Greetings from My Mountain Cabin,
This post was composed during a recently concluded trip to New Orleans.
With the air so humid, I feel like I am breathing liquid sunshine. If I were to wave a towel in a circle over my head, I sense the cloth would become saturated with moisture. Evaporation is the physical principle underlying refrigeration. Yet it seems like the beads of sweat making my body glisten have beads of sweat of their own. For this mountain boy, the heat is oppressive and inescapable.
New Orleans in July 2010 is a city that is soul-weary. Wrapped in the lingering aftermath of despair from hurricane Katrina, the city was nonetheless making strides toward normalcy when the BP oil tragedy occurred. Sometimes events that intercept our individual or collective pathways present challenges that initially appear insurmountable. A postulation that often proves false.
I had lunch yesterday with a delightful friend who is a New Orleans native. Linda received an education that prepared her to be a nurse, yet she has transcended even that calling. Perhaps in part because of facing challenges in her own life, Linda's passion is serving as a resource for easing the pain of others. The national news media often portrays what is wrong in a given situation. Not everyone in post-Katrina New Orleans was a predator bent on further victimizing the victims; there were many beautiful souls, like Linda, who remained resolute to help in the recovery.
Linda and I went to a restaurant called Drago's in nearby Metairie. This establishment has been in the Drago family for several generations. The meal was delicious. I later came to learn that Drago's actually provided free food to the local citizenry for many weeks after the hurricane passed. Consider me a permanent Drago's customer any time I am in town.
Assaulted by pandemic fever, floods, hurricanes, political corruption, street crime, wars fought against the French, English, Native Americans and "Damn Yankees," N’Awlins has always come back. Perhaps overcoming adversity has resulted in a proclivity for celebration. Just about any reason is good enough to stage a celebration, be it musical, culinary, traditional or just plain goofy.
In Audubon Park there dwells a live oak that is known locally as "The Tree of Life." Historical accounts tell us the seedling was planted in 1792. The tree is a popular venue for wedding ceremonies, since the bride, groom and guests can all fit under its enormous boughs.
It is a staggering thought to reflect upon the moments in history that are represented by this tree's growth rings. Massive in girth, The Tree of Life is just about as old as is the United States of America itself—a silent sentinel bearing witness to the emergence of a nation. Standing in its shade, touching its bark, I am awestruck in the tree's presence.
What better icon than The Tree of Life to represent the realization that over the course of history, few setbacks have proven unyielding when confronted by the indomitable human spirit?
The tree endures as does our nation.
I am sure I will return to The Big Easy. Yet, the city seems to be doing quite well without me.
Laissez le bon temps rouler,
Ed
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