great decorating sense. She modeled the home after French castle and everything about it is warm and inviting. The best part is that her view is spectacular in the Smokey Mountains. Amy was once a New Yorker transplanted by her husband's work every few years but they have decided to plant themselves in Knoxville permanently even though her husband now works in New York City. He comes home for long weekends though and loves his home in Knoxville.

We all went to services together on Rosh Hashanah and enjoyed the time together. Our visit was too short though and we drove the rest of the afternoon up into Virginia and then stayed the night in West Virginia. We drove for six hours which was the longest drive but for the first time I had the pleasure of watching a DVD with Cole in the back seat! We also have never had to drive at night I realized. Oddly we were playing the 'license plate game' since July 30th and we weren't able to find ALL 50 STATES! We couldn't find Rhode Island or Delaware even in Pennsylvania (iPad has a great application game for the license plate game).

The next morning we wanted to head for home directly and we drove for 3 hours to Exton, Pennsylvania which is the town next to ours. We had lunch in one of our favorite restaurants and it was there that I felt like I was home. We live on the last stop of the 'Main Line' of Philadelphia and it is a very busy place of corporate businesses and suburban populations. In this Mexican restaurant there were people from all over the world, representing all races and creeds. We were really home in our melting pot where tolerance is taught as an important value.

What I realized upon returning home is that I really am a child of the newly named 'Megalopolis' of Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington DC and I feel comfortable in this enormous corridor. I know how to live here and I value the intelligence, the tolerance, and the ideals of the American Northeast. I may never agree with Northeastern Republican ideologies but I can live with them as nothing is is as bad as what I saw in the South.

I also saw firsthand how our country is a collection of American Countries in so many ways. The Midwest, Utah, Texas, and the South are completely their own sovereign nations with the exception of their largest cities. I learned that Sarah Palin's 'Real America' concept is a thinly constructed longing for something that NEVER existed. The concept that America's small towns in the heartland is the 'Real America' is preposterous. There is a reason why people make a mass exodus out of small towns to live in larger populated cities and have done that since the beginning of the frontier movement (remember all those ghost towns and abandoned frontier cabins? There are no ghost towns along the Megalopolis corridor only some struggling cities). Small towns can be charming but my more frequent experience with them is that the inhabitants can often be fearful, ignorant of the world, and intolerant of anyone that doesn't look like they could be related to them. They are also super suspicious of anyone from the Northeast. These are the people that Sarah Palin wants to use as the perfect example of Americans. THEY are the ones that don't fit in to the majority of American philosophies as the election of Barack Obama proves. They are dull relics of an uglier American past.

In some small towns where progressive ideologies, new ways of looking at rural living, and sustainable economies in the new century are promoted, life couldn't be better. These communities in places like middle Wisconsin, southwestern Colorado, New Mexico, eastern Idaho, eastern Tennessee, and southern Montana all deserve a closer examination as they salute the future of country living.

I am home now and wallowing in the concept of "home". I feel so blessed to live here as we all do about our beloved hometowns. When pulling up to our house, it peeked through the trees and I was welcomed back. Fall had arrived to the mid-Atlantic and I was more than thrilled to get back to the busy life of teaching, schooling, dancing, playing, and being with family and friends.

I learned something about myself during this trip also. I never realized how fearless I was until going through the process of this trip by myself for 5 weeks with my young people. I enjoyed myself, saw things I never thought I would see, and learned so much about my country. I drove almost 8,000 miles and I would do it again. I also have a lot of appreciation for my little red caravan and how reliable she is. I saw the whole country through her tinted windows.

Western Pennsylvania

Northeastern Iowa

Badlands National Park, South Dakota

Billings, Montana and our little hitchhiker

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Zion National Park, Utah

Black Canyon, Utah 'uses for electrical tape'

Mexican Hat, Utah sunset

Durango, Colorado

Rio Rancho, New Mexico

Oklahoma City's Barrio 18

Arkansas sunny day

Avery Island, Louisiana

The Gulf of Mexico, Louisiana shores

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

Some of you have been reading since the beginning and giving me so much encouragement I want to thank you so much for all your thoughtful words and blessings. I won't make an announcement about one more blog that I am going to tag to this blog, but I will add a packing list and some ideas if you ever plan to do this trip yourself. Check in with this blog in about a week. This is a beautiful country, warts and all, and deserves to be explored by all people who consider themselves "Americans". To sum it all up, here is a highlighted map of our route on a free map of America that you can pick up in any lobby of Cracker Barrel restaurant (and you don't even have to eat there thank goodness!). It's been quite a car ride!!!

Look Away, Dixieland

There is only one place that I have ever been that was a part of American history that utterly and completely surprised me and I would never have guessed that I would have such a strong reaction to the spirit of that place. That place is Montgomery, Alabama.

We left New Orleans with my feeling very negative about seeing any more of the south apart from my friend Amy and her familiy in Knoxville, Tennessee. I had enough of the glares and bad behavior from the locals of the countryside of Louisiana for one lifetime. I felt like the rest of the drive would be utter torture for me and I almost wanted to pack it in and hustle north. But a process is a process and I also wanted to see it through to its conclusion whether I was motivated to experience it or not.

We stopped in Biloxi, Mississippi to look at the BP polluted and muddy Gulf of Mexico where the Mississippi River meets the ocean. It was Labor Day and there was hardly anyone on the sugary beaches. A man about Larry's age came over to say hello and Larry made himself an instant friend as Larry is apt to do everywhere we go. He asked us, "Where y'all from?"...blah blah blah...I stopped listening but was hanging back waiting for the punchline which was delivered in the form of telling us how he was also in New Orleans this weekend, was shocked it was Gay Pride Weekend, how he was freaked out by all the "gays", and then he wiggled like he had a load of worms in his trunks (in his defense, maybe he did have a load of worms?). I believe now that Southerners think nothing of sharing their various prejudices with perfect ease of conscious. It's also a bonding rite of passage with strangers, "Let's hate people together, y'all!" Enough is enough. It's absolutely disgusting that people who pride themselves on politeness and hospitality could be so utterly "UG-ly"; as in, "Don' mind him, Viola...he's jes bein' UG-ly."

We left feeling like the next two days would be grueling. Larry tried to cheer me up and pointed out the flat landscape but I wasn't interested. I just wanted to get to Knoxville. We stopped at the Alabama Welcome Center so I could look up some information about the Civil Rights Movement in Birmingham, Alabama. A steel-magnolia-type woman told me to go to Montgomery because I would never forget the experience so we set the GPS and slept the night there.

The next morning we headed out for the Southern Poverty Law Center. This is a place where the 'Intelligence Report' is published that exposes right-wing extremists and hate groups. This work is very important and I have long since admired the Southern Poverty Law Center. The center has a great deal of security as it was once bombed by disgruntled White Supremecists whose pictures were published in 1983 by the SPLC. A clock was on display to remember the time of the blast. The visitor's center is a tribute to the 40 people who died between 1952 and 1968 for the cause of Civil Rights ending with the death of Martin Luther King Jr. The memorial fountain was designed by an Asian-American woman whose vision was simply so appropriate and beautiful. It is an interactive fountain and is meant to be touched. It is shown below. We all made a pledge on the Wall of Tolerance and I will uphold it. I also bought a book to know how to react to people when they make racist and intolerant comments. (Marley wanted it so she would know too!)

The hosts of the center pointed us in the direction of the Dexter Street Baptist Church where Martin Luther King was the pastor during the years 1956-1960 and where he organized the Montgomery Bus Boycott. I had forgotten that he was a pastor in Montgomery! We walked a block downhill and noticed that just two short blocks to the right was the Alabama State House and the First White House of the Confederacy. As King would go to work in the morning, he would pass the former home and Confederate offices of Jefferson Davis (!). There is certainly a kind of divine intervention in this story I believe. I wondered how much these two buildings would affect him as a person as one building's legislators sought to enslave his people 'forever' and the other sought to segregate them 'forever' (Forever is a word used in all Separatist literature).

We rang the bell and a kind woman greeted us and asked if we'd like a tour. She showed us a great film about King's tenure in Montgomery while all heck broke loose in the South when a tired seamstress, Rosa Parks, would not relinquish her seat to a white passenger and was arrested. In response, King helped to organize a peaceful protest in his church's basement office after having studied the methodologies of Mahatma Gandhi. He was impressed with the idea of non-violent resistance. We stood in his office that is still used today by the pastor of the church. It had his desk, bookshelves, and the office was never updated (other than to utilize technologies). It gave me chills to imagine his looking out his sub-terranean window to the street, closing the blinds, and meeting with his colleagues of the NAACP in this office. Rosa Parks had volunteered to be the secretary for the group so they knew her well. King would be the most important person in the Civil Rights movement in his passion, eloquence, and his ability to inspire others to a better way of life. Being here enhanced the story for me and I was so grateful.

Afterward we walked about 5 blocks downhill and came across the place where Rosa Parks usually waited for the bus. Most of Montgomery's bus riders were black and were coming to and from work. The bus laws were such that you could sit forward on the bus but not 'in front of' a white person. In this sense, there were no reserved seats unless a white person could not sit down, then a black person had to give up their seat. This law was most painful for black Southerners. It wasn't that there was a separation (which was evil enough) of a fountain or a restroom, but this required a substitution of one place for another. Also, blacks were required to pay at the front door and then enter the bus through the rear door. This was only 55 years ago.

We then walked only 2 blocks to the place where Rosa Parks was told to relinquish her seat. As the bus turned the corner, there was a theater across where white patrons were exiting and waiting for the bus. This is the place where Rosa was told to move and when she didn't the white patrons were outraged. The bus driver left the bus, called the police, and they arrested her. The Civil Rights Movement had begun.

We took a tour of the Rosa Parks Museum which was simply INCREDIBLE. There is something truly honorable in the simple and peaceful protest of this intelligent and gentle woman. The museum is just a few blocks from Martin Luther King's church and directly in front of the bus stop where she was arrested. She would move to Detroit, Michigan as her brother was very concerned about her life after Martin Luther King's home was bombed. (Hence, this is why the actual bus is in Detroit's Henry Ford Museum that we saw four weeks ago which solves a mystery for me as to why the bus was in Detroit!). Rosa Parks continued her work as a social activist in Michigan. The museum has great short films, and the main part of the story is told with video "windows" on the bus with actors who portray the characters of the bus riders. The whole room looks like the bus stop at night and a narrator explains what is happening during the incident. It was AMAZING and I feel like I truly understand the gravity of what happened on that Montgomery bus on the night of December 1, 1955. The museum explains how Martin Luther King was important to the movement (and I didn't realize that he was only 25 years old at the time).

The blacks of Montgomery decided to boycott the buses and they used carpools to get around the city. It was a magnificent strategy because the bus system was bleeding out money to keep running. They were surprised how effective the boycott was because they didn't realize that blacks were the majority of their riders! It was unbelievable to me that they didn't account for this!

We then had the honor of visiting the home where Martin Luther King and his wife Coretta lived during his tenure at the Dexter Street Baptist Church. The museum's curator, Shirley Cherry, is a retired teacher whose knowledge of Dr. King's life and his legacy was unparalleled. We were the only people visiting that afternoon and received a personal tour. It was so impressive. I was so pleased to be a part of this experience!Most importantly, she brought us to the King home after a film in the interpretation center. She showed us a bomb impression on the front porch when Coretta and her baby were home alone with a friend when a stick of dynamite exploded in front of the living room windows. The curator allowed the children to unlock the door with a key as King had done many times returning home from his important work. It was very moving. The personal attention was incredible and I would recommend the museum to anyone wanting to know ANYTHING at all about Martin Luther King because this curator can tell you all you want to know and more.

One of the most beautiful things about having such a personal tour was being able to sit on the couch where King sat to entertain guests and where the NAACP planned the Civil Rights Movement. She told us stories on this couch including how King would invite 'panhandlers' to come in and would feed them. She took us into all the rooms of the home that were recreated to look like it was 1954. She then brought us into the kitchen and told us the story how frightened King was for his family and for his own safety.

One night he answered the hall phone to an evil voice that threatened to kill him and his new baby. Usually he went back to bed after such experiences but this night he couldn't sleep. He went into the kitchen, made himself a cup of coffee, and prayed at the kitchen table. He prayed for strength to cope. He said that the spirit of God spoke to his heart and he would fear no evil ever again. It was such a moving story especially to be standing near his chair and imagining the experiences he had as a leader and a black man in the segregated South. He was the modern-Moses of the African-American people.

A white shirt was placed in the backyard as Martin Luther King wore them every day to work and it was common to see Coretta drying his shirts in the yard. A white shirt is always hanging on the line to commemorate that this leader has fallen but will always be remembered for what he was during his lifetime; a husband, a father, a man of God, and a leader.

Finally, I will relate one last part of this story of my journey in Montgomery. After speaking to the curators of all the museums, I learned something else that was so sad to hear. There is a group of men called "Sons of the Confederacy" who are descendants of Confederate soldiers. They erected a Dixie flag on the only major highway in Alabama, Route 65. Every curator I spoke to said that this is the most hurtful thing to them to see as it is very large, is lighted at night, and glorifies "The Pre-Civil War Way of Life" which is something that I hear southerners talking about all the time...their "Way of Life" being ripped from them in one way or another (you should see the billboards here about the Constitution saying "Do you miss me yet?" if you want a good laugh). Now, I ask, "How can you be proud that your great great great grand-pappy owned slaves?" Can anyone explain how that world view ever could be considered a meritorious part of history?

As I passed that flag in Alabama it was deflated in the heat and humidity. There was no wind to proudly hold it aloft and I was glad to see it in that state. It was dirty and also appeared evil. (As if it were a Nazi flag).

I was glad to have visited Alabama though. There were many kind people here both white and black. The best part was being close to the history of the Civil Rights Movement and the people who uphold it's sacredness. There is a song, about Dixie and it was once the Confederate National Anthem. One part of the song goes, "Look away, look away, look away, Dixieland" and as I leave this place I hope that Dixieland will look away from it's past and embrace a future of inclusion and tolerance. According to the curators, there is a 'New South' and I am more than glad to experience it now.

La Belle Louisiane

Entering the state of Louisiana, the scenery began to take a dramatic turn. The state is flatter and wetter than Arkansas and the foliage becomes more tropical here. It reminded me of the best parts I have seen of verdant Florida only without the scrub pines. As we came in to the state, we were treated to the sight of swamps with actual flamingos hanging out in the reeds! I was excited to be in the tropics of the Southland. This was a place I have always wanted to see and I was finally here!

Louisiana is also very different from the rest of the South in a few significant ways. Louisianans are descendents of the Acadian peoples who essentially were French-Canadians deported from Quebec for various and complicated reasons. Acadians (originally Arcadians) evolved to become the “Cajuns” and their descendents are of African, Spanish, German, and French descent as the Acadians didn’t find the mixing of people to be problematic. This makes them the richest cultural phenomenon in Louisiana.

With this mixing also came the most dynamic blending of tastes and cuisine. Cajun cooking uses every scrap of the local wildlife in their cooking including frogs, alligators, crawfish, and snails. This is French cooking with a dynamic twist of spicy hot sauces as all hot climates utilize spice to sweat and cool off. Cajun cooking is definitely cooling!

Some Cajuns also call themselves Creoles which is distinct blending of Cajuns with the Natives or African-Americans. Creole is also a language that is a southern styled way of speaking French essentially. Louisiana’s architecture reminds me of Victorian era French influences that the locals shine up and care for with meticulous dedication. Louisiana is definitely French in this regard.

Nachitoches (pronounced Nack-i-tish oddly enough) was our first stop and after being here a few hours I learned that this is the setting of the saccharine movie 'Steel Magnolias'. One woman asked me if I am visiting the town because of the movie and I wasn't sure that she wanted to hear that would never happen in my case, I hadn't realized that it was even filmed here, and the reason I was there was because it fit my 4 hours of driving criterion from Hot Springs, Arkansas! As I walked around this gorgeous town with flowers gushing forth everywhere, I felt a sense that the spirit of the South could be defined here perhaps although I wasn’t sure. In places like Utah and New Mexico, it’s easy to define the spirit of the west and southwest, but here I am left flummoxed. The South is always so elusive to me and I never seem to understand Southern society.

I went to buy a coffee mug at a shop and the woman proprietor told me all about her French ancestry. She was super proud to be Cajun. She also told me with great bitterness how the United States government wouldn’t allow her to speak French in school and how she had to learn English. She said that she hardly remembers how to speak French and it made her sad. She then (and get ready for this one…because this is the kind of interaction I usually have with Southerners) said that it upsets her greatly when “Mexicans” come in to this country, speak "Mexican", and keep their “Mexican” ways. This was all in the same breath of remembering speaking French with great romanticism and pining away for the “way it used to be” (and then wishing the same fate on Spanish speaking people). Cajuns were poor people who also came here illegally from Canada and settled in the pinelands of the Louisiana Purchase because they were being persecuted in Quebec. History is conveniently disregarded when it doesn't fit prejudices.

I said, “It’s really strange to me that there aren’t MORE languages spoken in a country as large as ours.” She paused, “Well, maybe. The school districts did bring Cajun French into the classrooms and are teaching it all over Louisiana…” I replied, “Good for Louisiana! I hope they continue that important work!”, and I deeply meant that.

We had our first Cajun dinner at 'Mama’s and Papa’s' on Front Street on the Cane River. It was DE-LICIOUS!!! The local mushrooms and crawfish were smothered all over the blackened tuna with a myriad of spices and flavors. It was such a unique taste. Afterwards we walked along the Cane River and searched for the local “Cane River Mud Pie” but the shop was closed. We did get to see some of the grand houses and the gardens of the town's homes however. It was just a lovely evening.

The next day we drove to Breaux Bridge. Arriving around 3 in the afternoon, I asked Marley and Cole if they wanted to go to see the Gulf of Mexico. I had fond memories of seeing the Gulf when I was Marley’s age. I haven’t seen it since! I remembered it as being warm and clear. We drove an hour south of Breaux Bridge and got ready to swim. We had some snacks by the shore and then went down to the edge where our feet sunk into the fine sawdust that was sprinkled along the shore to collect the oil from the BP spill. It was so deep that we sank to mid-calf only to discover that it is impossible to wash off the blackness of the oil residue without serious scrubbing.

Marley was taking pictures by the shore and said, “Mom, what’s that out there? Is that a log?” I looked and the log had a snout, eyes, and a reptilian tail. It was an ALLIGATOR (!!!!) and it was about 8 feet away! So much for deciding to go into the Gulf for a swim! The toll collector came over to us and we showed her the swimming dinosaur. She was creole and said, “No, I don’ trust ‘dem things. I wuddn’t go in ‘dere if I was you. No way, I don’ trust ‘dem things.” (And neither do I! Who trusts alligators???) We packed up and were off but I couldn’t help thinking, "What IF the alligator was submerged when we got in to the water and we didn’t see him until it was too late to do anything to prevent being bitten or killed? Bear spray does not work in the water!" Louisiana is far too alligator infested with the bayous being connected to all lakes and the Gulf…we will never attempt this again in Louisiana!

We dressed up at the beach and drove to Mulate’s Original Cajun that is a live performance venue in the bayou. It was fabulously honky tonk and the Cajun-French music there was just beginning as we walked in. Some Cajuns were two-steppin' and hollerin’ all over the dance floor. It was great! We had a chatty waitress (why are all waitresses in the South so personal with their customers while they're trying to eat?) who asked us all sorts of questions about where we were from. I told her we were on our way to New Orleans and she said, “Well, I don’t like New Orleans because those blacks think they OWN THE PLACE.” Wha’ the??? My chin dropped into my gumbo!!! Was she kidding??? Nope. She went on with a scowl, “You know how you seen ‘em during Hurricane Katrina? Well, they think they own the place now. I don't go there because of them blacks.” I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I have NEVER heard someone be so blatantly RACIST and to a complete stranger! "There it is!" I thought, "This is the South; Sweet as pie and racist as hell."

Perhaps it is common practice to share racist epithets as if they were chicklets in the South, but in the North it would be considered something to rebuke unless you were somewhere it might be expected, like say a Ku Klux Klan Rally! After she left the table I thought to complain to the manager but I thought my complaint might fall on 'Good Ol' Boy' ears. This town has a Baptist Church on every corner. I wondered how Southern people like my waitress balance a “mind that loves Jesus” and a “heart of racist hate” (one would think both organs couldn't exist in the same body!) My friends all warned me that they experienced things like this all the time in the South. I have a few who live here and some who left because of the ignorance and intolerance. Northerners have a really hard time adjusting to the little towns of the South and I think that's a good thing. I don't know if I could have any self-respect if I ever agreed with this kind of perverse thinking.

The next morning we headed out for the Tabasco Factory on Avery Island. Tabasco is a Native American word for "place that is hot and humid". Tabasco is one of the only pepper spices that people ask for by name like a Band-Aid or a Kleenex. I love Tabasco so when we were driving past Avery Island I made an unplanned visit to see the plant. The drive was lovely through the swamplands to the island. We arrived a bit early so we stopped by the Tabasco Wagon for lunch. There were a few people milling about and they were all local types I have seen since being here.

Now, this is no exaggeration, they gave us the FILTHIEST looks I have ever gotten from another human being. There were about 6 of them, mostly middle aged people, and they were so white they were almost translucent. They were obese, wore typical extra large clothing with flowers and such printed on them, were definitely not wealthy types, and were so self-righteous and ignorant that it almost made me want to sue the Louisiana School system. They got quiet as we walked past, whispered to each other, and then looked at us as though they smelled hog poo in their backyards (which they probably have in abundance). I was immediately angered…who were these people to look down on us? Was it our olive skin? The black hair? That the North won the Civil War? What the heck was their problem already?

And I will admit that I immediately engendered an instant hate right back at these people being so hateful to us. I had no cause to hate them apart from their loathing. I left feeling like I should have done something like faced their hate with blatant sweetness, given them a “Howdy y’all” in a sarcastic tone, or perhaps talked like a little girl (like they all do) to minimize myself. I was just completely confused what the best response would have been to their blatant hostility. (Again, I completely do not understand Southern societal rules). My mother told me on the cell phone after I told her what had happened, “You’re in the SOUTH! Did you expect something different? Haven't you ever seen them on TV?” Good ol’ Massachusetts Yankee sensibility. What she said has some truth as there are plenty of ignorant people everywhere but I think the fact that some Southerners wear theirs like a badge of honor is most alarming to me. At least my mother made me feel better.

I decided that if I was going to like the South I needed to separate myself from the people (seriously). We went to the Jungle Gardens of Avery Island and it was there that a gentleness of the land, the bayous, and the wildlife reached out and melted my heart. I even started to feel sentimental about the alligators. This was the most beautiful tropical place of Virginia Live Oaks, swamps, and bamboo forests. Here are some pictures from the island.

We hustled up to Vacherie, Louisiana to see a famous plantation that would become forever immortalized in the film ‘Gone With The Wind’. The opening scene of Scarlett sitting on the veranda of ‘Tara’ is really Oak Alley Plantation which was owned by a Cajun family. I learned that all the plantations had access to the Mississippi River. Standing in the front of the plantation I saw a riverboat pass below a crest just outside the gate. It abutted the river and I didn’t know it was just over the levee on the road. I rushed up the levee to see it and it was magnificent! It was wide and swift. It was another milestone! The last time I saw the Mississippi was in Minnesota and it was like a disorganized puddle compared to here!

We went back to the plantation and took our tour. The house is so grandly kept and the grounds are lovely. The tour takes such care to name all the slaves who lived there and what their talents were as people. The plantation owner's widow and son would take over the plantation after he died (only sugar cane grows in the hot and wet climate here) and would run it into the ground financially which I considered a poetic justice for ever having enslaved human beings. Many plantation owners died penniless and in a great amount of debt after the Civil War. The mansion was purchased by a wealthy family for $50,000 in 1925 and the mistress would live there until 1972 when she died. It is a museum now.

We drove along the levee to the east to finally pick up my husband, Larry, at the Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans. I was so happy to see him after our long separation. He felt it more acutely than I did these past weeks at home without us whereas I was galavanting around the country like a gypsy! I was so busy every day and he was just waiting to see us. I was thrilled to see him and we caught up on all the excitement at the Voodoo BBQ. We drove to New Orleans to St. Charles Street where we would find a pretty hotel with all kinds of mysteries around every courtyard and fountain. It was like a New Orleans Dream at our hotel and it was a Quality Inn (picture below on left)! Being with Larry made me feel like I was “home”.

New Orleans is a distinctively French city. Like Martinique and other French owned islands in the Caribbean, New Orleans is the tropical version of France. This is really an amazing phenomenon of French colonization. I love the sound of the language, the architecture, and the non-English-Puritan legacy. New Orleans is a Catholic town with a reverence for tradition (and hidden hedonism). This city is also a swamp however and the mosquitoes were more than thrilled to have more dinner opportunities! We went to the French Quarter and walked around. It was unforgettably old and lovely. It’s hard to remember what year it was! So many authors and artists have stayed in New Orleans longer than a few weeks to be inspired. I was immediately in love with the city. Unlike any place I have ever been in America, New Orleans seems almost foreign and “Old World”.

The best part is how incredibly multicultural and artistic the neighborhoods are! This is a decidedly creative place and very bohemian. I loved the openness and the friendliness. One thing I enjoyed was saying, “Hey there…” and they replied with a smile, “How y’all doin’?” I could do this all day! We also happen to be here during the Gay Pride weekend! It occurred to all of us that we haven't seen openly gay people since Chicago. The town was dressed up in rainbow flags for the occasion and had specific merchandize for their weekend clients. It was great to see them all having such a great time and feeling comfortable enough to be themselves. This place fits my philosophical rule from the beginning of observing northern places: Progressive People + Open Minds = Happy Towns!

I think I also had another important personal discovery and it's somthing I hadn't thought of while in rural Louisiana; if my waitress from Mulate's was here looking at gay men holding hands, wealthy black women owning restaurants, black men as head waiters in expensive places, bi-racial couples, people of many faiths, Asians, Arabs, and Europeans all blending, mixing, touching and enjoying the sights and sounds of culture...well, she just wouldn't fit in. This is another conundrum of the South;

Learning to abandon their antiquated world-view without being angry that the world is more progressive and enlightened than they remembered it.

That must be very hard to accept after being raised with so many limited ideologies. America WILL move on without them or drag them kicking and screaming into the future. Either way, it will be hard for deeply cultured Southerners to adjust (hence the hatred of our current President who also happens to be black - that must have been a HUGE paradigm shift for them to accept as many of them remember blacks having to sit "at the back of the bus"). I do feel some compassion for their "way of life" which they take such melancholy pride in upholding as it is slowly slipping away from them forever. Here are some pictures from the French Quarter of New Orleans:

The following day we went to see the Lower 9th Ward which is where the worst of Hurricane Katrina's destruction took place. The ward is very flat and larger than I thought it would be. New Orleans has so many very traditional people that it was still mostly uninhabited. Only one in four homes were rehabilitated but the new homes looked nothing like the above craft home that is near the Garden District. These wooden craft homes are everywhere in New Orleans and they were being replaced with ugly aluminum siding and stucco. The charm that was once in the 9th Ward is completely gone and it looks more like Levittown, Pennsylvania. So many homes were just abandoned and there was such destruction and death everywhere. Most importantly, homes where people died were labeled, where pets suffered and died, and where the homes were due for destruction were marked. It was so sad. There was such poverty in the ward and a kind of hopelessness. I was glad that we saw it firsthand.

We next decided to see Tom Hanks' new museum in New Orleans called 'The National World War II Museum'. It was so impressive and it was good of Tom Hanks to give this treasure to New Orleans. I expected it to be a bit dry like war museums can be only this was so superiorly interesting that we were there for almost 5 hours which is unheard of for my children (and husband!). This was the best academic and comprehensive museum that I have ever seen. It is very visual and interactive. The museum also is personal and there are accounts of the war from many survivors. We were all so happy that we went. There was an Army band playing World War II music that we all loved listening to. I was touched by the little picture of a Japanese soldier shown below and his sword and money that were taken off of his corpse by an American soldier as a momento of the war. The last picture below shows how there are lots of visual devices that portray aspects of the war in short explanations that hold your interest. There were lots of veterans there from all over the United States who were so interested in all the exhibits. They were so old and I told the kids, "Remember them...soon all World War II Veterans will be gone during your young lives."

Of course, I couldn't go unscathed from a non-local Southern tourist. (This is hard to relate in some ways because I am tired of it honestly and it is really aggravating). An obese, blond, flowery shirt wearing, angry, rural woman (I am starting to see a pattern here) insisted that I was blocking her mother's view of a preview film. I was standing just to the left of her but I was off to the side with a crowd and no where near her mother. She started being very aggressive toward me saying, "EXCUSE YEW! EXCUSE YEW! YER BLOCKING MY MUTH'A'S VIEW!!! MUTH'A, IS SHE BLOCKING YEW?" (perhaps not realizing that I was with my husband and children). I had enough! I moved closer to her and stared her in the face as she sat in front of me saying nothing but gave my best 'teacher's glare'. She then wouldn't look me in the eye and her large, blond, flowery shirt wearing, less-angry, rural sister whispered, "Stop it, it's alright...Muth'a is fine" while looking at me a bit frightened. Her rather sheepish brother-in-law kept looking at me apologetically. I was tired of letting these country "folk" be so incredibly rude to me. It's one thing to say, "Excuse me, my mother may not be able to see the film" and I would be most gracious I assure you. But this kind of nonsense won't be tolerated anymore even if I get slapped for being "uppity". I have never been treated with so much unwarranted aggression. I can only imagine what African-Americans, Arabs, Mexicans, and anyone else not Southern-White must go through living in the South. It's just deplorable and it made me grateful that I can leave it behind in a week's time.

On our final night in New Orleans we walked around the Garden District. This is a residential neighborhood and lots of people walked passed us and said hello and my favorite New Orleans phrase, "How y'all doing t'nite? Fine?" We came across a very old man who was asking for money for food. This may or may not have been what he needed money for but there was something about him that touched me deeply. He was so old, tired looking, and dirty. He seemed so desperately sad and worn out. I thought about his life and all that must have happened to bring him to that moment on St. Charles Street on that very hot and humid night begging for money. He even had to experience Hurricane Katrina in his old age. I thought about the people I had met who had been simply vicious during my stay in Louisiana against the contrast of the warmth and kindness of the people of New Orleans. I gave him some money, not much, but enough to buy some food. I asked Marley to put it in his hat and to be sure to make eye contact with him and to say something nice to him. I watched her be compassionate and to give something useful to someone so desperate. It didn't matter really what he wanted the money for, but that we were kind to someone who probably hadn't had much kindness thrown his way. I was going to miss New Orleans and I hoped that in some way, I left having done something good as this is a city that has suffered so much, and yet, it is still the best thing about Louisiana.