A Short Reflection on Cajun Country

“He saw his daughter growing up on the windy prairie in a hard-bitten town full of sun-wrinkled geezers, tomato barbecue, Pearl beer, and country music.
”

— Tim Gautreaux, “Floyd’s Girl”

After spending three nights in Baton Rouge, we hopped in the van and headed for Cajun Country. We stayed at the Bayou Cabins Bed & Breakfast in Breaux Bridge, a small town with a population of about 8,000. Candace, Claire, Lauryn, Ryan, and I stayed in cabin 11, the “Maison De Parrain (Godfather’s House)”. The cabin was homey and eclectic with bright blue, green, and yellow paint on the walls, homemade quilts and mismatching sheets, a shiny gold replica of Jean LaFitte’s pirate ship, and an antique mirror. At breakfast the owners served us crawfish-shaped beignets and pointed out baby Hunter Hayes’ picture on the wall. Hunter grew up in Breaux Bridge three blocks away from the Bayou Cabins and on Sundays would participate in a kids’ Cajun music jam session. Lafayette, the largest city in Cajun Country, was about a 30 minute drive away. Our first night in Breaux Bridge we drove to Randol’s, a Cajun seafood place, for dinner. At Randol’s we watched old-timers dance enthusiastically to live Cajun music, and some of us including Andrew even joined in for a song or two.

Breaux Bridge was a nice change from the hustle and bustle of New Orleans. My favorite experience in Cajun Country was going to listen to authentic Cajun music at Joie de Vivre (“joy of life”) Cafe in Breaux Bridge. The coffee shop was alive with energy and enthusiasm. I could have sat listening to the music all day long. Every person we talked to was genuinely interested in hearing about what we we doing in Louisiana and what we were reading. They also wanted to tell us about themselves and give us insight into Cajun culture, history, and traditions and they were eager to let us participate. Jenny and I were talking to one of the musicians, Joe, and telling him that we were reading Tim Gautreaux; he told us to read “The Bug Man”, his favorite Tim Gautreaux short story. Andrew jumped in on the violin; others tried their hand at the triangle and the instrument made from an old wash basin. We snapped pictures and recorded on our phones as Andrew was playing and when the song was over we cheered loudly beaming with pride for our leader.

With the above shot I ran out of film. It is the only shot I got on my camera at Joie de Vivre.

Visiting Cajun Country was a much needed respite from the busyness and constant hum of a big city. Compared to Los Angeles where people avoid eye contact walking past you on the sidewalk, in Breaux Bridge I was reminded of humankindness.

On Love

Out of everything we read, Ernest J. Gaines’ novel A Lesson Before Dying impacted me the most. A Lesson Before Dying is set during the 1940s South and tells the story of Jefferson, an innocent black man accused of aiding in the murder of a white man and sentenced to be electrocuted. Jefferson’s defense refers to him as a “hog” and Jefferson internalizes this belief that he is not human and even cynically mimics the actions of a hog: “He grunted deep in his throat and grinned at me”. Throughout the course of the novel Grant, a school teacher, regularly visits Jefferson in an attempt to get Jefferson to understand that he is a man and not the hog whites consider him to be.

“They sentence you to death because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time, with no proof that you had anything at all to do with the crime other than being there when it happened. Yet six months later they come and unlock your cage and tell you, We, us, white folks all, have decided it’s time for you to die, because this is the convenient date and time. ”

— Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

Visiting the jail that Jefferson was locked up in was both profound and overwhelming—it brought the setting of the story literally to life, making Jefferson’s experience in jail tangible and real to me. We walked inside the black-out cells where prisoners were put in as punishment for out-of-line behavior. We walked in a room where people were hanged from the ceiling. My intention in taking the photographs below was not in any way to glorify or to create a spectacle out of death and suffering but rather I took these photos out of remembrance for what went on here and reverence for the innocent people who were locked up here like animals and suffered immensely. I hope my photographs capture the chilling and cruel nature of the jail.

We also got to visit the plantation church where Dr. Gaines grew up going to school and in the novel where Grant teaches, kindergarten through sixth grade in a shortened school year compared to the white children. Visiting Ernest and Dianne Gaines at their home was a surreal experience and perhaps my favorite part of our bookpacking trip. Cheylon, an archivist at the Ernest J. Gaines Center, showed us inside the plantation church and gave us a brief history of the church and the property. Dr. Gaines lives on property that was once a plantation his ancestors worked as slaves on.

The novel is heartbreaking and moving. I can’t remember the last time I cried while reading but I cried several times while reading this book, especially reading Jefferson’s diary. During our morning seminar on the novel before we visited the Gaines’ home, Andrew talked about the idea of believing that we are loved and how it is easier to give love than to receive love; how it is hard to believe that we are worthy of love. By the end of the novel Jefferson finally realizes that he is worthy of being loved and accepting love:

• “sometime mr wigin i just feel like tellin you i like you but i dont kno how to say this cause i aint never say it to nobody before an nobody aint never say it to me”
• “is that love mr wigin when you want to see somebody bad bad”
• “my litle cosin estel even com up an kiss me on the jaw an i coudn hol it back no mo”
• “when they brot me in the room an i seen nanan at the table i seen how ole she look an how tied she look an i tol her i love her”
• “[you girlfren] thats the firs lady that pretty ever tech me an nobody that pretty never kiss me”
• “reson i cry cause you been so good to me mr wigin an nobody aint never been that good to me an make me think im somebody”

I cried reading these lines in Jefferson’s diary. As Andrew pointed out, this feeling of not being worthy of love is not unique to people in Jefferson’s situation but is a universal condition all humans struggle with to some extent. Finishing our bookpacking experience with a novel with universal themes on love and the human condition was perfect; I will forever look back on this trip and remember A Lesson Before Dying and the beautiful relationships we formed with each other through all of our adventures in Grand Isle, New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Breaux Bridge.

Trees

“Over the long, low row of pointed roofs were the massive shapes of oak trees in the dark, great swaying forms of myriad sounds under the lowhung stars.”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Majestic live oaks canopy the streets of the Garden District. Our leader, Andrew, told us about how Walt Whitman once stayed in the Garden District and wrote a poem about a single live oak tree: “I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing, / All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches, / Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green, …”

I have been fascinated by trees since I was a child. I can’t pinpoint why my subconscious draws me to trees. Maybe it’s the way trees’ branches twist into impossible shapes, diverging angrily into the vast open sky as if breaking free from shackles. Each branch sustained by the whole but possessing a will of its own. Allowing bits of fragmented sunlight to show through on a sunny day or on an overcast day breaking through a thick cloud of haze, demanding to be seen, noticed. Maybe it’s the unseen part of the tree that amazes me; the way the roots ground the tree, supporting it, forcing it to remain standing through adverse conditions.

Driving to high school in Sacramento—the “City of Trees”—I remember staring out the sunroof of the car as we passed under a canopy of dead trees. The trees weren’t dead—they were dormant. But they looked dead. In the spring they would awaken from their slumber, bursting with buds of promising new life. I see this as a metaphor for New Orleans’ resiliency following Hurricane Katrina: the strong will of the people of New Orleans being the roots which held the city up, allowing it to survive; the families and most vulnerable members of society the twisted branches ripped apart, damaged, obliterated in the storm; the rebuilding period the buds bursting with a hopeful vitality.

Visiting the Presbytère today, exploring the “Katrina and Beyond” exhibit, seriously affected me. I learned about how human meddling with nature (constraining the Mississippi River, draining land and digging canals) deteriorated the natural coastal buffer, leaving New Orleans more vulnerable to the natural force of Katrina. My fascination with the wild, free, untamable quality of tree branches I think reflects my fascination with the untamable and brutal power of nature to obliterate and destroy. I attempt to capture this with my photography.

My father is a farmer. Perhaps my affinity for trees has to do with growing up visiting our ranch, strolling through cherry and walnut orchards. In Interview with the Vampire, Louis recalls a very distinct memory of watching his last sunrise: “ ‘My last sunrise,’ said the vampire. ‘That morning, I was not yet a vampire. And I saw my last sunrise. I remember it completely; yet I do not think I remember any other sunrise before it. I remember the light came first to the tops of the French windows, a paling behind the lace curtains, and then a gleam growing brighter and brighter in patches among the leaves of the trees. …’ ” Some of my fondest and most distinct memories growing up involve climbing trees, picking cherries, and going on ATV rides.

Exploring New Orleans and its multifaceted culture through the novels of writers that spent time here has led me to think about the places that influenced me growing up. The joy of this bookpacking trip is that I continue to learn about New Orleans while also learning more about myself. 

The Whitney: A Photo Journal

Visiting the Whitney Plantation was enlightening and overwhelming. Never before had I learned about the brilliance of enslaved peoples but our tour guide at the Whitney pointed out how enslaved peoples were cherry-picked from Africa for their knowledge about specific trades and cultivating certain crops. The Whitney Plantation Museum works tirelessly and intentionally to tell the truth of the brutuality of slavery and what went on at this plantation. Below, through photographs I took, I want to highlight aspects of the tour that stuck out the most to me.

A condensed history of slavery relating to the Whitney Plantation

The names of children born on the plantation into slavery

The “Jamaica Train”, a series of open kettles in which sugar cane juice was heated

Slave cabins

Inside the quarters of enslaved peoples

The bars of a cage that enslaved peoples were held in during the auction process

Bricks on the floor of the Haydel home laid by slaves

Memorials of enslaved peoples—the only thing that is memorializing their deaths

The Field of Angels—a memorial for the enslaved children in Louisiana who died before their 3rd birthday—with our tour guide in the background

The Power of Place

“They could feel the hot breath of the Southern night; they could hear the long sweep of the pirogue through the glistening moonlit water, the beating of birds’ wings, rising startled from among the reeds in the salt-water pools … ”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

In literature and in film, setting is integral not only to plot but also to character development. Setting can even act as a character—No Country for Old Men (2007) and The Shining (1980) immediately come to mind. The setting, or the way the setting is presented, can evolve and morph as the protagonist develops; in other words, a change in setting can reflect a shift in the way the protagonist views the world or how the character has developed as a person. The reverse is also true: the protagonist can be influenced by changes in the setting, such as changes in seasons, etc. A place can have symbolic meaning; a place can be euphoric, or traumatic. In Annie Proulx’s short story “Brokeback Mountain” and its film adaptation, Brokeback Mountain represents sexual liberation and freedom; returning home brings repression and means having to keep up a façade. Regardless of how setting might function in a work, places are powerful. Places hold special value, and the author or filmmaker chooses the place for specific reasons. The protagonist could not be transported somewhere else and experience the same emotions and feelings.

Places have the power to shape who we are. I grew up in a small, agricultural town in the Central Valley of California and commuted to Sacramento for high school. Growing up where I did has, to an extent, molded me into the person I am today. I attended the same high school as Greta Gerwig, the high school Christine attends in Lady Bird (2017), although the name is changed from St. Francis to Sacred Heart in the film. Christine, “Lady Bird,” has a sense of belonging to Sacramento—even though she hated living in “the Midwest of California,” she can’t help but feel nostalgic for Sacramento once she’s at college in New York City. Gerwig’s film Lady Bird attests to the complex relationships we have with places and how places influence who we are as people.

Our professor, Andrew, traced the history of Grand Isle from its beginnings as a town made up of cotton and sugar slave plantations to its metamorphosis into a vacation town for people like the Chopins, who had enough money to set aside to enjoy a holiday away from the bustling city. In The Awakening, the ocean is not only symbolic of Edna’s sexual awakening but aids in her sexual awakening. When Edna swims for the first time, the narrator describes how “[a] feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power of significant import had been given her to control the working of her body and her soul.” Being at Grand Isle, hearing the constant murmur of the sea that the narrator refers to, makes Edna’s experience come that much more alive and seem that much more real and relatable. There is something incredibly special and indescribable about being able to experience what Edna experienced where she experienced it.

“She felt as if a mist had been lifted from her eyes, enabling her to look upon and comprehend the significance of life, that monster made up of beauty and brutality.
”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Like Edna, I hope to be able to look with my own eyes and experience the “Big Easy” and Creole and Cajun culture and Southern hospitality through bookpacking. Most likely I won’t have the opportunity to visit the South again anytime soon, so I must experience everything to the fullest while I’m here. To me the concept of bookpacking is using novels as a means to learn not just about a place but about how the place has shaped the people living there. In this process of bookpacking, hopefully I will learn more about myself and the places that brought me up and begin to “apprehend the deeper undercurrents of life” like Edna and the common threads of humanity in vastly different peoples raised by vastly different places.