If you go to New Orleans, you ought to go see the Mardi Gras (and the wetlands)

On Saturday, I went to Baton Rouge for a meeting of Together Louisiana, a group of churches and civic organizations taking on all sorts of political issues including Louisiana's absurdly high rate of incarceration, the utter madness of the poorly regulated payday loan industry, health care, higher education, and... wetlands and environmental problems. SO many good conversations to be had about the state of the state of Louisiana. Two of the big ones for me-- a breakout session I attended on the environmental issues (you know, kind of the reason I attended the meeting) and an address from a retired Army general.

General Russel Honoré spoke boldly about leadership and fostering a culture of preparedness, as well as our tolerance of the nonsense going on in our government. Ultimately, he is concerned with all of the shady business of poor leadership allowing for Louisiana's natural resources not to be stolen, but to be given away, leaving the state vulnerable to a host of disasters. The point he made that rang clearest to me: Louisiana is a top oil producing state. Why isn't it a top state for education? or healthcare? Why is it among the lowest ranked states in most every social and economic indicator?

Encouraging: you should have heard the "AMEN"s and "PREACH!"es from the crowd. Discouraging: why is Louisiana so far behind in all of these ways when it's been so far ahead in domestic oil and gas extraction for the past 75+ years?

I'm still pondering this gross disconnect.

The breakout session I attended also impacted me, but additionally had a more fun effect on my weekend. My original plan was to drive to Bayou Blue and stay with my bosses so I wouldn't have to wake up so early on Sunday. However, the Wetlands and the Environment session I attended was lead by John Barry, an author, who in addition to his heavy involvement with the policies and politics of coastal restoration, was also the King of Krewe du Vieux in that evening's Mardi Gras parade in the French Quarter. I knew my housemates were all going. Meeting Mr. Barry motivated me to drive back to New Orleans and go to my first Mardi Gras parade.

His talk was really good for me to hear, because he focused on the more political side of coastal conservation that I have not spent as much time focusing on. Did you know that it is actually written into the oil companies' canal permits that they are required to fill those canals back in after their pipes are laid? There are a ton of studies from reputable sources like the US Geological Survey, the Louisiana Department of Natural Resources, and higher ups who have worked for the oil companies that those canals are the leading cause of coastal erosion. Yet, for all sorts of horrifyingly corrupt reasons, those companies have managed to not follow through with back filling or even plugging the ends of the canals. An area the size of the state of Delaware has been lost in the past 75 years, with more disappearing every hour of every day. Instead of the companies, who have been proven to be directly responsible for this and are even legally required to fix this, the taxpayers get to cover the millions upon millions of dollars being dumped into levee construction and other coastal protections that won't matter if the wetlands are gone.

Trees are beautiful and all, but my job can get pretty depressing.

I spoke with Mr. Barry privately about conservation issues after his talk, and also managed to sneak in a question about how one manages to get the attention of a Mardi Gras King to get him to throw stuff (beads and other trinkets are traditionally thrown from floats in these parades). He suggested I stand close to the street, because he is still recovering from a rotator cuff injury.

So I went back to New Orleans, not because I love crowds and crazy parades, but because I am excited about the carnival season and taking in as much of the tradition and culture as I can while I'm here. My housemates and I caught a bus down to the French Quarter (the street cars weren't running as often) and managed to find a fairly uncrowded section of curb on Royal Street. The Krewe du Vieux is one of the few that runs through the Vieux Carré (another name for the French Quarter, meaning "old square"), and is known for being not family friendly.

The crowd was loud but I hung in there to see the King. Krewes often choose kings or queens who are famous for something, so it was pretty cool to me to see someone recognized for their contributions to the coast. The krewe's website talks about how Mr. Barry has worked hard to raise awareness and take action against the government for allowing such a mess to happen to Louisiana's coast. It also points out how Governor Jindal excused John Barry from his seat on the Flood Protection Authority board.


Overall, I'm glad I went to the parade. It was lewd but fun, with amazing brass bands and a lot of clever political statements snuck in, like this float featuring birds covered in oil with words like "incompetence" and "justice" floating around--



I loved the music and even managed to score some beads and trinkets (fully clothed, thank you, I'm pretty sure the flashing thing is mostly myth). It was a really cool turnaround to see someone celebrated for standing up for the coast, both at a formal meeting of activists and in a rowdy setting in which the message was probably lost on most people, but not me. When the King rode by, I was too busy yelling stuff about the wetlands to take a picture or catch a trinket-- he was tossing cups. So here is a picture from the Times-Picayune instead!

Cajun Country

I had an appointment to visit First Presbyterian Church in Lafayette this weekend. Lafayette is a little over two hours from New Orleans and definitely the heart of Cajun Country. I was grateful to have company: my friend Lindsey from the Episcopal service corps in New Orleans volunteered to join me on the adventure that ended up covering about 400 miles.


View Larger Map

Here is the thing about southern/southwestern Louisiana: everything is closed on Sundays. National Parks (there are Jean Lafitte museums in Lafayette and Eunice), antebellum homes, anything touristy, music halls, even the beignet shop someone recommended in Lafayette... there was not much for us to see or do besides drive around and just look. I don't mind people closing up shop and taking a day off, because everyone deserves a break, but I was surprised that so many touristy things do not happen on Sundays, when presumably tourists might be free to come check them out.

West of Lafayette are a lot of rice paddies, which I had never seen before-- at first it just looked like soggy fields until I noticed the berms surrounding them, at which point I realized, rice production! We saw some cattle farms and some oil derricks. 

We drove through Eunice, which is the "Gateway to the Great Southwest Prairie" (southwest of Louisiana, that is). 

 


We drove through Opelousas, which is known for the Yambilee Festival (yes, like sweet potatoes, but it was not happening this weekend) and antebellum homes (which were all closed).


(not an antebellum home)

We took a state highway back down through Morgan City and Bayou Blue, a slightly longer but more scenic and less busy way to return to New Orleans. We stopped in Berwick, the town across the Atchafalaya River from Morgan City, to enjoy the lighthouse and riverfront.



It was a long journey but a good day out. We passed through 18 parishes and saw a lot of different environments. The church visit went well too, with a Sunday school lesson on the "web" of creation that involved kids holding different parts of creation (rocks, soil, water, plants, stuffed animals, etc.) and me stringing them all together with a ball of yarn to show how interconnected it all is-- when you hurt one part of creation, it affects the rest, too.

It's fun to think about all of the different ways that the bits and pieces of the world are related too, especially as I drove through so many different parts of Louisiana in one beautiful day with a good friend in the passenger seat.


Berwick, Louisiana

 

busy weekend

ON FRIDAY, I planted trees for the first time in 2014! It was a cool morning but warmed up nicely, and it was so so wonderful to get outside after a chilly week that included two very cooped up "sneaux days". (Hint: it didn't actually snow.)

The site was as the back of my favorite park that I've found in Louisiana so far, one of the Jean Lafitte National Park sites (there are six in the state), the Barataria Preserve. We took a short boat ride to the site, way at the back of the park. The land is actually owned by the school districts of two parishes, Jefferson and St. Charles. The districts lease the land to hunters to raise money for the schools. We put over 300 bald cypress trees in the ground to help fight the invasive Chinese Tallow tree. After the cypress trees have a while to take hold, a team will go back and kill the tallow trees, which are disrupting the ecosystem there.


a hunting blind on the flotat; we planted along a ridge between the flotat and the bayou

ON SATURDAY, I took a few friends on an adventure to Baton Rouge to try on wedding dresses. There was a store there that also has a branch in New Jersey, which will make it much easier logistically if I found something I liked. Three of my housemates (Anna Leigh, Alyssa and Hannah) and my friend from the Episcopal version of YAV (Lindsey) all came along for the ride, promising snarky and silly commentary and help. I tried on a few ridiculous gowns that are nothing at all like me, just for laughs, but we did eventually narrow it down to a likely contender. Then we all tried on funny dresses just because.


Many thanks to Anna Leigh, Hannah, Alyssa and Lindsey for help and laughter

ON SUNDAY,  I woke up early and traveled to Bayou Blue for church, and then to Morgan City for another church service which I was leading. I preached about environmental justice. It went pretty well. The church has a Confederate fort on its grounds. I explored town a little bit afterward. It was very quiet and empty, and reminded me a lot of different rust belt towns I've visited before. There was a lot of truck traffic, which makes sense for it being a pretty busy port, but hardly anyone else walking or driving down the streets.

It was a very foggy, humid morning along the Atchafalaya River. My first time seeing it! And the little red lighthouse across the river in Berwick.

Philadelphia Freedom!

(A few years ago, I went for my evening run. That song came on my ipod, and I got really enthusiastic about it, and totally wiped out, skinning my knees and hands. I still laugh about it, and can barely go to or talk about Philadelphia without adding "freedom" on the end of it.)



I've done some pretty crazy traveling. I've taken a 19 hour direct flight, and lived out of one carry on piece of luggage for two weeks. I once drove from northwestern NJ to Richmond for a day trip (680 mile round trip). I drove 3300 miles in ten days with a team of Europeans, traveling from NJ to visit Memphis and Chicago and everything in between. I drove from New Jersey to Seattle via Canada.

But I had never flown cross country for a single day before.

So when it became feasible to attend my good friend Amanda's bachelorette party in Philly from New Orleans (cheap flight+ savvy planning by her awesome maid of honor), I decided to do it. Not only would it make for a good story, but it would also probably be a really great trip.

I was at Louis Armstrong Airport before 6:00 AM CST on Saturday. Flight boarded on time, but got a late start taking off because it was excessively foggy. Turns out, a lot of flights had been cancelled the day before because it was too cold. They don't have de-icing equipment in New Orleans. As a result, it was a really full flight, which made it really fun when most of us were running late for our connecting flights in Atlanta, especially when one guy about halfway back in the cabin started yelling at everyone to get out of his way because HE had a connecting flight to make.

I had ten minutes to make it across an enormous airport that I'd never been to before. I made it. I ran onto the plane just before the closed the doors.

Landed in Philly a little late because it was actively snowing. Still made it to the hotel by 2:00 PM EST using a map I had drawn in my notebook of the few blocks surrounding City Hall. It was really great to catch up with friends while we waited for the bride, who was VERY surprised to see me-- I had told her I was going to be really busy on Saturday morning, but would talk to her in the evening during her party, which wasn't a lie, because I was busy trying to catch flights to Philadelphia.


We had a great view of the snow falling at City Hall!

We enjoyed dinner at La Viola, a lovely BYOB Italian bistro a short walk from City Hall. Amanda's almost husband has a gluten intolerance of sorts, so we try to pasta her up when we can. We spent the rest of the evening enjoying the lounge and the lanes at Lucky Strike, a bowling alley just a block or two from the hotel. After a while, the game stopped being about getting the most pins, and started being about playing for speed-- who could throw the fastest ball. We had a blast.


Jamie, Amanda and I with silly mustaches. They are also two of my bridesmaids, so I was stoked to see them!

The next morning, those who had spent the night had a full hot brunch in the hotel before taking various trains in different directions. I was exhausted but definitely had a great time seeing some friends and celebrating Amanda in a cool city!

As I waited outside on the platform at 30th Street Station waiting for the Regional Rail back to the airport, enjoying a little fresh, crisp, wintery air, I made two observations:

• The Saints hat that I was wearing because it was the only one I could find in New Orleans was probably going to get me in trouble after they knocked the Philadelphia Eagles out of the playoffs.
• I am so privileged that I can enjoy a breath of cold, fresh air before spending a day in airports and on planes. The gentleman asleep under the ratty blanket and pile of cardboard in the stairwell of the SEPTA station was probably not enjoying that same cold air.

Heading back to New Orleans via Atlanta, my layover was a bit longer. There are no real vegetarian options in that airport, which made it feel even longer. And then, after we boarded the plane, it actually got even longer, because a seat light needed to be repaired. I still made it home in New Orleans in time for dinner (thanks for cooking, Alex!).

So now that I have leveled up from "travel enthusiast" to "travel junkie", I'm looking forward to a few day trips to Baton Rouge in the next few weeks, a few days home in February for Amanda's wedding, the adventures that will certainly ensue with Abi visits in March, a conference in D.C. later that month, possibly another conference in Gainesville, FL in May... always on the go, this girl.


One of the other accomplishments of this crazy trip was to get my dress for Amanda's wedding to take back to New Orleans, since I failed to get it altered in December when I was home. Oops. Jamie kindly helped transport the gown, and left a little note for me. You know you travel a lot when: even your stuff has a travel itinerary!

Beasts of the Southern Wild

I was feeling a little run down last night, so I decided to curl up in my bed early with my laptop and watch a movie. I had just received a copy of Beasts of the Southern Wild, which I finally ordered last week after hearing about it for the dozenth or so time while working down the bayou. I had only heard criticism from the communities I've been working with, so I watched the movie with a pretty steep bias.

Ok, this is the part where I'm going to start discussing the film with reckless abandon, so if you are highly offended by spoilers and haven't seen it, go away (for now, I hope you'll come back another time to talk about this and other things). If you haven't seen it, I'd be more than happy to lend you my copy. Just send me your address.

Here, I'll stick a map in here so you don't have to see more words if you don't want to:


View Larger Map

So that long, skinny northeast-southwest line is the road to Isle de Jean Charles (the northish-southish oriented thing at the southwestern end of the road), one of the communities I'm working with through the First People's Conservation Council. It has recently been rebuilt, but it's still just a narrow two lane road with no kind of buffer on either side of it to protect it from high or rough water. (In fact, there was a temporary road put on the southern side of it, that is being removed-- why? Why spend the extra time and money to remove something that might potentially help? Sigh, bureaucracy.) And there is definitely plenty of water there, since various levees and flood walls have completely destroyed the wetlands as well as the island itself. Pointe-aux-Chenes, which I've mentioned once or twice, is what the road connects Isle de Jean Charles to. (And Montegut, just north of Pointe-aux-Chenes, is where the movie was filmed.)

Isle de Jean Charles is the place that bayou village Charles Doucet, which its citizens call The Bathtub, is based on. And while I think the movie did an adequate job of capturing the some of the joy and camaraderie that exists in little bayou camps, I could immediately see why the people of these real-life communities take exception to the movie's portrayal of them. The people of The Bathtub live in absolute squalor.

There were a lot of things I liked about the movie. For one, it's just beautifully filmed-- yes, literally filmed in a world where most major movies are made digitally. I like that the actors and actresses were mostly, if not all, from south Louisiana (and for many, this was their first time acting).

There's sort of this whimsical, mystical take on climate change, the melting ice caps, and the destruction of the bayou, and the main character, Hushpuppy, says a lot of things about the interconnectedness of the universe. "The whole universe depends on everything fitting together just right."


I liked the honesty of the very sad, difficult, complicated story line of the storm's aftermath: this community trying to fend for itself by building a floating camp and blowing up the levee that was keeping their village under water; the fact that the mandatory evacuation enforced several weeks after the hurricane, with emphasis on the "force" part of "enforced"; the one way bus tickets issued to miscellaneous towns around the US. The storm in question wasn't called Katrina, but certainly carried a lot of her baggage.

I liked the inclusion of salt water intrusion, a subtle nod to the very real environmental problems of this region. "Two weeks later, everything started to die." Here's my picture from September of trees killed off by salt water in that neck of the bayou:


There was a lot about this movie that gave me mixed feelings. Like I said, the film portrays bayou camp dwellers as living in filth. I don't think that was especially true to real life, nor do I think it was relevant to the story. I'm sure there are some people who live in run down places amidst random junk, far beyond the grid, but that's not the norm. I've been in some homes that have an eclectic collection of things, but none of them have been so dirty.

I was also frustrated by the idea of the freedom of poverty. I don't think it was especially realistic. Yes, there is certainly some freedom for a culture that is not bound by bank accounts, but I suspect there are way more challenges than benefits (oh hey, super timely article "It Is Expensive to Be Poor"!). I'm not quite sure how Wink gets to the hospital, and back. And what about food? There are plenty of scenes that involve eating, whole chickens put on grills, plentiful seafood, hot peppers growing on the floating camp... in one scene, Hushpuppy is shown munching on some leaf. What about when the wetlands are killed by pollution or salt water? How did they get fresh water? What about oil? The BP Horizon disaster happened when this movie was being filmed. All kinds of environmental problems contribute to challenging food security. When you don't have a bank account, you can't just go buy what you can't catch.

The end scene with the community walking down the road to The Bathtub, which is the actual road to Isle de Jean Charles, and the waves splashing up across it... eerie. And so real. It doesn't even take a storm, just a stiff wind or a full moon. These are communities just about ready to fall off the earth, and with practically no attention or sympathy. I mean, in the movie, the authorities didn't notice the people still in The Bathtub until after they blew up a levee to let the water out. It took a literal explosion for anyone to check on them. That was probably relatively close to reality, because as it is, there is little to no local, state or federal government assistance for these precious places, or the people in them.

I guess that's where other people step in, take exception to an otherwise beautiful movie, and try their best to raise some awareness and get some help to these communities. There's a lot of good going on down here, but it seems there are infinite challenges for each positive step taken. I know I am barely scratching the surface. But, Hushpuppy said it, late in the film, "I see that I'm a little piece of a big, big universe. And that makes things right."

Grand Bayou

This past Monday, I visited my first water bound community in Louisiana, meaning, there aren't roads or paths between the houses-- just water and trembling prairie. There is one road that ends at one family's house, by the old school house, and that's it. They use boats to get around the neighborhood.


View Larger Map

I was in Grand Bayou for another session with the group I met with in Pointe-aux-Chenes, the Mobile Farm Market. This is one of the kindest communities I've worked with yet. I was welcomed warmly into the home of people I hadn't met before. The chief of Grand Bayou was recovering from a cold, and also doesn't do cold weather, so I didn't see her. She and I have been in contact though, and she has a lot of great conservation ideas for her community that I'm hoping to help with.





The community felt very peaceful despite the frigid, high winds. I'm looking forward to exploring more beyond the end of the road, but it was definitely not a good day for a boat ride.

Aside from the one home, there was an old schoolhouse at the end of the road. It was wrecked by Katrina. It still stands empty.


Another thing I found interesting was these raised garden beds that people were talking about. It turns out, the community couldn't get funding or approval to build up levees, but could get funding AND approval to create raised garden beds. So they have some very tall garden beds that they're trying to figure out what to do with.

Grand Bayou is a quiet, friendly place. I'm really looking forward to working with this community this spring.

the frozen tundra of South Louisiana

I hope wherever you are reading this from, you are keeping warm.


(from here)

This weather feels like January to me. I don't mind wearing a sweater and a scarf. That being said, I realize South Louisiana is absolutely not built for this.

We have been running our faucets as per our landlord's instructions for 30+ hours as of my writing this (the temperature never broke freezing here today). It's not even the sound of the running water that gets to me... you can imagine how this conservationist feels about it, especially in a region where salt water intrusion is such a threat to the water supply! But these homes were built with exposed pipes and very little insulation, and there have been reports of burst pipes all over New Orleans today.

The bayou is in the midst of citrus season, but likely lost the vast majority of their grapefruits, oranges and lemons in these two days of deep freeze. Folks were encouraged to pick fruit on Sunday, but you can only eat and share so much fruit at a time, and not everyone is able to pick too much themselves. This month's YAV service project was to glean in Bayou Blue on the 18th, to share with the community and local food  banks. Instead, it's looking like we'll be picking rotten fruit to keep the trees in production for next year.


As I drove across town to give a presentation last night, I saw a few people on some of the neutral grounds (the grassy median in the middle of most major streets), curled up under modest blankets. I heard there were several emergency cold weather shelters around the city, but clearly some of them didn't get the message. I hope they found out before too long and were able to get there.

I know South Louisiana doesn't have it that bad with lows in the upper 20s. I have my sweet winter coat and a Saints hat that I got for Mike when he was here for Thanksgiving (he didn't think he'd need it in the desert!). But thinking about the local context, the upper 20s are just as bad here as the single digits are at home in New Jersey and the sub-zero temperatures are elsewhere.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow's predicted high of 48 and finally turning off the water in this house!

What even is my job?!

I arrived back in New Orleans yesterday. Even though I'm still trying to figure out which of the four time zones I've visited in the past week I left my brain in, I was back to work today. I met my supervisor at her house to take a ride down to Pointe-aux-Chenes for an evening meeting with a representative from the Intertribal Agricultural Council and the Mobile Farmers Market.

While she was getting ready to go, she asked about my time home and my travels. Somehow we got to talking about how I would go about answering relatives when they ask what I am doing in South Louisiana.

FUMBLE! (Sorry, watching the Saints game. I am back in South Louisiana.) (But also, that describes how I generally feel when trying to explain to people what my job is.)

Really, it's difficult to describe my work. The day to day is always different. Giving presentations, coordinating conservation efforts, planning and taking part in planting projects, connecting different organizations... some days I'm working from home in my pajamas, some days I'm dressed up and sitting in meetings (and some days I'm dressed down, I love working in natural resources conservation), some days I'm covered in mud. I'll let you guess which days are my favorites.

This meeting tonight was really good. There were about twenty people from the Pointe-aux-Chenes (Point-au-Chenes? Pointe-aux-Chien? I've seen it several different ways. Who knows.) to talk about first people's agricultural products. The Mobile Farmers Market gathers products from around the country-- there was blue corn flour and dried cholla blossoms from the southwest, cranberry syrup and organic corn from Minnesota and Wisconsin, silver and beaded jewlery, wild rice (real wild rice, which is very different from what they call wild rice in the grocery stores), salmon from the Pacific Northwest.

The goals of the program are not just reconnecting tribal trade routes and selling goods, but telling stories. The program has revived food traditions for many tribes, regardless of their federal or state recognition or lack thereof. The IAC works to help tribes gain better access to USDA programs, and seeks market outlets for their goods. Some very cool work going on.

I enjoyed sharing a meal and talking with more members of the community, especially since I've been partnering with the First People's Conservation Council. Tonight I met a man who invited me to work as a deck hand on his shrimping trawler this May. YES PLEASE! I have been able to have the most unique experiences here in South Louisiana. Even as a vegetarian, that sounds awesome. First day back, and I'd say I'm off to a good start!

time

I mentioned in my last post that my plans to travel back to New Orleans on New Year's Day had changed. Through some cosmic bank error, I received an email from the airline changing my flight from the 1st to the 3rd. Two extra days with Mike in the desert have been pretty wonderful.

After rushing around like a madwoman for two weeks, it's been nice to just relax. My brain has been all sorts of confused about time zones. It doesn't help that we are less than three miles from the time zone boundary. It also really doesn't help that as of tomorrow, I will have been in all four continental US time zones in nine days (Eastern time at home in New Jersey, Mountain time in Arizona and Utah, Pacific time in Nevada and California, Central time in Louisiana).

The extra time in Arizona allowed me to be part of something Mike and I have been planning for a while-- acquiring a small friend for our beloved Red. She's never been an only cat before, and we thought she might like a playmate since Mike is at school all day. Mike and I went looking for a cat before I knew about the flight change, and it was love at first cat when we saw this little guy in the shelter:



He had a holding period of a week after his Christmas Eve dropoff. We imagine he was a nixed Christmas present. We picked him up today, and he has been an absolute love. He only stopped purring when he fell asleep and when we bathed him, but that's about it.



We named him Palo Verde after the state tree of Arizona! But we've been calling him green cat, our little pal, orange cat, stripey baby cat, etc.

I fly back to New Orleans in the morning, and get back to work saving the wetlands, but will very much enjoying a little more time hanging out with Mike, Red and green cat first.


Red Oak, the state tree of New Jersey!

The Great Inversion in the Sky

It was a fun adventure trying to explain to people what I was doing for the holidays. Wellll, going to New Jersey for a week, then to Salt Lake City, but flying into Las Vegas and driving up, but then to Bullhead City for New Year's, and then flying back to New Orleans on New Year's Day (which has since changed, but more on that another time)...

Mike came with me to Salt Lake City to celebrate the wedding of my dear sweet friend Hilary and her husband Patrick. I was honored to be a bridesmaid!



I'd only previously been to southern Utah to visit Bryce and Zion from a Las Vegassy direction (Mike too, since we went on that trip together). The drive up I-15 from Vegas to Salt Lake City involved a lot of mountains and eventually, snow. The long vistas got my head spinning a little, especially on the low sleep, high caffeine kind of way we were running through the holidays. But Mike and I took turns driving and made it the six hour drive through space and time safely.

Space and time? Oh yeah. We left Vegas at 6AM for our six hour drive. Except, I got time zones all wrong, which would be a continuing theme on this whole trip out west. Utah is on mountain time. Nevada is on Pacific time. Arizona is on whatever time it wants and that confuses me (Arizona does not observe Daylight Saving).


Salt Lake City and the Wasatch Mountains... through the seasonal smog

Anyway. Hilary and Patrick had a beautiful wedding and threw an awesome party afterward. It was so great to visit with Hilary and her husband and a few other college friends, and to dance the night away like a crazy lady.


classy people at the end of the night...


Great Salt Lake behind us, the sun in front of us...

Salt Lake City was pretty neat, but I was surprised by the smog. In winter, with the cold air at high elevation, pollution just kind of sits in the basin between the Wasatch and Oquirrh and other mountains, with warm air on top (atmospheric inversion! ask me about it sometime) holding it down. Still, lovely.


Great Salt Lake State Marina, Oquirrh Mountains

I'd like to see more of Utah. Good thing Hilary and Patrick live there. Congratulations, Lamberts! and yaaaay Utah!

the ocean

I always try to see the ocean when I'm home, just to make sure it's still there.



Jamie and I were going to meet up, potentially to record a Christmas greeting to our beloved Katie over in Chinook. I had suggested we meet up at the Sawmill in Seaside (a pizza place and bar) instead of going all the way down to Katie's neighborhood by Island Beach State Park, where we usually hang out.

I forgot what happened to Seaside this fall until I got over the bridge. Ugh.




The Sawmill, all melty and unsafe for occupancy but still standing thanks to some serious sprinklers

It was hard to go over there, but I'm still confident in the strength and resiliency of New Jersey. I'm glad I made it to see and feel and hear and smell the ocean for a few minutes before heading west. I may like to wander, but home is home.



Till next time, New Jersey.