I looked at my phone and a call was coming in from Paris. My mind told me that either I was getting a call from a long ago deceased relative or the spam gods were at it again. Anyway, I hit delete an block quickly and it brought to mind this cute little bistro in New Iberia that specializes in french pastry.

This little front porch was magical. The scent of magnolias drifted on the breeze and the twist and turns of the old oak made me feel right at home. Being invited to spend a long weekend in the hometown of Walter Anderson, the celebrated artist of Ocean Springs, well no one would say no to that. So three women and one husband planned a getaway each having their own agendas. Cousins #1 wanted to see the golden sunset over the white sand beaches, Cousin #2 wanted to take early morning drives to watch the gulf fisherman heading out to Biloxi Bay, Cousin #3, the true artist among us, wanted to take in the sights of Andersons water colors throughout the museum, and the laughing husband wanted to eat Southern style Catfish at Aunt Jennys. At the perfect end of each day we gathered on the porch and shared our memories, sipped a couple of coctails, and let our laughter fill the oaks. Au revoir till our next adventure.

Looking out from the 8th floor of the Tides the harbor scene seemed haunting. In my thoughts I could see a really good book jacket for a Patrica Cornwell mystery novel. /b>

Well! Todays picture was like the big box of crayons we played with as kids. Ya'll remember, Sea Green and Blue Grey. Last night the storm came just close enough to us to get the Grey Goose flowing and stories being retold of childhood beach vacations. My nephews could write a best selling book. Anyone that knows the Faucheaux boy's can understand. /b>

Every March in Iberia Parish there is a Festival of the Live Oaks that celebrates their beauty. It has inspired many authors to write stories about how deep their roots run. Recently while driving under the canopy of the live oaks that line the main street, I noticed a for sale sign next to the Teche Motel. I believe in the 1950’s era places like this were called Tourist Cabins. I noticed the old sign advertising their name. It was worn out with its neon lights half lit. I wondered if James Lee Burke slept here and maybe wrote a couple of chapters of the Dave Robicheaux novels. I read somewhere that great story tellers research the areas they write about. So, it could be possible that Mr. Burke knocked on the office door early one morning and the night clerk opening the hatch said what do you want, in her best aggravated tone. I drove away laughing but I really do wake up way too early.

The elegant camps that line the two lane highway headed to Vermillion Bay reminds me of a page out of Garden and Gun Magazine. The locals call this area The Point and I can just imagine all the summer coctails that are created on the verandas facing the gulf. With each camp given a unique name to describe it's zest for a bon tempt, one surely could be called Flip Flop Heaven.

 A cobblestone paved street leads to the old train station where the Sunset Limited still passes occasionally.  It’s very seldom, if at all, do you see a caboose following these vibrant colored engines today.  Of course I tell myself it's only a short car drive to New Orleans but imagine sitting on the Sunset limited sharing cocktails with childhood friends. Now that would be the perfect memory maker. 

  The old brick walls are covered in beautiful art.     Some created digitally and others created by Rachels own hands as only a true artist can.   Her business called A SALON is filled with a collection of quirky pieces. Two African carved masks are positioned on the wall.  A draped Western Cow hide shields an upstairs loft, and in a hidden corner a bronze Buddha.   Something for everyone.   As clients come and go, I watched her work her magic like a Voodoo Queen.     It’s easy to love this quaint salon.   Wasn’t Marie Laveaux a French Quarter beautician?

  As I drove down a side street in New Iberia I noticed how this home had seen better days. I then remembered a story told to me about a gifted silver tea set. It came to my mother from a woman whose family lived there. The woman’s family was raised in the Atchafalaya Basin and as often happened they move to town and lived a cultured life.   I don’t remember my mother ever making Tea. She was more of a cocktail in a crystal glass type of woman. C’est la vie.

The bells toll and it seems to drift through the oaks. Almost like a whisper but you can actually feel it's vibration.    The church has sent out its message to the locals.  People get ready.       

 80th Year of sweet cane sugar. The queen city was extremely quiet this morning. Seems the large crowds has picked up after themselves.  I parked for a while and watched a few festivilians  slowly head to Victors Cafe for some steaming black coffee. Most likely to fix what hurts this morning.  Any way they should give a thank you to all the cane farmers for growing that sweet sweet nectar.

 This photograph was taken on a recent weekend excursion down to Rutherford Beach  in Cameron Parish.  I was the driver of the getaway truck with two of my cousins and as we drove up on this scene we found the marsh on fire.  It this doesn't scream that the earth is in trouble nothing does.  Louisiana is know for it subtropical landscape with its lush marshes and bays. It's endless summer rains and high humidity, but not today.  It's just alarming how fragile the coast is.   Now I realize some would say this is only land and nature will repair itself,  but will it?  I pray for all of the people who are dealing with all of the natural disasters that are taking place in different parts of the world today.

 Her grandfather loved this old Oak and it made the perfect backdrop for this picture.  She is a teenager now and I plan to get a updated picture of her and her dad.

 Once I thought I would like for my bones to be spread about in this valley.  This scene just gave me a feeling of peace.  Not anymore.  I've come to realize that being surrounded by my ancestors who traveled the bayou's and sat underneath the oaks is where I might find my peace.  And just in case someone wants to dance, and I'll be in good company. 

 The swamp glow always holds your attention for a special moment in time.  

This photograph was taken at the local festival celebrating the arrival of the Acadians to St. Martin Parish.  If you were born in Cajun Country you would be familiar with a local brand of coffee called Mellow Joy. The Bayou Teche's water matches the color perfectly. 

 A revisiting of past adventures reminds me of Carson McCullers words." In the dusk two mutes walked slowly home together." Seems so appropriate.  

 As this boat idled towards the dock the fisherman hollered out, it was a great day of fishing. It's a scene like this that makes me understand why they call Louisiana the Sportman's Paradise.  Just a beautiful sunset. 

 A haunting scene from the Bayou Teche. I half expected to see a woman with a voodoo headdress crossing over the bridge.

I've often heard this said by the Atchafalaya  Swamper , today the swamps are as thick as soup.  This scene seems to fit that quote perfectly.