Something many of us debate here in SWLA is whether to stay or move from this soggy bottom that holds our thick knee-deep roots. These roots are burrowed and muddied in the marsh mud by many generations. Since Hurricanes Rita and Katrina in 2005 and most recent with Hurricanes Laura/Delta in 2020 and now Ida in 2021, we have asked ourselves: "Why do we stay?" And, most often, "Where shall we go?"
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"This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven."
~ Longfellow
* * * * *
I ran into a high school friend after Hurricane Laura/Delta and asked if she was going to stay or move. It's become as common a question as asking someone how they are doing or if they've had Covid yet. With a simple shrug and smile she said, "This is home." In three words she has found her answer.
It struck me anew that any of us here in South Louisiana would dare see any prospects of staying on this beaten coastline when we have witnessed (within our lifetime) major storms funnel the beach sands. The Lake Area is the most obsolete of all. The area literally looks, feels, smells abandoned. New Orleans and Texas are so doggone big and large, we...here in the heel of Louisiana...are quaintly invisible, quietly humble, and quickly forgotten. My girls shop in Lafayette (to the east) or Beaumont (to the west) of us. The news media shines the camera on Houston to the west and New Orleans further to the east. The Lake area doesn't offer much beyond the refineries and fishing but it centers us between two worlds. We are never too rich and never too poor. We absorb both.
The idealist and optimist in me fights to find the beauty despite the facts of life and most of the time I win. I do this through writing. Then the realist rears it's powerful head and challenges me to justify my outlook. I often suspect the idealist is lying. Once upon a time, I even began this blog for the purpose of searching for all the things Louisiana offered. Plenty of times, I've set the mouse aside. This marsh mud is full of thick grass and mosquitoes and alligators and the realist silences me.
At this point, we are all tired...the realist and the idealist.
Some have already left the coastline. Many have. Our oldest daughter and her little family relocated last month. Despite having a master's degree in nursing and a worldwide pandemic on the calendar, Hurricane Laura left her without a job. She gave herself a year to find something local that worked for her family and her years of experience. Her son was a month old when they evacuated last year, three months for the second time. She was way tired. Without getting into all the logistics of their decision-making, they made a decision to relocate and moved forward. I'm pretty sure Ida was the Gulf's way of giving her a thumbs-up.
* * * * *
"Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city,
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons,
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn.
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September,
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow,
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin,
Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence."
~ Longfellow
* * * * *
When people ask why our daughter moved, I have a ready list of all the reasons they left. They simply did what they thought was best for their family. That's what pioneers do. Despite how hard it is to leave.
* * * * *
~ Longfellow
* * * * *
Moving west is a very real attribute of our spiritual search for something better. People have always moved west in their search for something...security, comfort, opportunity, wanderlust, avoidance even...whatever the thing is for which we search. Today is no different. Even in earlier years, the Cajuns moved west along the coastline. They left the wet prairies of Opelousas, Lafayette, Kaplan, Scott, New Iberia, and New Orleans and came to the Lake Area in a search for better job opportunities. Jennings, LA became the Cradle of Louisiana Oil and was a big reason for the movement. Some young families were just looking for a change. The Lake area built itself up, families moved here, and expanded. The Lake Area is very much a workman's land. It's a bit crude, resilient would a good descriptive word, and it provides jobs that keep the rest of America functioning. The heel may be the heel but, even so, it supports the rest of the foot. This locale along the water is necessary for trade but many families drifted back to the more civil, refined, eastern cities of Lafayette and Baton Rouge. This movement of flux between east, west and central Louisiana catapulted recently and a new westward movement evolved not just for Louisianans but for the rest of the country. The movement to the state of Texas for work opportunities as well as for political reasons is one that belongs in the history books.
For the most part, our family has stayed in SWLA. Some cousins have ventured on but for the most part the family structure still strings itself across the I10 corridor and we literally wave our adieus as we exit into our respective towns along the coastline. And we stay. And, yes, we wonder why we stay when, at some point, we have all wanted to leave.
But something gives us permission to shrug when asked if we are staying and many of us answer: "This is home" as though the rest of the country should know what we mean by this.
Family would be the # 1 reason I suspect Louisianans stay...with food as a close second (or a rather close debate on the two); but I suspect there are other reasons.
Such as this recent article piece where you hear the idealist passionately shut down the realist: Faithful Pray for Protection from Storms
"Among those in attendance at the Mass and visit to the Shrine were Mr. J.C. Reina, 94, and his wife Madge, 88, longtime parishioners of Sacred Heart of Jesus Catholic Church in Creole and residents of the Oak Grove community between Creole and Grand Chenier. Both retirees from the Cameron Parish school system, the Reinas have never thought about living anywhere else.
“Our plan is to move back to Oak Grove. That is home to me,” said Madge who is no stranger to hurricanes. “We were married in 1953 and Audrey hit in 1957. After starting over from Audrey, Rita, Ike, and now Laura and Delta, we just do what we have to do. The Blessed Mother is our guiding light, and the Holy Rosary is one of our most frequent prayers.”
"Madge has deep roots to Sacred Heart, the second oldest parish in the Diocese of Lake Charles. Her grandfather Boyd Nunez was involved in its formative years. “Hurricane Laura makes you face reality,” she said. “It was disappointing to learn some of the churches would not be rebuilt, but at the same time it is realistic to know we don’t have the population or the finances to keep the churches going. I am grateful that our church is going to the Sweetlake community; it’s better than no church at all.”
"Mr. Guy Murphy, 81, and his wife, Nelvia, 80, also parishioners of Sacred Heart of Jesus Parish have witnessed many hurricanes throughout their 60 years of marriage. What is it about the area that keeps them going back after each storm? “Our hearts are there,” said Nelvia. “We have property there; we have cattle. My family loves farming. We have a daughter (Lisa Savoie) who is buried in Sacred Heart of Jesus Cemetery in Creole. My heart is there, too.”
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Through this article I hear the voice of older Cajuns desiring to go back to a land close to the turbulent waters and I think of our recent memories bonded through sweat and stress and how much pride we have for this land that gave boatloads of homeless exiles a home after the Le Grand Derangement.
The slice that is SWLA is like no other place in America. I've been told this by more than one friend who moved here from further north. Family ties are so strong they almost choke you, or feel as though they might. For the most part, our children don't leave. Some do. Many don't. Most the time we don't fight those apron strings. They make life safe and secure. They become our comfort zone when the rest of the world threatens to bully, manipulate, or crush us. Sometimes even those apron string tend to do that but the familiarity of those kitchen aromas subdues the threat. The family that eats together stays together, ya know. ;-)
Those Acadian ancestors found food and a future in this root-choked land. So they lingered. They weathered storms here long before we existed and they were free to raise their children as they saw fit and to live the faith they loved. Rather than allow the land to choke them, they embraced it with full arms and an even fuller hearts. Those roots gave them foot and medicine and ancient fossilized roots gave them oil to raise their families on. The refineries to the west built roots in the ground that sustained and operated colleges, medical institutes, and lifestyles to the east. I grew up with fervent love for this state because my father loved it so much. It wasn't the area he cared so much about. It was his love for the history and people and culture and food that he shared with me.
I think of his remains and those of my grandparents lying in the graveyard so close to that coastline and I realize that no matter where we end up, this will always be home. I also know that as that coastline recedes, the need to move to higher ground becomes a realistic reality. Life is fluid that way (bad pun, I know). What does emerge is the reality that we do take home with us, wherever we go. Home is the way we hold others, lift others, serve others, feed others, dress others, and---absolutely---pray for others. When we do these things for those we love, we are home. Almost.
Still, we are restless beings. A constant craving for "something more" fuels us and leads us. We need to make a home of our own. A place we feel safe, accepted, and happy. A place of belonging. A place we can lie our being down and feel what we are matters.
* * * * *
"Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them;
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion,
Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed."
~ Longfellow
* * * * *
I see the necessity of younger generations moving on and away. It's necessary for the survival of families and community and life. If they are called to do it then they should, least one day the state of Louisiana become the City of Atlantis, soaked and stagnant in a watery death. And like Evangeline's father Benedicte who watched his beloved earthly home burn into dust and the dead himself was left on a sandy shore forevermore...reality never leaves us.
Dwell with it, we must.
* * * * *
"Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season
Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile,
Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard."
Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side,
Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches,
But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pré."
* * * * *
Life will have moved on as our ancestors did so before us: sometimes because of frivolous wanderlust, sometimes because of youthful yearnings, perhaps retirement dreams, often because of job situations, and sometimes out of hopeless necessity. But our understanding of home is found in every childhood memory and everything our parents and grandparents ever told us. And that expands us all, and those around us.
* * * * *
"Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow,
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard,
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed."
~ Longfellow
* * * * *
Life will always be a series of storms no matter where we live. We are, in this moment and time, separated from our true homeland. This land is not our forever home. Remember that. St. Augustine said: "Our heart is restless under it finds its rest in Thee." So we wander and we search with all good intent as we seek to make a home for ourselves and our loved ones. If we place those decisions for the well-being and safety of our families, then our families will be blessed. We are homeless in an uncertain world, always seeking a safe haven to call home as we make our eternal journey towards heaven. And we are reminded yet again that this world is not our home.
So thus we go, as did Evangeline and her father and we and our fathers before us...ebbing and flowing through life's muddy marsh, searching for home.
* * * * *
"Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey!
"Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches
Dwells another race, with other customs and language."
~ Longfellow
