Making Memories In The Swamp: Photo-Essay

Saturday Morning

While I have often enjoyed the anticipation and planning of a road trip, whether a half-day spent close to home or a two-month cross-country jaunt, there are other times I prefer a-bare-bones-agenda approach. Sometimes the only pre-trip plan is to fill my truck's fuel tank before setting out.

The latter was the agenda my son, Jake, and I followed on a recent, cool, overcast, spring morning. We did go one step further.  We decided to haul our cameras along. We are happy we did and, as I share our photographs taken that day, we hope you are as well.

As I backed out of the driveway, I considered driving to one of the many old and beautiful churches nearby to photograph the beautiful statuary that adorn the exterior of these edifices. Without really deciding otherwise, I found myself heading south, away from the populated areas, toward the marsh where all south-bound roads in Louisiana's "crows foot" eventually end.

In a short time we were on the "new" four-lane highway leading to the small communities of Crown Point, Barataria, Lafitte, and Jean Lafitte. You may recognize a few of these names. You are correct if you assumed the last two communities were named for the famed pirate-hero of the same name. It was this labyrinth of bays, lakes, canals, bayous, and swamps that Lafitte and his band of buccaneer's used as their "home-base" and "hide-out" when resting from their pirating pursuits.

Moving further south, passing the last convenience stores and subdivisions, Jake and I began to spot herons fishing in the roadside ditches. It was nice to see the planners of this "new" highway, which shortened the traveling distance from the city to these end-of the-road communities, had the foresight to plant hundreds of small cypress trees in its median; a small step toward lessening the sterility of the arrow-straight concrete path.

Choosing A Path

Nearing the end of the highway, a high bridge spans the Intercoastal Canal, the main waterway through the area. The Intercoastal is large enough for tugs and barges to navigate. Along either side of the Intercoastal Canal are the homes, both old and new, of the fisherman, shrimpers, the owners of fishing charter services both large and small, and swamp tour operators whose families have lived along these waterways for generations.

Rather than crossing the Intercoastal and turning toward the community of Lafitte, we veered off the main highway and coasted to a stop at the end of the short "exit ramp" where it t-boned into an old narrow, two-lane that parallels the near-side of the waterway. A left turn would have taken us past the serene Ava Maria Retreat Center and around a long loop through the village of Crown Point. The route eventually circles back to the "new" highway we had just exited.

To our right, a few hundred yards down, the small road crossed over Kenta Canal. There, on one side of the narrow roadway is a small area with picnic tables and a small pier. The area is maintained by the National Parks Service as part of the Barataria Unit of the Jean Lafitte National Park. There we parked the truck, beckoned to explore the area by this beautiful Live Oak splashed with Spanish Moss.

We had been to the area once before with a friend. From this spot we launched a canoe for a nighttime paddle between the Oaks, Cypress, and Willows that line each side of the canal. On that trip we were blessed with memories that we will each treasure for our lifetimes.

That evening, after a half-hour of paddling along the narrow waterway, we found a small piece of ground large enough for the three of us to disembark. From there, in the otherwise black, bayou night, we stood in awe and silence, and watched the huge, golden moon rise amidst, and then above, the swamp. This day, Kenta Canal somehow pulled off the same sort of memory-making once again, as our "quick stop" stretched into hours.

 Our Treasures

We walked the short distance to the edge of the small waterway and onto the small pier. It was but a stone's throw away from where the narrow road crosses the canal.

If my memory serves me correctly, from the informational signs I once read in another area of the park, the Kenta Canal was originally a small bayou. Early settlers in the Bayou Coquille area widened into a canal to facilitate the movement of cypress logs they harvested within the swamp.

The next treasure we found, was a stand of the beautiful Wild Iris that bloom in the area. There were a dozen or more in the beautiful bloom. Along the bank we found many other stands of two or three.

On the other side of the park, the one most frequented by visitors, these same flowers bloom by the thousands along the park's Bayou Coquille Trail. The two to four week period these magnificent flowers bloom is, by far, the parks busiest period, as many travel from near and far to see nature's art display. Here along Kenta, Jake and I were alone with our smaller cache of treasure.

We walked further along the banks, through the stands of Palmetto which grow thick in the low-lying, forested areas of South Louisiana. One can easily imagine what the tenacious green fronds of these plants were

used for in times past.

The smaller wildflowers were also in bloom. I do not know their names. I simply call them beautiful. Their colors were bright and vivid even without the aid of the Gulf Coast sun.

Scattered here and there along the trail, they were the perfect highlight to the lush green that had, in the past few weeks, began to return, replacing the faded and washed-out greens, browns, and grays that dominate the swamps winter palette.

We ambled along at a treasure-hunting pace. We did not want to miss any small thing that desired to reveal itself. Occasionally, our path would take us back to the water's edge. Each time we surveyed the dark mud for the tracks of deer, nutria, raccoon, turkey, opossum, armadillo, and wading birds of all shapes and sizes that make the swamp their home. Each clearing exposed a new vista of the water, the trees , the sky...

We walked for a half-mile or so before the trail was blocked and we could go no farther. It was covered by a tangle of trees that had "fallen" victim to the powerful winds of Hurricane Katrina one-and-a-half years before.

The storm claimed many trees throughout the area. The loss was especially visible in the midst of winter, when "holes" in the stands of trees could be seen from a distance.

At the spot where we turned to retrace our steps, I spied a the gleam of, what turned out to be, a very small part of a glass bottle buried in the damp earth. It was held securely, like the arms of a mother, by tree roots that had embraced it in the passage of time. With sticks, an ever-present pocket-sized multi-tool, and half an oyster shell, we worked like archaeologists uncovering ancient artifacts to free the bottle.  Jake, who collects old and unique bottles, now has a "small" Coca-Cola bottle, the type I once searched for as a kid to bring to the corner store for a few pennies. This particular "relic" increased in value in his twelve-year-old eyes when we cleaned off its muddy bottom to discover the beverage was originally bottled in the hometown of "The King,"...Tupelo, Mississippi.

On our return trip, as we filled two plastic grocery bags we picked up along the trail and filled them had found with beverage cans, Styrofoam cups, and other trash that had been, without regard, strewn along the trail. Unable to fathom the disregard and lack of respect of their depositors, Jake and I agreed we would keep a box of trash bags behind the truck seat to use when we returned to this site or any other natural area, in hopes that we might leave the area a fraction cleaner than it was when we arrived.

Crossing The Road

Rather than loading into the truck and moving on, we were beckoned to cross the road by another grand Live Oak.

Just as we prepared to cross, one of the few vehicles that had ventured down the old highway slowed to a crawl. Fortunately, it was a panel van with its sides plastered with pictures of dozens of delectable ice-cream treats. In maintaining the spontaneity of our adventure, I beckoned the purveyor of goodies to stop.

Some would call the timing of this development a "coincidence," others might define it as "synchronicity." I am convinced my encounter with this lovely lady was a premeditated blessing. Within a minute or so of our first exchange, Ms. Elke and I were immersed in what I now call the "Hurricane Katrina Exchange." Just as we had both done countless times before with many other people in many other places, we were sharing our personal "Katrina Stories." Everyone affected by the storm in August, 2005 has one to tell. I do not know how long the phenomena of the "Hurricane Katrina Exchange" will continue. Until then we will continue to share them with each other. Along with all else that occurred, the event bound acquaintances and strangers alike, in some inexplicable way.

Fortunately, though not completely finished, my wife and I have been able to move back into our home. Ms. Elke and her husband evacuated to Houston where they continue to reside as they put their Louisiana lives on hold waiting for someone, anyone, to cut through the thick, gooey red tape that binds them in a holding pattern, unable to begin rebuilding their lives and home.

As I stood in the open door of her idling van, which she had moved partially off the roadway, "just in case" someone happened to pass, she told me how she and her husband "come back home" as often as they can. While here, she drives the van to makes a few bucks to help their situation.

Of course, Jake and I were eager to contribute to her cause. Thus, we scarfed down a couple of cookies and cream ice cream bars as Elke and I talked and became fast friends. She mentioned she wanted to see the Purple Iris blooming in the park, but did not have the time. Before she departed to continue her rounds through the area's small fishing towns, I asked for her permission to write of our encounter. As you can see, she happily agreed.

Before driving away she informed me of the area where she and her husband were "holed-up" in Houston. I was surprised by how close they happened to be to my favorite Chinese restaurant. I told her of Lai Lai Dumpling House, a very small, hole-in-the wall restaurant, where they serve delicious Chinese dishes that have not been Americanized. Elke was ecstatic and even went as far as to write the information, including my suggestion to sample their "Triple Meat Flat Rice Noodles."

Then, as with so many others before, during, and since August 29^th, 2005, another wonderful, yet bruised soul was in and out of my life in a matter of minutes. It seems we are there and gone like so many "feeder bands" cast off to circulate around the eye of the storm. We move swiftly in, leave our mark and move on.

On The Trail Again

The evening we canoed Kenta Canal, we paddled beneath and beyond the bridge. However, as the three of us sang to the cypress, passing a good time by the light of the swamp moon, our progress was halted by several large trees that had been blown across the canal by the hurricane. An attempt to portage around the spot in the swamp night was not an adventure we cared to take, ending our trip for the evening. On this day, Jake and I followed a path that ran parallel to the canal far beyond that point. We were awarded with more beautiful views of the canal and the surrounding lowland forest.

We happened upon a cluster of unusual and beautiful white flowers along the way. I do not know their identity. Unlike the wildflowers and the Purple Iris that were abundant, this was the sole growth of this type of flower we encountered on our trek.

We encountered areas of small Elephant's Ear sprouting among the spring grasses that had recently transformed into a lush green carpet.

Jake even had a visitor who bravely stopped for a rest on the bill of his cap!

A muddy slough ended our trail. With no wish to be coated in "gumbo mud" we decided against attempting to cross at that particular point. We followed the occasional backwater away from the canal in hopes of finding a drier or narrow spot to cross. We did not find a way across. However, at one point, in the middle of the semi-dry cut we located a small development of "crawfish condos."

With our forward progress stopped, Jake and I took a break and plotted our next course of action. We decided to head back to the old truck and search further up the road for treasures the pirate, Lafitte, may have left behind.

 On our hike out of the swamp, we took a few more shots of Katrina's handiwork among the area's trees. However, this land and everything that lives above, on, or beneath it, has long endured such storms, long before men began to recognize that the dark clouds gathering overhead, the ever-stiffening wind, and the incipient splashes of rain were any more than a common, mid-summer thunderstorm.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the walk with Jake and me.