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I

ida hits home

BLUES BAYOU By Ken Wells

was 1,800 miles away from my spiritual home on the day Hurricane Ida churned in the Gulf on its way to assault the southeast Louisiana coast. I was obviously in no danger, but I had reason to be fidgety. I have two brothers in

Houma, one in Chauvin, and one in Baton Rouge. My nephew has a fishing camp in Cocodrie, my cousin one in Grand Isle. I have assorted relatives and many of my truest lifelong friends spread out all along the Gumbo Belt — Houma, Thibodaux, Matthews, New Orleans, LaPlace, Lafayette. Plenty of phone calls, texts and Messenger chats later, I knew everyone had made reasonable sheltering plans. But, still, Ida was a monster, and it was clear that Houma, my birthplace, was in for a rough shucking. Also, I was homesick. In a typical year, I visit three to four times, often for weeks at a time — to catch up with the bros and friends, fish reds and specks in Lake Decade and Oyster Bayou or sac-a’-lait in the Atcha- falaya Basin. I make my non-negotiable dining stops: gumbo at A-Bear’s Café, boiled crabs or crawfish at 1921 Seafood, an oyster po’boy at Big Al’s. I sneak off to New Orleans to have dinner with my foodie friends at the latest hip Creole restaurant. My brother Pershing has a music studio in Houma and is active in the local music scene. I love going out to listen to local bands where you can find everything from Cajun to Zydeco to Swamp Pop to R&B, and even localized hip-hop, if you want it. All this is my of way steeping myself in the sense of place that has informed a great deal of my writing career and is at the core of every novel and non-fiction book I’ve written. With the emergence of the Delta variant, this dreaded elongated pandemic has kept me away for almost two years now, vaccinated though I am. Air travel is a hectic, claustrophobic drag. Rental cars are non-existent or so expensive it’s cheaper to buy one. People are both wary and careless, gracious and cranky. This all sucks a great deal of pleasure out of going anywhere long distance. Still, I often think of my homeplace as an indispensable friend, the place where my roots run deep and where I always feel welcomed, the place that recharges my inspiration. I’ve been lucky enough to travel all over the world, and I still conclude that there’s no place like it. But what if Ida ripped apart the very fabric of it? So, from my dodgy backwoods internet connection in Maine, where I live from July through October, I spent part of the day of Ida’s approach streaming my friend Martin Folse’s essential local TV broadcast. I

ARROW-CIRCLE-RIGHT Photos by Amanda Kennedy, Terrebonne Parish resident & Rouses Senior Manager of Brand & Marketing Strategy

The bayou country in Terrebonne Parish is unique and beautiful: the wildlife, the sunsets over the marsh, boats everywhere…but it’s the bald cypress trees that mean the bayou to me. I love their knees that branch out everywhere, so strong and hardy, just like the people of the bayou. -Amanda Kennedy

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