Six years after my mother's funeral and the sale of her family home in Uptown, I returned to New Orleans. It had been on my mind from the moment I left, but I could not imagine the city without my mother in it.
And then I got one of those emails that, in Joseph Campbell terms, represented my "call to adventure." Ruth Brewington, the brilliant librarian at T.H. Harris Middle School in Metarie had been using ORLEANS to teach her students about Katrina (Hurricane Katrina that is. For some reason, I feel we are on a first name basis, that storm and I). And by "using" I mean using-- every little last part. She was breaking down the curriculum the way a good cook uses every scrap of meat on a pig to feed a huge crowd. The Reading, science and Louisiana history classes were all tackling the book. Her students had been busy: 1) building the world of ORLEANS in Minecraft-- Fen's village and the Market (the Market floods!); 2) bartering in a game she'd created, trading Halloween candy for goods to get Baby Enola out of the city alive (it turns out candy is a powerful currency, but far too easy to eat); and 3) visiting actual locations from the book. The kids were drawing maps. Ms. Brewington had a tour planned of the the Market (the French Market in the Quarter), the Professor's Place (Sacre Coeur school in Uptown), the Library where Fen reads the ominous email (Latter Memorial on St. Charles), and so on. The trip, she said, would begin with a visit to the Presbytere Museum on Jackson Square for their "Living with Hurricanes: Katrina and Beyond" exhibit. It was scheduled for All Saints Day, just like in the novel. Would I be willing to come down at some point and speak to her kids?
How could I say no?
I flew to New Orleans with a lump of fear in my stomach. I'd never been to the city without family beside me or waiting before. I was afraid it would be hard. It was. But it was also like coming home.
I spent a day visiting the old family home, and walking through the French Quarter. Ruth had urged me to see the exhibit at the museum. I am so very glad I did. My photos, sadly, are much too dark and blurry to post here, but believe me when I say it was a moving experience. Video diaries combined with news coverage, sections of drywall where a man kept a diary while trapped in his home by floodwaters. Sections of chairs torn out of the Super Dome. Amazing Mardi Gras costumes made from those darned blue tarps the Army Corps draped across the city. An in-depth display on the science of hurricanes, and the importance of wetlands. Small black marbles representing flood waters roll through metal pins that rise and fall as the wetlands give way to buildings, and the city goes under. And then a moment of reflection and renewal, as residents tell stories of survival and rebuilding. It was intense. And worth the trip alone.
But then, there was New Orleans, waiting outside to get reacquainted.
|Jackson Square from the Presbytere Museum|
|Beautiful art by Wayne Manns framed in 9th ward salvage.|
|Gumbo and po'boy|
|Literally five minutes later.|
Cafe du Monde.
Couldn't resist a nod to the Ursulines along the way.
There's something about the food in New Orleans that's not like anywhere else. I was hungry for it. It had been too long.
|Breakfast at my hotel. Love it!|
What a welcome!
Do you see the smile on this kid's face? His copy of ORLEANS is downright battleworn!
|Fen's camp in Minecraft|
|The "local" section of the Harris School Library|
It was an amazing trip. I am so very blessed that Ruth found my book and turned into a meal that could feed a village instead of just one reader. Thank you, Ruth! And thanks to all of the smart, funny, devoted readers at T. H. Harris Middle School. You brought me back to my roots, and I will always be grateful.