Today another military wife who grew up just a couple hours away asked if I felt like we were settling in. We have now lived in this house for 2 whole months. We have pictures on the walls. I have found places to shop other than Walmart. I've figured out a few routes to run. But I still feel like a newcomer.
Is it because I'm from the north and this is the deep south? I'm really midwestern and have more in common with the people here than those on the east coast, where we had been living for 4 years. Is it because it is so darn hot and humid here? It gets hot enough back home to smell alfalfa cooking, a sweet smell of summer.
Maybe it is because I feel sad driving around here. So many homes boarded up (hurricane shutters or washed out windows?), yards grown over with weeds, rusted out cars and old coolers parked out front. There isn't really an urban center because it was washed away by Katrina. The devastation of that storm is still plainly evident four years later, and I feel a little guilty when I complain about this place. The proportion of destruction is difficult to imagine. Perhaps more difficult to understand is why people came back. Why rebuild multimillion dollar casinos on the beach, daring another storm to destroy them? Do they make that much money? The perseverence of the people is awe-inspiring, but their daring is even more surprising. Perhaps because I dug up my own roots and moved on, became a displaced person by choice, I wonder why not resettle somewhere safer. But then what place is really safe?
Yesterday afternoon, we spent an hour driving around trying to find a little trail I had read about in a magazine. When the whining of the kids had finally convinced us to head home, we suddenly came upon the trail head, just a few miles down from the casinos. We all hopped out and walked the short trail. We surprised small lizards, giant grasshoppers (looking like they were painted by Walter Anderson, a local artist, my son pointed out), a moth that hovered and flitted like a hummingbird, and a marsh grown over with pitcher plants, an orchid
like plant I didn't recognize, and a vivid red lily. I plan to buy a Gulf Coast plant identification book. I want to go back with my camera. A connection to this place has formed. Now I just need to take the time to eat a good po'boy.
Is it because I'm from the north and this is the deep south? I'm really midwestern and have more in common with the people here than those on the east coast, where we had been living for 4 years. Is it because it is so darn hot and humid here? It gets hot enough back home to smell alfalfa cooking, a sweet smell of summer.
Maybe it is because I feel sad driving around here. So many homes boarded up (hurricane shutters or washed out windows?), yards grown over with weeds, rusted out cars and old coolers parked out front. There isn't really an urban center because it was washed away by Katrina. The devastation of that storm is still plainly evident four years later, and I feel a little guilty when I complain about this place. The proportion of destruction is difficult to imagine. Perhaps more difficult to understand is why people came back. Why rebuild multimillion dollar casinos on the beach, daring another storm to destroy them? Do they make that much money? The perseverence of the people is awe-inspiring, but their daring is even more surprising. Perhaps because I dug up my own roots and moved on, became a displaced person by choice, I wonder why not resettle somewhere safer. But then what place is really safe?
Yesterday afternoon, we spent an hour driving around trying to find a little trail I had read about in a magazine. When the whining of the kids had finally convinced us to head home, we suddenly came upon the trail head, just a few miles down from the casinos. We all hopped out and walked the short trail. We surprised small lizards, giant grasshoppers (looking like they were painted by Walter Anderson, a local artist, my son pointed out), a moth that hovered and flitted like a hummingbird, and a marsh grown over with pitcher plants, an orchid
like plant I didn't recognize, and a vivid red lily. I plan to buy a Gulf Coast plant identification book. I want to go back with my camera. A connection to this place has formed. Now I just need to take the time to eat a good po'boy.P.S. After a little searching, I think what I thought was an orchid is really the blossom of the pitcher plant.
From arbolz
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