Missouri: Linn: A Turtle and a Memory

I met a sibling for lunch in Linn, along Highway 50. 

Outside the restaurant, on the pavement, was a turtle. 

Turtle outside Mexican restaurant in Linn, Missouri. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

An odd location, it seemed. 

I bent down to take a look and to take a snap, and to whisper a hope that if it planned to cross the road that it would do so safely as it moved through the parking lot. 

Seeing the turtle reminded me of an upcoming anniversary: The Great Flood of 1993. 

That spring and early summer, before the flood came, it had rained and rained and rained and rained for weeks. There'd also been more than usual rain in the preceding fall. 

From the street's-eye view of that time, it wasn't the rain that caused note. It was the End-Times number of creatures that my descendant and I saw en route to Arrow Rock from Jefferson City, each day we went up for her rehearsals for the Arrow Rock's Lyceum production of Oliver. Snakes, turtles, frogs. Some living, some squashed. 

My parents' business was in the flood plain of the Great Flood. 

Here's an entry from my mother's flood journal: 

Saturday, July 31, 1993

The impossible happened - the levee that was built to withstand a 100-year flood ... broke. At 11:30 p.m. Friday night something awakened me - and my eyes focused on the television ... I could see a spotlight shining down on flickering water and hear the helicopter whirring sound and the announcer's voice telling of the levee break. 

In a very short period of time, hundreds of acres of what was Chesterfield's [Missouri] economic boom were under 10 to 14 feet of water in some places. Some 500 businesses were down - virtually all without flood insurance. Many of us had gotten it a day or two before - feeling the Tuesday crest just might spill a few feet over the levee. A five-day [waiting period in coverage] (after you pay the premium) is required before the insurance is effective so most of us will not have flood damage insurance money. 

All day we watched and listened; we saw a man chest high in the water plucked up into a basket lowered by helicopter, people rescued from rooftops of businesses .... 

El Paso: Segundo Barrio: The Turtle and the Treasure

Felhaber turtle, Segundo Barrio, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.

October 2016

Well, I am laughing as I write this. Because you just never know what incredible story lives behind a picture, a discarded item on the street, a tiny altar, a ribbon tied onto the desiccated branch of a dead tree, a half-clothed Barbie doll stuck through a chain link fence. 

So it was with the militant turtle-dinosaur(ish) on the wall above.

I snapped the turtle (heheheh) because I had a language student affiliated with a company that has a turtle logo. I planned to show him the image and we'd consider the messages it conveyed.

But I also looked up the business that shared the wall.

Holy tortoise shells!

The headlines burst at me:

• Buried Treasure A Mystery To Authorities
• Tattered Cash a Buried Treasure or Something More Sinister?
• Ruined U.S. Cash Worth Millions, but Stories are Priceless

The story opens like an action movie that glues you to your seat for the next two hours: The businessman arrived at the Treasury Department carrying a suitcase stuffed with about $5.2 million. The bills were decomposing, nearly unrecognizable, and he asked to swap them for a cashier's check. (Associated Press)


You can watch the real-life trailer here, in this AP video:

And people ask me why I moved to El Paso.

Opelousas: Breathe It: Sebastien's West End Seafood

When I saw the fish flashing, I wondered how I could have missed it so many times before.

Sebastien's West End Seafood. Opelousas, Louisiana.

Everything about the sign pleased me. That glittering like the sun. The black and caramel and mother-of-pearl-white of the fat fish. The cheeriness of the chartreuse border and the joyful blue dots and lines. Gosh.

Of course, I had to pull over.

And then I could see all the colors and textures of flowers and foliage in front and on the side. Bright apple green and deep burgundy leafy cheer of sweet potato vines. Happy yellow lettering on windows. A banana tree. With bananas!

Sebastien's West End Seafood. Opelousas, Louisiana.

And then, and then, when I walked into the store. ...  Deep breath. An aromatic slap from the sea, of fish dead and alive, that briny salty attractant-repellant somethingness that explains why a dog likes to roll in half-putrfied, dead fish on a beach.

A sensory storm, this place.

Below is a slide show:

A shout-out to staff member Walter and his colleagues for their friendly patience while I absorbed it all.