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The decorated trees in our week:
Ones with lighted ornaments.
Ones with garland and homemade ornaments made of pipe-cleaners and beer caps.
And ones draped with cute kids.
What does your tree look like this year?
Remember that post I wrote a few days ago about giving and getting? About how the arrogance and superiority of some well-intended folks ends up alienating and insulting the group they are trying to help?
“30 Oregonians with a wealth of compassion, community service experience and technical expertise, will show the nation what the Gulf Coast disaster looks like from inside the Gulf. We will shine a sustained light on what our neighbors need to survive and what the environment needs to recover.”
Yes, a group of folks from Portland and it’s surrounding universe are headed to New Orleans! (No offense to beautiful Portland and our friends doing wonderful things out there, this just happens to be where this group is coming from.) In any case, these folks are coming here to do 6 days of visits to Gulf Coast communities which:
“…will culminate in the production of a graphic travelogue of what we saw, learned and felt. Our experiences will be represented through the arts of drawing, writing, filming and making music. The images and voices we capture will be engaging, powerful and influential. And, most importantly our final documentation will contain a roadmap for individual action to minimize a second occurrence of this type of catastrophe. The proceeds from the sale of our book, and any other money raised, will be contributed to Gulf Coast and national efforts to educate children about this catastrophe and how we can do the best possible job of cleaning up after ourselves, plus prevent this from ever happening again.“
Also, they are trying to raise $60,000. You can donate on their website. But no, the money isn’t for the Gulf… it’s to finance their trip. So that they can come to the Gulf, visit as “caring neighbors arriving to help,” spend 6 days capturing images and voices, and then put them in their book.
Hmmm.
I showed this to my graduate students earlier today in class. In the words of one of the students: “I’m not even from the Gulf Coast and this insults ME.”
Check out their website. What do you think?
Here are are some lessons that these undoubtedly very nice, wealthy-with-compassion-Oregonians should have considered:
These folks are coming here with an agenda that is their own, focused on their own needs, their own desires. This does not help a situation, it only makes it more difficult.
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(Hat tip to local bloggers, who found and shared the website.)
Pearl River Blues Berry Farm, in Pearl River, Mississippi — the same organic farm that we gave our cast iron tub to years ago when we started renovating the back of the house. (The tub is in the back.) Beautiful farm, wide space for running and jumping, friendly people and animals, and lots and lots of blueberry plants. No chemicals in the growth process — which means that you can eat them fresh off the vine.
Which means, a lot (a LOT) of blue-tinted kid poops in your future.
One of the great things about New Orleans is how nicely the city has promoted tourism interests to remain neatly tucked away from the rest of the city. Bourbon Street, as I’ve been told, was created to keep tourists out of the rest of the city and as far as my experience has shown, it’s done a fantastic job. In general, the frat boys, the wanna-be-frat-boys, the remembering-the-days-of-being-a-frat-boy, and the associated hangers-on stay in a few blocks within the French Quarter and leave the rest of us alone.
But occasionally we get a visitor who wants to get New Orleans. And man, oh man. Showing someone from another part of our lives just why we live here? This is one of our favorite things in the world. The only thing better than that Reconcile Bananas Foster Bread Pudding is having someone new to share it with.
We were thrilled to share these past five days with a good friend of mine from college — a guy who gave me my most lasting nickname (Hosh), studied with me in Switzerland and Italy, and who I hadn’t seen in more than a decade. We went out, hung out at the pool, hung out in the park, played with the kids, ate good food, explored random parts of the city, and just generally enjoyed the awesomeness of having someone so open and positive about all the things we love about our home.
On Saturday afternoon, Jeb and I, along with a friend of his who had recently moved to the area, went to Commander’s Palace for the Jazz Brunch. Commander’s Palace is the long-standing launching pad of culinary royalty; Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagasse are among its dignitaries. While there, enjoying the music and company and food and all that comes with it, I mentioned the odd fact that every time Paul has eaten at Commander’s, he’s been ill within 24 hours. No, it is never because of the food… just really bad timing. Paul enjoys a completely fantastic meal and four hours later it’s floating down the Mississippi. Bad timing.
Of course I had to tempt the fates by telling Jeb all about it.
The next morning, we didn’t hear from Jeb. We thought maybe he’d gone jogging in Audubon Park, or perhaps needed some extra sleep to compensate for late night music at Les Bon Temps. So we went blueberry picking in Mississippi in the morning. On the way back, we spoke to him for the first time that day: it had been a rough night.
No, it wasn’t the food. It was just bad timing.
And completely my fault.
Thankfully, he bounced back in the afternoon and enjoyed the rest of the blissful weekend. Then Sunday night, last night, the fates rolled over to Kate.
She had eaten her body weight in blueberries at the farm so we expected a certain amount of tummy disturbance. But it wasn’t until 3 am that the disturbances truly made their intentions clear.
Yikes.
The weekend then was like any other time in New Orleans — incredible highs and miserable lows. We accept both and appreciate the need of each. It is just that sometimes, we’re surprised at just how they materialize. And in Kate’s case, the incredible monochromatic palate that results.
In honor of Jeb, quoting NOLA’s beloved John Goodman… Strikes and gutters. Strikes and gutters.
Driving back from Mississippi this afternoon, we decided to take more scenic US 90 into town.
The photos below come from less than a quarter mile southwest of Fort Pike. (The “A” marks Fort Pike.)
Here is the map closer in — the photos come from about where the “90″ is on the map, between Lake Saint Catherine and Lake Pontchartrain.
For orientation, the I-10 bridge over the Lake is visible in the background of several of these photos. These were taken over a span of a few hundred feet along US 90.
I’m not an expert in environment, oil, or marshland ecosystems. Nor was I searching for a smoking gun. But this does not look right to me.
This part of the marsh looked a lot different than the rest.
Tell me it’s a normal look. Tell me that the green isn’t there temporarily (these photos are not photoshopped). Can someone who knows more about these things tell me that this is a healthy marsh? I honestly don’t know.
Shrimp boats, docked near Jean Lafitte.
To provide compassionate, respectful service in a place, I think it’s critically important to form a relationship with the natural environment that supports it. So, part of understanding New Orleans in a way where you can truly make a difference within its populace means finding appreciation for the unique ecosystems that support and, in many ways, define the city. With the disaster unfolding, the importance for our Fellows to develop a connection with our local environment was even more critical. So, as part of their orientation retreat weekend, we went canoeing through Cane Bayou. A private guide brought us through a mile of natural, undeveloped bayou — protected between a wildlife preserve and State Park. We paddled out at dusk, ending up parked in the marsh along the edge of Lake Pontchartrain. We ate boxed lunch dinners watching the sun set over the lake. Then, as night fell, paddled back with the sounds and sights of the bayou around us.
It was pretty darn awesome.
Here are some pictures.
My fellow Louisiana blogger and friend, the lovely Painted Maypole, posted an exchange we had regarding British Petroleum, the oil company that put profits over public safety. We think BP should stand for something else.
Here are a few of mine.
Any suggestions?
BP. Proper Noun. Big Oil company who sought out Gulf Coast fisherman and families reliant on the biodiversity and abundance of the Gulf Coast and wetland areas, offering to pay them sums of $5,000 for waving the right to sue the company shortly after an offshore rig exploded and days before it was confirmed by media that oil was actually pouring out of the well and into the sea.
Celebration of Service. Proper Noun, in certain circles. Big event for local nonprofit. May occupy mind of program director for months and completely consume life for weeks.
Dispersants. Noun. Chemicals used to break up oil in the sea. Use stems from catastrophic events, which occur when big business decides personal profit is more important than public safety. Exact chemical compositions are considered “trade secrets” to minimize the ability of scientists (and others) to assess the impact on health and the environment.
DIBELS test. Noun; that thing where capitals imply words that describe the test. A test done in English that requires each student to spend 15 minutes alone with the teacher, during which time parents are asked to sub. Test has significance somewhere and is likely related to some requirement. Jazz Fest (see entry, below) may impair parents’ ability to process significance of testing. Or else, the experience of subbing for a class of 1st graders may destroy the brain cells holding that particular set of information.
Jazz Fest. Proper Noun. AKA: Fess. Like most things about New Orleans, highly misunderstood. Seven days over two weeks, hundreds of musicians, artists, and food vendors. This is not your Northern California “Jazz Festival” where erudite folk sit around and sip wine from fancy glasses while listening to the gentle smoothness of elevator music. It’s more like Woodstock sobered up just enough to put on pants and then hooked up with a Louisiana girl who knows how to cook.
Pink tea. Noun. AKA: Crystal Light. Made for child’s birthday play-date/tea party. Easy to clean up when spilled on crinoline and other costume material. Served with petit fours and fruit salad.
Race Day. Proper Noun, according to school emails. Day(s) when students are hauled out to open space to run long distances which increase with age. All kids finish, all kids win, emphasis on participation, exercise, and drinking lots of water afterward. Usually happens right in the middle of Jazz Fest, see entry above.
