Lafayette: Chocolate-Dipped Crawtators

All that was left of the chocolate-dipped crawtators on the table was this sign:

Crawtators sign, Lafayette Artwalk, Louisiana, December 2013.

So I still don't know what they are, but my imagination is conjuring up some possibilities.

Oh. I didn't think of this. 

New Mexico: Bosque Redondo Memorial, Part 2: Luck

Bosque Redondo Memorial, Fort Sumner, New Mexico

What is luck? 

Yes, I know there are those who espouse the "everything happens for a reason" model. I'm not among them. Rather, I believe it is we who place meaning on what happens to us and the world around us. 

Does luck exist because we have created this idea of luck? Or is an event a function of a random throw of existential dice, and thus neutral, and therefore unremarkable? Might not one lucky event, if we pull back for a space-station view of a life over the course of its many years, result in not-luck down the road?

Well, anyway.

I was lucky. 

I was already feeling good when I walked into the Bosque Redondo Memorial building because of the enchanting experience here (with a respectful nod to the yang side of said enchantment as noted by a reader here).

The first good vibe came when, immediately upon walking into the memorial foyer, a smiling woman greeted me with a friendly welcome.

Then she informed me that a tour of the site had just begun and if I'd like to join it, I could tag along. And I did.

That friendly smile and invitation - and, I suppose, my acceptance of said invitation - bloomed into a sequence of lucky moments: 

• a tour given by a woman who clearly loves the place and what it represents, 
• a delicious lunch (!) catered by Fort Sumner community members, 
• tasty conversation tidbits with the bona fide members of the tour group, 
• an astounding video that I'll talk about later, and 
• the gift of a puzzle piece I'd been seeking while trying to process Edwin R. Sweeney's book, Mangas Coloradas, Chief of the Chiricahua Apaches. 

The group of people on tour this day at the memorial were members of the Palace of the Governors in Santa Fe.


Not really luck

My good luck wouldn't have happened if the folks at the memorial, which included staff, volunteers, and members of the local Chamber of Commerce, didn't have a generosity of spirit and an understanding of the bigger picture - to promote the memorial and their town.

They could have easily kept things exclusive, but instead they embraced the stranger walking through their door. Kudos.


And in case you're wondering .... yes, I'm sneaking up on the tangible and intangible of this place and what it commemorates. It's not an easy story.

Louisiana Movies: Beasts of the Southern Wild

Movie: Beasts of the Southern Wild

Provenance: Filmed in Terrebone Parish, Louisiana. A film about a tight, isolated community in Louisiana.   

Synopsis (excerpted from here):

In a forgotten but defiant bayou community cut off from the rest of the world by a sprawling levee, a six-year-old girl, Hushpuppy, exists on the brink of orphanhood. Buoyed by her childish optimism and extraordinary imagination, she believes that the natural order is in balance with the universe until a fierce storm changes her reality. Desperate to repair the structure of her world in order to save her ailing father and sinking home, this tiny hero must learn to survive unstoppable catastrophes of epic proportions.

In a forgotten but defiant bayou community cut off from the rest of the world by a sprawling levee, a six-year-old girl, Hushpuppy, exists on the brink of orphanhood. Buoyed by her childish optimism and extraordinary imagination, she believes that the natural order is in balance with the universe until a fierce storm changes her reality. Desperate to repair the structure of her world in order to save her ailing father and sinking home, this tiny hero must learn to survive unstoppable catastrophes of epic proportions. - See more at: http://www.beastsofthesouthernwild.com/about#sthash.18Px8VR9.dpuf

The movie is an emotional rocker almost from start to finish.

The people of the Bathtub reminded me of what Paata said once about the Svaneti in the Caucasus Mountains - "The Svans are our wild Georgians," meaning they are people who have lived to their own code for centuries, are isolated, and renowned for their ferocity, independence, and endurance.


More poignantly, they reminded me of the wild creatures tattooed on the teacher's thigh - magnificent, but now gone. Or of a wiki-stub, where there's some knowledge of the topic, but not much, a sort of informational dead-end.

Louisiana's Isle de Jean Charles, a disintegrating island in Terrebone Parish, was one of several inspirations for director Benh Zeitlin's vision for the film. 

There are innumerable chapters that shine in the movie, so I'll just pick one sequence to share because of its painting of girl power and vulnerability: When the four little girls commenced to the water after a warrior's scream, and then swam to a boat for ferrying to a floating bar ... subsequent scenes of tenderness between the girls and the women who worked there .. the exchange between Hushpuppy and ... well, I don't want to spoil things for anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet.

Recommend? Yes! Have tissue on hand. 

Note: The Making of documentary that is also on the DVD is almost as engrossing as the movie itself.

Louisiana Lit: Half of Paradise

Half of Paradise cover, Pocket Books. Found: Bill Crider

Book: Half of Paradise

Author: James Lee Burke

Author's provenance: (excerpted from his website)

James Lee Burke was born in Houston, Texas, in 1936 and grew up on the Texas-Louisiana gulf coast. He attended Southwestern Louisiana Institute and later received a B. A. Degree in English and an M. A. from the University of Missouri in 1958 and 1960 respectively. Over the years he worked as a landman for Sinclair Oil Company, pipeliner, land surveyor, newspaper reporter, college English professor, social worker on Skid Row in Los Angeles, clerk for the Louisiana Employment Service, and instructor in the U. S. Job Corps.

A number of Mr. Burke's books have been set in Louisiana. His most famous series revolves around the character of Dave Robicheaux, of cajun heritage, a cop in Louisiana.

Half of Paradise blurb, Pocket Books. Found: Bill Crider

Written in 1965, Half of Paradise was Mr. Burke's first published novel. Has nothing to do with Robicheaux - it is about three other Louisianans: Toussaint, Broussard, and Winfield. In a nutshell, all end up in hell in various ways, pretty much by their own hands.  

I did get a sense of place in the book, which kept me somewhat engaged. Toussaint's actions made the most sense of the three, and I could see how he ended up the way he did (dead). I never saw quite how Winfield got enmeshed into the drug scene - it seemed a little too Reefer Madness to me - you know - take one little bit of a drug and you're a lunatic from that moment. Not to mention the woman who leads him to the fiery gates. (He also dies.) As for Broussard, yes, I got the alcoholic thing and that his aristocratic heritage shriveled up and died, but alcoholism doesn't explain the dipshit decisions/behaviors he engaged in from the beginning of his moonshine escapade all the way to the end. (He ends up back in the work camp.)

I'm pretty sure I've read at least one of Mr. Burke's books in the past, but I didn't remember the strong Louisiana connection until my mother pointed it out - she is in the process of churning through his work. So I'm giving them a go. Might be fun to visit some of the places in his books.

Recommend? No, not really.

New Mexico: Bosque Redondo Memorial, Part 1: How I Got There

The Long Walk, by C Ortiz. Bosque Redondo Memorial, Fort Sumner, New Mexico

What is the Bosque de Redondo Memorial?

Bosque de Redondo Memorial is a place that commemorates The Long Walk (and subsequent detention) of thousands of Navajo and Apache.

The Long Walk, circa 1864, occurred when the U.S. Army forced thousands of Navajo into what was, for all intents and purposes a concentration camp, in Bosque Redondo (later called Fort Sumner) in which the Navajo and Mescalero Apache remained until 1868.

How I got there

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have visited the memorial, which is outside Fort Sumner, New Mexico, if I hadn't seen the documentary, Sun Kissed, which I wrote about here.

This documentary - about two children who died from a genetic disorder - brought home the interconnectedness of biology, history, culture, access to health care and information, science, and technology.

A traumatic event in Bosque Redondo more than 100 years ago contributed to the death of these two children today.

I had to go, and I did, in my final days in New Mexico. 

Louisiana: Christmas Eve Gumbo Orders

Now taking Christmas Eve gumbo orders:

Lafayette, Louisiana.

I bet you think Champagne's is pronounced like "sham - pane," right? I did.

But it's not. It's "shawm - pine."  

When the weather turns cold, Louisianans get an envie for some gumbo.

New Mexico: White Sands: 365

White Sands, Alamogordo, New Mexico

I read here that an Alamogordo photographer, Rachel Telles, has produced a book on photos from White Sands.

She kept a blog of her year's work: 365 Ways to See White Sands.

It's nice that I have a recorded memory of a drive one evening through White Sands, accompanied by Aster Aweke:

  

Lafayette: Library: Jefferson Street

Lafayette library, temporary Jefferson Street branch, Lafayette, Louisiana.

Paintings above are the work of Logan Berard.


Lafayette has one of the most charming downtowns I've ever seen. Despite being very compact, it packs in two museums, an arts center, a branch of the library, and the usual assortment of restaurants, clubs, and shopping opportunities. Pictures to come eventually.

The Lafayette Public Library System has a number of branches. The original main library is undergoing a massive renovation, and there's a temporary branch on downtown Jefferson Street to stand in during this time.

Lafayette library, temporary Jefferson Street branch, Lafayette, Louisiana.

I loved the basement-y, coffeehouse vibe at this branch.

It only took four staff (on site and over the phone) to give me permission to take these photos.

Lafayette library, temporary Jefferson Street branch, Lafayette, Louisiana.

(In Caucasus Georgia, the first person I asked would have spread his arms wide and said, "Of courrrrrrrrrrrrrse, why would you not take photos?!" But that is a country where complete strangers will come up to you and ask if you want to take a picture of them - with your camera - that they will never see! ... and why would you not?)

(In New Mexico, the first person I asked would have shrugged and said, "Sure.")

 .
A congenial space. Slow wifi, though.

Lafayette: Oil Center: Lights

Sad to say, the annual Festival of Lights at the Oil Center was a bust. Rainy, cold, wet. Hardly anyone was there. A business owner told me that usually the little business district is packed full of people at this festival, enjoying live music, pics with Santa, window shopping, eating, and drinking.

But at Mixology, an art gallery, there were three spaces filled with light, gilded with color.

Mixology, Oil Center, Lafayette, Louisiana

Mixology, Oil Center, Lafayette, Louisiana

Mixology, Oil Center, Lafayette, Louisiana

It was a sunny place to be on a dreary night.

Louisiana: Lake Fausse Point State Park in Autumn

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

From a visit to Lake Fausse Point State Park in late November:

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. November 2013.

Funny, I'd assumed that one pronounced "fausse" like "hoss." But a long-time Louisiana resident pronounced it "fossy."

So now I just had a crazy idea - what if I called the park and asked for the correct pronunciation?  So I did. It's "fossy," rhyming with "mossy."

As you may recall, I saw a number of armadillos here.   

I heard a lot of gunshots, and another visitor conjectured the sounds were from duck hunters.

Rootless: Upstairs, Downstairs - or - Going With the Flow

When I moved to Alamogordo, I thought I knew what I wanted: A second-floor apartment. I didn't get that second-floor apartment, and I'm glad I didn't.

As a ground-floor tenant, I: 

• Had French doors that opened out to a private corner of a community back yard, with shade trees, grass, an attractive stone wall, and my bird feeder, 
• Realized utility savings during the summer when I ran the air conditioning,
• Didn't worry about the noise I made when I walked around upstairs (as the sound proofing of the floors was very poor), and
• When family visited, the ground-floor access was so easy for them. 

My back yard view from Alamogordo apartment

When I moved to Lafayette, I thought I knew what I wanted: A ground-floor apartment. I didn't get that ground-floor apartment, and I'm glad I didn't:

As a second-floor tenant, I: 

• Have the privacy I crave in a place where, if I were on the ground floor, there'd be frequent vehicle and person traffic going by my windows; 
• Enjoy a view of big, lush, green plant life next to slanted roofs, and 
• Can sit outside on the wrought-iron chaise on the veranda by my door and look at the view and not a parked car. 

View from apartment, Lafayette, Louisiana

Speaking of views from my places, one of my favorites is the windowsill in my bedroom at Nely's house in Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. This was an upstairs place.

Windowsill view, Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia

View from bedroom window, Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia

This wasn't exactly my view from Azeb's house in Nazret, Ethiopia, but it was close:

View from Azeb's house, Nazret (Adama), Ethiopia

This was a ground-floor place. At 6:00 p.m. sharp, one must close the windows because that's when the bimbies (mosquitoes) come out. 

Louisiana: The Flags

The other day I was standing in the check-out line at a big-box store in Lafayette.

On the cornice at the front of the store, facing into the store, were four flags, in this order (left to right):

Credit: Sears

Yes, so I got that the first flag was the American flag and the fourth flag was the University of Louisiana flag. And I knew one of the middle flags was the state flag, but which one? And what was the remaining flag? The city of Lafayette's flag? Cajun flag? Parish (county) flag?

So seeing as how there were other people around me, I asked. The first woman said she didn't know because she'd only lived in Louisiana for two days. The cashier hadn't a clue. Among three other employees, one said she was pretty sure the pelican flag was the state flag and the one with the fleur-de-lis was the Acadiana flag.

I checked it out later online and she was right.

At first I thought, harumph, maybe this general flag ignorance is part of the allegedly dismal state of Louisiana education. But then I had to turn the tables back on myself for two reasons:

• Isn't there a protocol that determines the order in which a facility displays flags? In other words, the national flag, then state, then ... So shouldn't I have known this protocol?
• Also, isn't it incumbent upon me to research this stuff (something as basic as what the state flag looks like) before coming to live somewhere? 

Some notes:

The Louisiana graphic above is from the Secretary of State of Louisiana page, and it is the official flag standard. In the store, the flag was not official as evidenced by the irritatingly jarring text graphic: Union, Justice & Confidence. Yechh, that comma and ampersand - visually busy mess!

The Acadiana flag depicted above is the "official" Acadiana flag. Since Acadiana is neither an organization nor a political subdivision, I wondered who made it "official." Ah, the Louisiana state legislature did.



I like the New Mexico state flag for the simplicity of its design and for the powerful, multi-useful symbology of the zia. Both qualities make it easy to brand the state, and quite a few New Mexicans have tattoos of the zia symbol.









I've noticed in Louisiana that the fleur-de-lis serves a similar purpose as the zia - displaying a connection to a place, or better explained perhaps, to the spirit of a place.

Louisiana: The Three States

At the first Louisiana visitor center I hit after crossing over from Mississippi, the greeter mentioned that northern Louisiana was different from other parts of Louisiana, that it was more Mississippi-like than the southern half of the state.

More recently, "Thibodeaux," a student of history, explained to me that there are three states within Louisiana: 

• New Orleans, with its Catholic, French-from-France, Spanish, Caribbean-neé-Africa-and-France, and German roots; 
• North Louisiana, which was not part of the Louisiana Purchase (a delicious, salacious story in itself), predominantly Protestant, and its development more like the typical westward colonization from "Americans" as in Mississippi; and 
• South Louisiana, or Acadiana, with its strong French-from Nova Scotia-expelled to Louisiana culture.

Well, then there's Baton Rouge, added Thibodeaux, which has only one culture- make that "cult" - that of LSU and its high priests of the Church of Football.

More on the three states of Louisiana in the future, I'm sure.

Missouri: "Like Mowing a 68,000 Square-Mile Lawn"

Truman Building parking lot, Jefferson City, Missouri

"I just kept plying away like a termite on your house, .... My drive was more like mowing a 68,000-square-mile lawn."

Source: Former State Tourism Director Drives on All of Missouri's Back Roads, December 3, 2013, Missourian newspaper. 


John Drake Robinson drove all of Missouri's state-maintained roads over the course of 10 years. This is my kind of traveler. He lives in Columbia, Missouri, not far from my hometown in Jefferson City.

Missouri has a damn lot of road miles. I once heard Missouri has more miles of road than most states. Don't know if this is true. Yup, here we go, from the article cited above: "Missouri ranks No. 7 in the country for the number of miles in its highway system."

Ware Street, Jefferson City, Missouri

Remember the book on back roads, Blue Highways? The author, William Least Heat Moon, lives very close to Columbia, in a river town called Rocheport.

Rootless: Finding the Light

Bananas in light, St. Louis, Missouri

Whenever I enter my new apartment in Lafayette, I feel good. It’s a petite package. Feels cozy.

Truthfully, it’s also a little homely with its mishmash of salvaged floor surfaces, groaningly-ugly cabinet pulls, and how the sheet-metal back of the stove’s control panel faces the living area. I don’t care about these imperfections.

Lights in slats, Jefferson City, Missouri

There’s a big problem, though. No light. This is a function of the direction my windows face and the width of the eaves over my windows. It doesn’t help that several walls are chocolate brown, which would be lovely in many circumstances, but not this one.

I imagine the lack of sunlight in my Lafayette apartment will be a boon in the hot and humid summertime, but for everyday habitat, something must be done.

It reminds me of that hotel room I had in Lalibela, Ethiopia, in which town I had a major meltdown that distressed the city fathers. An excerpt of what happened after a gruelingly emotional day:

I went to my room, to my dark, depressing room, and discovered it hadn't been cleaned. Returned to the reception lobby, discovered that the custom is to turn in my key when I leave the hotel, so the staff know to clean it. Oh! Then I said, really, I need a different room. It is just too depressing. The assistant manager accompanied me back to my room. When we entered, he moved to turn on the light and I exclaimed, "The light is already on!" I said, "This is the room you give to someone who no longer has the will to live!"

It was not one of my finest moments.

Lamp glow, Warrenton, Missouri

 So I’ve got to gather some light.

Strategies I’ve implemented:

• Before I go to bed, I open the curtain in the living room so when I awaken in the morning, I actually know it’s daylight outside. Seriously.
• Open the bedroom blinds during the day so a little light can reach in.
• Unscrew all the bulbs in the bedroom’s ceiling fixture except for one, and keep it on when I’m home.
• Also keep one of the kitchen fixture lights on when I’m home. The kitchen is open to the living area.
• Open the front door for maximum sunlight during the day.
• Propped my full-length mirror against one of the brown walls in the bedroom so it can catch as much reflected light from the living area as possible. 
• Moved my office set-up so I am looking toward the door and window instead of where I had it originally, where I was facing toward the interior of my apartment (and the window at my side). 

Strategies I will execute soon:

• Work outside on the veranda regularly, weather permitting, so I can actually experience sun reaching my skin when I prop my feet against the balcony rail. Not to mention see the sunlight.
• If I can swing it, I’ll pick up a work table and chair that are tall so I’m level with the living room window. In other words, my head and torso will be above the windowsill.

I've had to gather light before. 

When I first arrived in Rustavi, (Caucasus) Georgia, I lived on the 4th floor of a grim tenement building. The color and warmth of the people within this building countered the depressing exterior of my building and its neighbors, but that wasn't my first visceral experience.

I had envisioned a "hills are alive" postcard view of  Georgia and what I had before me was something I imagined a city in Siberia to look like at the height of the Soviet regime, only hot.

To make this work, I had to find the beauty in my surroundings, and so began a series of The Building Behind Me. 

#30

St. Martinville, LA: Free furniture! Crawfish burger! Banana Tree!

The title says it all, really.

Food

Had lunch at the Steakhouse Tavern with a walking partner – took this photo of part of the menu:

Steakhouse tavern, St. Martinville, Louisiana

Items such as chiles rellenos and green chile stew in New Mexico have been replaced with delicacies such as crawfish burgers, crab burgers, and shrimp po’ boys.

Who says America has no traditional cuisine?!

Furniture

I’d been mentally lamenting the dearth of second-hand stores in Lafayette, and here was a guy ripping out his kitchen on a St. Martinville side street, and placing the cabinets on the sidewalk in front of his house, just as we walked by. I mean this was fresh scavenge!

We each took a cabinet, put them in our respective vehicles, and felt very satisfied. Mine is perfect for my office set-up. The printer is on top and office supplies are on the shelves, which I can hide behind the pretty doors.

Banana tree!

Incredibly, there is a mature banana tree in the patio outside the back of the Steakhouse tavern. It’s huge, and a very large bunch of green bananas hung from almost the very top.

Banana tree, St. Martinville, Louisiana

Imagine. I live in a place where bananas can grow.

Retrospective

I stopped in St. Martinville during my 2011/2012 road trip here. A very pretty village.

Rootless: The Economics of Laundry

Laundry day, Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

I dislike having to use a laundromat. Although one can pass the time at a laundromat in a relaxing or productive manner in a number of ways, still, I feel trapped there.

In Alamogordo, it was great – I had the use of a free (!) washer and dryer only steps from my front door. The distance was no greater than when I had my house and I had my machines in the basement.

In Playa del Carmen, it was also good – it was affordable to drop my laundry off at a commercial laundry, where staff would wash, dry, and fold (!) my stuff, and I could pick it up at the end of the day. I’m not sure if this would have been as economical if I lived there long-term, but for the time I was there, I loved this neighborhood amenity.

In Caucasus Georgia, well, yikes. My first hostess had no machines, so I did all my washing and drying by hand. In my second hostess’ home, there was a washing machine (yay!) and we hung our clothes out to dry. Because water and sometimes electricity were unavailable, it was good policy to not delay one’s washing routine, as the outages were unpredictable.

Laundry day, Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

Here in Lafayette, I’m delighted that I’ve got a washer and dryer on site. The laundry shed is almost as conveniently close as it was in Alamogordo. What’s even better is that the machines are in good working order, and fast. The wash takes half an hour and the dryer takes 45 minutes.

The downside: Each load costs $1.50 for each machine.

Laundry day, Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

The economic consequences of my new laundry situation:

• The machines take only quarters, so part of my new living routine must include the regular acquisition of same. This isn’t that simple for me, because I don’t use cash much in my transactions. To feed the weekly quarter habit, I’ll need to score 12 quarters! Maybe I’ll find a place where I can get a month’s supply at a time. …. Ah, just realized I can stop at a local laundromat (and maybe a car wash) and get quarters from their money-changing machines. (On a national scale, all this money-changing for washing clothes and vehicles seems like a lot of busy work. … surely some places are going to pre-loaded cards by now?)
• Each washer/dryer load costs $3, so if I separate my colors and whites, that’s $6 per week. Which works out to $312 per year.
• This is an incentive to do my clothes in one load per week to save $156.
• The cost is also an incentive to avoid buying white fabrics in the future. As it is, I have already tossed my whites in with my colors to achieve one load of wash instead of two.

Louisiana: Thanksgiving

In 2010, I spent Thanksgiving in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, where I was taking a CELTA course. A beautiful day, with a visit from my mother and Brother3, the jazz festival, a big ol’ orange moon.

In 2011, I was at the Ataturk Airport in Istanbul, on my way home for a visit to family and friends from Caucasus Georgia. I felt part of the ancient Silk Road there, doing what we humans have been doing in that area for centuries, crossing from here to there or back again for the good and ill reasons we do such things.

In 2012, it looks like I was listening to great music in New Mexico.  

This year, I’m in a new place, now in Louisiana. Still building my nest, so there’s that as-yet unsettled feeling, but in the main, as I walk down one of my new streets, I have to stop sometimes and look around and wonder at the pleasure of it. Not just being here in Louisiana, but the experience of New Mexico, of Caucasus Georgia, of Ethiopia, of Playa. 

There is wonder, too, at the deep benefits of technology that allow family and friends to connect on important days of the year, despite the physical miles that are between them.

A simple day today.

At home, ate some roast chicken, sweet potatoes, and pumpernickel toast. Drank pumpkin spice coffee. Listened to some trance-inducing, bone-reverberating music from Tinarawen. (Thanks to Phil inthe Blank for alerting his readers to this group.) 

In the evening, sipped a Louisiana beer while using the wifi at a local tavern, surrounded by the happy noise of some 60s-70s classic R&B and cheerful talk of other patrons.

Louisiana: Walmart freezer section

Louisiana trinity: Onions, celery, bell peppers

• Sweet potato patties
• Two-pound bags of the Louisiana trinity: chopped mix of onions, peppers, and celery
• Extra-big bags of okra

Frozen sweet potato patties

Louisiana and New Mexico: Sun v. Shade

As I settle into Lafayette, the contrast with Alamogordo is marked, with one exception.

The differences

Alamogordo --> Sun, light, aridity. The Sacramento Mountains on one side, the brilliant White Sands on the other, and the San Andres further west. Two sunrises, two sunsets. A sense of openness, expanse, far-away horizons.

From my apartment, I saw the Sacramento Mountains so close it felt I could almost touch them. The sounds of doves.

Lafayette --> Shade trees, their long, curvy limbs reaching across residential roads toward their sisters on the other side. Moist air. Fat rain droplets perch on the windshield like dew on grass. Dense traffic, narrow lanes, hurry.

From my new apartment, on the second floor, I see rooftops and trees. There is a spectacular tropical plant in the yard next door. The sounds of squirrels. 

Lafayette, Louisiana

A similarity

Since I’ve moved in, it has been cloudy in Lafayette. The cloud cover is close in, so much so that when I saw a plane rise from the Lafayette airport nearby, and then watched it disappear ghostlike, I couldn’t believe how completely the clouds obscured the plane’s body. Just like how the mist and clouds obscure the Sacramento Mountains.