our prettiest weed(?) . . .

my oh my....Passiflora incarnata

There's a wise old garden saying that goes, “a weed is a plant out-of-place,” which means that 1) all “weeds” are not necessarily weeds, and 2) sometimes a “weed” coming up in the “right place” is a good thing...perhaps even better than one (or more!) of the plants that the gardener might have originally chosen for that place.

Personally, I can't even begin to count the number of plants that I've planted and lost in our gardens, and worse, client's gardens – hundreds, if not thousands over the past 35 years. By the same token, I'd also have a difficult time remembering all of the “accidental” plants – let's not call them weeds – that have come up (“volunteered”) in gardens which ended up making a better showing than the plants that I had originally intended for said spots.

passion vine festoons our 7' X 8' swamp rose

A perfect example occurred this past summer at our place. Out of nowhere, a native passion vine (Passiflora incarnata) took root under our swamp rose. Lydia and I both noticed it at the same time. We both received it with great delight, since both of us had unsuccessfully tried on several occasions over the years to get it started at our place. I mean, what's up with that? Here we are, two professional gardeners, and neither of us can make a local weed happy at our place? Yes kids, if you have not found out already, gardening is one of the most humbling of human endeavors. . . over the years we've found out that humble turns out to be a good thing, though. . .

note the tri-lobe leaves (esp. lower left)...learn the leaf

and you can identify the plant when it's not in bloom...

Anyway, up comes the passion vine. Plentiful rains have it growing at the speed of light – or at least water. . . It winds up and around and around the swamp rose. It jumps on the daylily row next to the ditch, and then onto the wild hibiscus in the ditch. Where she stops, nobody knows. We're loving it. . .

Passion vine (aka passion flower) is a member of the plant family Passifloraceae, a tropical family containing a dozen genera and over 600 species – about 500 of which are passion vines (genus Passiflora). Here in Louisiana, two species of Passiflora natively occur. Passiflora lutea, called yellow passionflower, is a small, delicate, shade-loving woodland vine; whereas Passiflora incarnata, called purple passionflower, is a large, husky, tough, sun-loving vine found in agricultural fields and other disturbed areas. Yep, many if not most farmers consider it a bad weed. What a weed, non?!!???

P. incarnata fruit

Another common name for P. incarnata is “maypop,” probably in reference to the fruit. As is the case with most species of passion vine, the fruits of P. incarnata are quite tasty, offering a sweet/tart flavor mix.

inside, each seed is encapsulated with its very own

envelope of juicy pulp...

Historically, French-speaking Louisianians called the fruit, grenade (pron. Grah-NOD), and made a refreshing lemonade-like drink from it. In his Edible Plants of the Gulf South (2005, Allen's Native Ventures, 337.328.2252), Charles Allen proclaims all parts – leaves, flowers, and fruits – of Passiflora incarnata to be edible.

Gulf Fritillary Butterfly

(nectaring off of red porterweed)

Passiflora incarnata is a primary host-plant for the larvae of both Gulf Fritillary and Zebra Longwing butterflies.

a wild garden

"Wild thing

You make my heart sing;

You make everything groovy."

-- Chip Taylor

New Orleans' Longue Vue Gardens is appropriately named, for the site possesses a dozen or more ingeniously constructed mini-gardens laid out so that numerous resulting “long views” through several gardens at a time exist throughout the property. And of course the main “long view” – up to the main house – should rank among the most spectacularly-designed entry gardens in the U.S.

Longue Vue House and Gardens was the brainchild of Edgar and Edith Stern, who had the home built and grounds landscaped back in the 1930s. They hired nationally-renowned landscape architect Ellen Biddle Shipman to design the gardens. Beginning in 1935 with the spaces immediately surrounding the house, Shipman worked her way outward, and by 1939 had finally made it to a quiet, one-acre space at the northwestern corner of the property, adjacent to the 17th Street Canal dividing Orleans parish and Old Metairie. Here, using a fine brick pigeonaire as an aesthetic anchor, Shipman created Longue Vue's Wild Garden via a geometrically-simple pathway system that effectively divided the garden into several hefty segments.

Legendary Louisiana artist/writer/naturalist Caroline Dormon was called in to consult with Shipman on the Wild Garden's planting selections. And over the succeeding years several additional Louisiana native plant garden specialists have been called in to provide input there, beginning with Richard and Jessie Johnson, founders of the Louisiana Native Plant Society, and hand-picked successors at Dormon's beloved “Briarwood” (now known as The Caroline Dormon Nature Preserve) just north of Natchitoches.

I first visited Longue Vue's Wild Garden in the late 1990s, and over time was privileged to collaborate with a succession of three of the facility's Head Gardeners in providing design options and planting selections during the Wild Garden's crazy pre-/post-Katrina years. My last interaction came just several weeks post-Katrina (2005) when I was contacted by Head Gardener Amy Graham to come out and assess the damage and provide replacement plantings.

a bank of wild aster has naturalized

on the right side of this path

Salt-marsh mallow blooms (above) mingle with

black-eyed susan (below)

Amy, who's still serving as Longue Vue's Head Gardener, as well as her predassessors Ann Donnelly and Marcela Linero (Singleton), were all keen on native wildlife-attracting plants – a lucky happenstance for a guy like me. During that last-go-round in the wake of Katrina, I focused on seed/berry/nectar-producing natives, installing mid- to small-sized trees such as American hornbeam, red mulberry, rough-leaf dogwood, sweetbay magnolia, red bay, yaupon holly, and deciduous holly, shrubs such as American beautyberry, arrowwood viburnum, little-leaf viburnum, dwarf palmetto, and wax myrtle, as well as wildflowers such as salt-marsh mallow, black-eyed susan, indian pink, asters, irises, turk's cap, St. Andrew's cross, and others.

Tyrone Foreman (pictured) and I took shelter in the pigeonaire and

caught up on old times during a brief rain shower......behind Tyrone

is a young speciman of needle palm (Rhapidophyllum hystrix), a rare

native, endemic to pine flatwoods in the southernmost parts of South Carolina,

Florida, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi

These photos were taken on a recent visit to the Wild Garden, where I serendipitously ran into old friend Tyrone Foreman, a well known Louisiana native plant advocate, and Susan Norris-Davis, both of whom have been carrying out the main maintenance duties there for the past several years. New Orleans birder Wendy Rihner conducts seasonal birding tours through the Wild Garden. Her next tour is scheduled for September 22. Check the Longue Vue House and Gardens website for more info.

furry waif's cemetery

(metal sculpture piece near cemetery gate, donated by Susan Votier)

Lydia's been volunteering at Lafayette Animal Aid, a no-kill shelter for homeless dogs and cats, for a long time. Not long after they moved to their new facility north of Carencro, she got the idea to turn their little “pet cemetery” into an ornamental garden. She initially succeeded in installing one, enlisting her pals Michael Heinemen and David Kent. Alas, more pressing cares and concerns with the shelter, and the little garden soon fell into disrepair.

Then along comes volunteer Melinda Falgout – and this is key – her newly retired husband, Gary. Those two, along with Tammy Broussard weeded, soil-prepped, planted, and steel-edged the garden. Volunteers and staff donated wind chimes, bird-baths, and other niceties.

foreground: wormwood Artemesia, old-timey zinnias & Gaura lindheimeri behind

The “sun garden” portion is now a 125' x 4' perennial bed, chock-full of all sorts of hummingbird and butterfly plants, many of which are native wildflowers. And those which are not out-and-out south Louisiana natives have a long track-record of local adaptation. The “shade garden” section has just gotten underway as well.

front: old-timey zinnas; back: native turk's cap

These days, garden maintenance has become a priority of sorts, with Melinda, Lydia, Randy West, and Virginia Richard working there alternate days. Melinda and Debra Clothier installed an irrigation system. In establishing gardens in hot/dry/exposed sites out in rural areas, where belive me, weeds are ten-times the problem that they are in town, irrigation and steel-edging are “musts.”

"pink cigar plant" and turk's cap blooms mingle

these two are outstanding hummer/butterfly plants for our area

yarrow (left), Gaura (upper left), and dwarf rosemary (lower right)

frame a headstone

The headstone decoration quickly evolved, beginning with LAA Facility Manager Melissa Soto, and eventually involved students from Carencro Catholic, Boys and Girls Club, 4-H groups, Girl Scouts, and at-risk youth groups.

headstone workshop

Once upon a time, the abandoned-animal scene was nearly as bad as the litter scene presently is here in the Lafayette area. I write “nearly as bad” from the head. From the heart, of course, abandoned animals are gut-wrenchingly worse scene than litter. It's a sad thing that so many people treat living things as litter...or ornamentation...or armament....etc.

Besides being socially and morally reprehensible, the abandoned animal scene is ecologically reprehensible as well. Stray cats and dogs put even more pressure on already-stressed songbirds, lizards, skinks, frogs, etc. Pressure that these wildlings are having an increasingly tough time coping with.
Thanks to organizations like Lafayette Animal Aid, the local abandoned-animal scene is far less visible than just a few years ago. Joining forces with other groups, they've collectively spayed-neutered thousands and thousands of animals in the past few years. LAA adopts out hundreds of animals each year, as well. They visit classrooms. They host field trips. Watch for their recently-produced series of public service announcements on KADN. They're a happenin' group!

Consider becoming a Lafayette Animal Aid “Guardian Angel.” It's all of $25 per month commitment for God's sake. They've got a heck of group of people out there – staff, volunteers, and other folks who help them in fundraising, public relations, etc. A very impressive operation. Don't take my word for it. Check 'em out at www.lafayetteanimalaid.org or call 337.896.1553.  

a tale of two buttonbushes

marshy lake edges are perfect natural habitat for

buttonbush, shown here on the right, set apart from the lake edge

proper by a swath of marsh grasses

Last post, we had a look at Gardenias, the queen genus of the plant family Rubiaceae. Known alternately as the Madder family, the Bedstraw family, or the Coffee family, the Rubiaceae is a large one, containing 450 genera and 6500 species worldwide. Especially in the horticultural world, it is a sexy family indeed, featuring many fine-formed, glossy-leaved shrubs.


Let's have a closer look at a couple of more representatives from the Rubiaceae that make excellent ornamental garden plants down here: buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) and Chinese buttonbush (Adina rubella).

Buttonbush is a wetland native throughout much of eastern North America, as well as parts of the midwestern and southwestern U.S. Here in Louisiana it is a common inhabitant in just about every swamp and lake edge in just about every parish. Ecologically, it functions as a much-desired nectar plant for bees, butterflies, etc. Its main claim to fame in the bird world is as perhaps the most critically important natural nesting substrate (platform) for mid-sized wading birds such as Little-blue Heron, Cattle Egret, Great Egret, and others. Size-wise buttonbush ranges 6-15' in height. It is almost always multi-stemmed, and produces a spreading, umbrella-like crown. Its leaves are large, medium-pale green, and satin-finished.

native buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) blooms & foliage

blooms are between ping-pong and golf balls in size

foliage is at least 4" long

In garden settings, I include at least one “specimen” buttonbush in just about every design I execute – especially those with low-elevation spots that naturally attract moisture. In such cases, I “limb-up” the plant's stems, removing all lower branches up to a height of at least 6' thus exposing the plant's curvy, serpentine, pale-gray stems. This also aids in developing a denser-foliaged and more “bloomiferous” crown. Give this plant as much sun and as much moisture as possible.

The second featured buttonbush – Chinese buttonbush (aka “glossy adina”) – is similar to our native, but is visually far more refined in texture, due primarily to its very tiny, dark-green, and lusterously glossy leaves. Its blooms are also way smaller and more numerous than our native species, and with a flesh-pink tinge and delicate fragrance to boot. Like our native, Chinese buttonbush grows 6-15' and is spreading-crowned in form; but it normally produces many more stems than does our native buttonbush – giving it more of a “large shrub” (as opposed to “small tree” with native buttonbush) habit. Butterflies and bumblebees love the blooms.

Chinese buttonbush (Adina rubella) blooms & foliage

blooms are marble-sized

(pardon the stupid focus, ya'll....just concentrate to the right side of the frame)

[attempted] close-up of Adina rubella's fragrant pink blooms

aroma therapy

top: "Jasmoides" type Gardenia

lower left and right: "Thunbergia" type Gardenias

From a horticultural perspective, perhaps the finest thing about Gulf Rim gardening is the vast array of fragrance plants that we have at our disposal – most of them exotic, and most of them limited in hardiness to horticulture zones 8b-9.  That's why the further south you go, the better the gardens smell . . .


For example, everyone living along the Gulf Rim – be ye gardeners, or not – must have sweet olive (Osmanthus fragrans aka “tea olive”) and night-blooming jessamine (Cestrum nocturnum). I mean, just for the general sake of sanity, ya'll. If you live in an apartment, that's no real excuse. Grow 'em in big-ass tubs. Grow them you must.

And the fragrance plant list for our region stretches on and on from these two storied selections: true jasmines (Jasminum sp.), banana shrub (Michelia figo, aka “banana magnolia”), sweet-bay magnolia (Magnolia virginina), citrus, hundreds of varieties of roses (especially the antiques), winter honeysuckle (Lonicera fragrantissima), and on and on.

And then there are the gardenias....ah, what a group....and is it even possible to accurately describe their scent? Best I could come up with would be something like, “heady, heavy, near-sickly-sweet-musk, with (on some evenings) a hint of citrus.” Whatever, gardenias surely belong right up there with sweet olive and night-blooming jessamine. All are so easy to grow down here, and all have drawn out bloom seasons. On average, gardenias bloom 4-6 weeks; sweet olive and night-blooming jessamine, more like 8-16 weeks, if not more(!).

In researching gardenias for this article, I quickly ran into substantial taxonomical confusion – which is not at all a common thing in researching most plant and animal groups. Of course nowadays with the internet and all, such a problem should be handled with relative ease. Not so with gardenias. The more I searched, the more confusing things got. So what “facts” you might read here represent the best that I could come up with. If anyone out there can help straighten me out on this matter, please contact me at natrldlite@cox.net.

Gardenias are native mostly to the Old World tropics: southern Asia and Africa; and a few species apparently native to northern Australia and Polynesia. According to sources, 140-200+ species within the genus Gardenia exist – mostly shrubs, but some trees as well. Here within the southern Atlantic and Gulf coasts of the U.S., the gardenias that we know and love are spring/summer blooming evergreen shrubs featuring very attractive deep-green, glossy foliage.

Here in southern Louisiana, the gardenia that I pretty much grew up with is 6' X 6' large-leaved shrub which produces double “rumpled”looking blooms around late-May and June. This is the selection that Neil Odenwald (Southern Plants for Landscape Design, 1987) calls Gardenia jasmoides, with a (maybe so, maybe not) cultivar name of 'Mystery'.

Above photo is pretty much what my 'Mystery' gardenia looks like. Note especially the rumpled look to its flowers. This photo, however, is actually of the dwarf gardenia, Gardenia jasmoides 'Prostrata' also known in some sources as Gardenia radicans. The point is, both this dwarf cultivar and the larger 'Mystery' gardenia of my youth share those rumpled-looking blooms.

Then there's this cultivar (above), of which I've yet to dig up a cultivar name, but which multiple sources list as Gardenia jasmoides or Gardenia augusta. Note how the bloom begins in a nodding position (so I just call it “the nodding type”). This gardenia features the largest leaves and the largest blooms of any species/cultivar with which I am familiar.

Once “the nodding type” opens up, the bloom occasionally rares up into a horizontal position. Blooms age into a fine tawny-cream color, and become even more fragrant before dropping.

7' "hip gardenia" at our place

And then there are the smaller-leaved, single-flowered gardenias – referred to by Odenwald as Gardenia thunbergia – which form telltale, red-orange “hips” after bloom drop. Common names for this class of gardenia include “star gardenia,” “daisy gardenia,” and “hip gardenia.” I've seen other sources refer to these as Gardenia scabrella. Some sources list this species group as native to northern Australia; others to south Africa. Up until only recently in Louisiana, this species group was seen only around the old plantation homes along the Mississippi River. Today, you can find them in many south Louisiana nurseries. I suspect that Neil Odenwald played a major role in getting them back into commercial production around these parts.

da hip

Beyond their very cool flowers, hip gardenias feature relatively tiny leaves, providing an outstanding fine-textured habit in the landscape. The “standard” hip gardenia grows to 8' X 6' and it's a wonderful thing to see such tiny, densely-arrayed, leaves on such a large shrub.

There's also a more dwarfish form of hip gardenia called 'Daisy' which grows only to 4-5' in height.

bloom comparison: l-r 'Daisy' (note wide petals), "Hip" (narrow petals),

and "Jasmoides" (double-flowered)

foliage comparison: top, "Jasmoides" (4" long);

middle, "Hip"; bottom 'Daisy' (thinner/longer, similar to G. jasmoides 'Prostrata')

on all, note fine venation and glossy finish....very fancy.....

There are several more types that I don't have space (or photos) to mention. All I can say is the three types that I've featured above have all done beautifully here -- even in my mucky black clay.

Tell ya what, regardless of which cultivar you choose (I suggest making room for all of them), that heavy, musky-sweet gardenia fragrance wafting up your nose faithfully each morning and evening for weeks on end will do wonders for the “harried-mind-syndrome” that most of us seem to carry around these days.

she's like a rainbow . . .

Iris fulva x brevicaulis 'God's Gift'

A natural hybrid that came up in our ditch some years ago...

“She comes in colors everywhere

She combs her hair

She's like a rainbow.

Combing colors in the air

Oh everywhere

She comes in colors.”

– Jagger/Richard

Iris: Greek goddess of the rainbow, and a messenger of the gods . . . and/or . . . a Northern Hemisphere plant genus containing over 200 species, five of which are native to Louisiana.

Never has a plant genus been more aptly named, for not only is there a massive variety of flower color amongst the different species of Iris, but also a dizzying color array within each species.

Thanks in no small part to the Mighty Muddy Mississippi River and its brown, sticky unending supply of alluvium, Louisiana was proclaimed the “Iris Center of the Universe” by Dr. J. K. Small, Curator of the New York Botanical Gardens back in the 1920s. Small first glimpsed Louisiana irises from the window of a train, igniting a love affair which brought him back here on many occasions, collecting, researching, and naming some 77 color forms and natural hybrids – most of which placidly grew in the general vicinity of New Orleans alone! Back then, irises grew in wild profusion throughout the marshes and swamps of St. Bernard, Plaquemines, and Orleans parishes, literally surrounding the city of New Orleans. There are even early 20th century references regarding color forms being collected off Frenchman Street. Small's main “honey hole,” though, was the Bayou Sauvage area, off Gentilly Ridge – presently encompassed by the Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge. Sadly, few if any iris colonies have survived the saltwater brought in there by Katrina.

Given to us by Rosemary Simms some years ago as, 'Briar Queen'

this one looks very similar to Small's Iris miraculosa, found (probably)

somewhere in lower Plaquemines parish in March 1927 by Ruth & Arthur Svihla

Back in those days, incredible color variation could be found within a single Iris species, and within a single “iris field.” Collectors were few back then, for most folks associated irises with black stinky mucky mud, and snakes and alligators.

By the mid-1930s, the Louisiana iris craze quickly migrated from New Orleans to Lafayette, where Mary Swords DeBaillon had already amassed the world's “most complete” color form collection in her North Lafayette yard. And even more importantly, the discovery of the “Super Fulvas,” aka “the Abbeville Reds” and/or “the Abbeville Yellows” from the Bayou Vermilion floodplain just south of Abbeville in 1938 by W. B. “Mac” MacMillan. More than any other “Louisiana iris” it was the “Abbevilles” that launched Louisiana iris hybridization into a global obsession, eventually amassing horticultural converts from New York to California and Japan to Australia. Yep,the Louisiana iris saga is one of the most fascinating stories in horticultural history.

One of the legendary 'Abbeville Reds' said to have come from MacMillan's own yard!

Given to us by the intrepid Tyrone Foreman

Mary DeBaillon's amazing collection, coupled with the discovery of the “Abbevilles,” led to the formation of the Mary Swords DeBaillon Iris Society in 1941, soon known as the Society for Louisiana Irises, reserving Mary DeBaillon's name for the Mary Swords DeBaillon Medal, award for best-in-show at the Society's annual gatherings.

Iris 'Dixie Deb' an outstanding landscape iris

developed by Frank Chowning, Little Rock, Arkansas

Of Louisiana's five native iris species, the four which have contributed to the fantastic hybrid complex known today as “Louisiana irises” are the copper iris (Iris fulva), the short-stemmed iris (Iris brevicaulis), the anglepod blue-flag (Iris hexagona), and the large blue-flag (Iris giganicaerulea), the latter of which is truly endemic (found nowhere else in the wild) to coastal Louisiana. Around the same time that Dr. Small was making his discoveries around New Orleans, Tulane herpetologist/naturalist Percy Viosca became interested in the ecological underpinnings of these irises. Which species were growing where? Which were not? Why? In fact, prior to MacMillan's discovery of the Abbevilles (believed today to be natural hybrids between I. fulva and I. giganticaerulea), Viosca had predicted that such a find awaited in at least two geographical locales within coastal Louisana, where swamps (traditional home of I. fulva) and marshes (traditional home of I. giganicaerulea) possessing specific hydrological regimes intersected. Indeed, one of the places he described was within the Bayou Vermilion watershed just north of its outfall into Vermilion Bay – precisely where MacMillan found it.

Those of you who are not from Louisiana should understand that New Orleans and Lafayette/Abbeville are by no means the only places where Louisiana irises grow wild. They grow wild throughout much of our state, but nowhere more prolific than in our coastal zone: 3 million acres' worth of marshes & swamps; beat up badly by storms and industry, but still standing...
I could go on and on. Like so many Louisiana gardeners, I was smitten by Louisiana irises early on, and moreso from Viosca's ecological perspective. My interest still is in natural color variants and natural hybrids as opposed to human-made hybrids. Still, I'll readily gawk at any Louisiana iris I encounter, regardless of heritage.

an un-named blackish-purple dwarf  I. brevicaulis

given to me (as a bribe...) by Dormon Hayden

From a conservation standpoint, it is the natural hybrids and color forms – those found in the wild by the first collectors – which are in most need of preservation. For the most part, the natural homes from which they were collected have been destroyed by development and/or salt-water intrusion by now. Secondly, from a horticultural landscaping perspective, the natural hybrids and color forms, along with the “straight species” themselves far out-perform the human-made hybrids in garden settings. Not only do the “naturals” self-propagate more easily, but they also live longer – almost indefinitely, in fact. These plants need to be ressurected by knowledgeable Louisiana iris folks and made available for plantings in parks, wildlife refuges, arboretums, botanical gardens, and private gardens everywhere -- but especially those in their original "homes" within the Louisiana coastal zone.

Iris 'Van Gough Blue' (my [definitely unregistered] name...)

a mysterious thing...can't remember who gave it to me....like a

"Super Brevicaulis'....very vigorous....long bloom season....evergreen foliage!

Any student of Louisiana irises would do well to read The Louisiana Iris a 1988 book by Marie Caillet and Joe Mertzweiller. Another publication, quite rare by now I'm sure, is the 1991 fiftieth anniversary publication of the Society for Louisiana Irises, simply entitled, Society for Louisiana Irises 1941-1991, edited by Joe Mertzweiller and published by Franklin Press, Baton Rouge. In it are reprints of J.K. Small's Louisiana iris articles published 1925-29 in the New York Botanical Gardens journal, Addisonia, along with very-cool watercolor plates (done by the Botanical Gardens' Mary Eaton) of some of Small's favorite “finds.”

And be sure to check out the Society's website (http://www.louisianas.org/). This year's annual meeting will be held April 19-22 in Shreveport.

post-mortem of a flood

pot's on fiyah! the beginnings of a celebratory gumbo...a tad premature?

perhaps so, but that never stopped us from celebrating before.....

It's nearly 9:00am, and steadily raining – well, more like something between a drizzle and a rain. It's coolish (62F) and breezyish (5mph from the west) . . . perfect weather and a perfect time to put a pot of celebratory gumbo on the stove.

Some of you will remember the previous post on this blog (13 March), along with the facebook message I put out yesterday (20 March) detailing the ongoing saga of 12 March 2012's 10-15" Big Rain here just north of Lafayette. One week into the wake of the flood, and a number of us living just east of Bayou Vermilion are still boating to the blacktop (North Wilderness Trail, running atop Bayou Vermilion's east bank).

Yesterday, we were growing mighty anxious about the weather forecast calling for more deluge-type storms today. Presently, even though it's still raining, it appears we've dodged a cannonball, as the main squall line blew through 6:30-7:30 this morning, dropping only 1.25” more water up this way.

"crazy lil' thing, crazy lil' thing, how'd you get a name like crazy lil' thing?

prob'ly the name that drove you crazy, all along..." 

(quote by Captain Beefheart, photo by Russ Norwood http://www.perceptivist.com/)

As previously mentioned, even though it's still raining, we're partying. And we're not alone. Outside, the local chickadees didn't even wait for the deluge to end before breaking out into courtship songs. No mere calls, vaguely uttered, but fancy show-off courtship songs (a quasi-strident, “See-see See-Saw” repeated at frequent intervals. . . you know a chickadee's feelin' happy when he's singing this song). Presently, Carolina wrens and cardinals have joined in, piercing the cool drizzly air with songs of love.

So I'm like, “What the hey! There's no time like the present . . .Gumbo Party!”

Living most of my life down here along the Gulf Rim, I've noticed that most Gulf Rimmers pass time by generally just sitting around waiting for a reason to celebrate; and that down here in Cajunland our celebrations often turn out to be just a tad premature. Oh well. Better to have celebrated in vain than not to have celebrated at all, vous connais?

Anyway, it looks like 1-3" or so inches this go round is not going to seriously hamper the progress of our Big Drain. In fact, I'm hopeful that we'll be driving to our homes by Sunday (25 March). If that's the case, then we'll have boated for 13 straight days – one day shy of our record of 14 boat days, set during the May 2004 Mega Flood.

I asked for prayers in yesterday's facebook update. The responses from my friends were interesting. Some seemed taken aback that I'd even suggest that “God” would/could push the forecast rains elsewhere. After all, isn't that “childish at best and selfish at worst” type thinking? Well, no. Not to a believer. And yes, after decades of studying every spiritual belief system proposed by humankind, I remain an old-school Jesus-believer. By the same token, I certainly don't expect anyone else to believe like I believe.

(photo by Larry Amy or Kevin Courville . . . or possibly, both)

Sometimes it seems the real childishness and selfishness of it all lies in the notion that we can actually find human words to satisfactorily describe What's Going On. Truly, It's beyond all that, else it wouldn't be “God.” I mean, if we humans could actually define “God,” that ain't saying much for “God,” you know?

On David Byrne & Brian Ferry's mid-70s record album, “My Life in the Bush of Ghosts” the preacher man said, “....He's so HIGH, you can't get over Him; He's so LOW, you can't get under Him; He's so BIG, you can't get around Him....”

(photo by Edward Watson)

Pardon me if this seems personal, but How big is your God? Does God fill your Universe? Might God go beyond the Universe as well? Can God fill you? To the point where it becomes your heart, and not your mind, that speaks and acts and runs your show? These are good questions to ponder. . .

So, grateful thanks to all those who prayed for us, all those who thought about us, and all those who directed dry vibes our way. . . and as always, to God.

Now on to the Celebratory Gumbo. Like my spiritual beliefs, it's an old school recipe. Old school southern Evangeline parish chicken & sausage gumbo. With a twist. Unlike the gumbos of Lafayette & New Orleans, “cajun prairie gumbo” is thinner – closer to carmel-brown than chocolate-brown. This is accomplished by simply adding a little more water. Emphasis on “a little.”

A thinner gumbo reveals way more complexity of flavor than a thick one. That's because roux is so powerful that it easily masks the more delicate flavors of the meat and vegetables. So you dilute it, and whoa! The taste.

So I start with about 2 cups of dark roux mixed with about a quart of water and a quart of chicken stock. Heat only to a simmer while stirring (to keep the roux from sticking to the bottom of the pot) in order to dissolve all the roux. Once fairly well dissolved (a half-hour) turn fire lower, and add 2 chopped onions, 1 chopped bell pepper, a couple of tablespoons of minced garlic, and 3-4 ribs of fine-chopped celery.

Initially, I season with about 1 rounded teaspoon of black pepper, 1 rounded tablespoon of cayenne pepper, and 2 rounded tablespoons of salt. Toward the end, I recheck seasoning, adding more if necessary. Be careful with the salt, however, as chicken stock can have a lot; and you really want to use chicken stock in this thing.

Add another quart of chicken stock and another quart of water (now you've got a total of 1 gallon of water/stock invested) and turn up the fire to a slow, rolling boil.

After about 45-60 minutes, add 1lb. sliced smoked sausage (I use turkey, but southern Evangeline parish tradition calls for pure pork) and 1 hen, cut-up. Then 1-2 cups each of chopped onion tops & flat parsley. Keep it on a slow roll for another 2-3 hours, adding water to replace that which has steamed off (that keeps it thin!), and you're almost done.

Turn off the fire and let cool for an hour, allowing the oil from the roux & chicken & sausage to float/pool up to the surface. Skim as much of this oil off as you can, using either a big spoon or soup ladle. Then check seasoning, adding if necessary, and add another cup each of chopped onion top and parsley. Now you're done!

So “my twist” I guess is in adding celery and in “double-adding” onion top and parsley. The result is a super-fine, hearty-yet-very-digestible, veggie-tainted gumbo. It's health food I tell you.