Be Happy, Attend a Festival!

Recently two professors from Harvard and the University of British Columbia announced that, based on their research analysis, five of the ten happiest cities in the country are in Louisiana.  Shreveport is one of them.  Articles based on this report went on to point out that many good times enjoyed by Louisiana residents revolve around food and music.  (Click here to read article from Today.com.)

Louisiana, and Shreveport, host a wide array of festivals that celebrate the rich musical and cultural heritage of the state.  Ricky and I are taking friends from Virginia to the Red River Revel today to give them a taste of our city.  In town on business, they have already been on several tours of interesting places in the city, and a festival should round out their experience.

If the Red River Revel is Shreveport’s ultimate fall festival, this past summer’s best musical festival has to have been the biennial (or whenever they can pull it together) James Burton International Guitar Festival held at the historic and refurbished Municipal Auditorium.  In August of this year Ricky, our friend Pam from Houston, and I attended this celebration of James Burton’s 75^th birthday and 62^nd year in the music business. 

 

James Burton, a world renowned musician who is known by many as Elvis Presley’s guitar player, resides in Shreveport when he isn’t touring or recording.  He and his family have established a foundation that provides guitars and musical training to children and young adults who might not otherwise have the opportunity.  The festival raises money for this endeavor.  The musicians, all friends of Burton and renowned performers in their right, volunteer their time for the event. 

On this occasion, the music started at 7:30 pm and continued without a break until after 11:00.  It was almost midnight when Ricky, Pam and I got home.  We were so hyped up from the show that we stayed up into the wee hours, sitting on the porch of the cottage, talking about the festival.

Each time we attend Burton, his family and music business friends come together to perform one of the best concerts you will ever see, and we agreed this one was the best we’ve attended so far.  Where else in one evening would you hear live on stage multiple Grammy Award winner, James Burton who is one of the best guitar pickers and most prolific session guitarists ever, plus: Gunnar Nelson, son of Ricky Nelson with whom James played from 1958—1967; David Letterman band leader Paul Shaffer; Lee Rocker from the band Stray Cats who made his double bass come alive on stage; Rick Vito, singer, guitar player and song writer, who played with Fleetwood Mac from 1987-1991; Richie Furray who was a founding member of Buffalo Springfield and Poco; Billy Burnette, guitarist and song writer, who also toured with Fleetwood Mac, 1987-1995; Merle Haggard’s son Noel Haggard, played and sang representing his family’s history with James Burton who played with Merle; blues guitarist Jimmie Vaughan; Memphis pianist Rob Haynes who plays like Jerry Lee Lewis; and Bossier City’s Cole Vosbury, a Voice finalist, and his family band who display music chops in their own right (his grandmother who played with the family band on this night was once described by Les Paul as the “best female guitarist” he had ever seen). 

Representing country rock were Trace Adkins who is “one attractive tall drink of water” and a local boy; fiddle player Byron Berline who has played with about everyone from bluegrass musicians to The Band, The Eagles, The Rolling Stones, Emmylou Harris, Willie Nelson, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Elton John; and  Country Music Hall of Famer Vince Gill.  Also joining James Burton were his son Jeff Burton and other family members, in addition to guitarists Doyle Dykes and Lincoln Brewster; Priscilla Presley who talked about the years James played with Elvis; and Master of Ceremony Mike Wolfe from the TV show, Pickers.  All of this in addition to back-up by a fantastic house band, composed of local and out-of-town musicians.

Each of the above musicians boasts an extensive list of musical accomplishments, each represents an era of James Burton’s long career, and each is a virtuoso.  Now I ask, who in their right mind, wouldn’t be happy when they have a chance to experience this level of musical talent and exuberance every few years. 

The next project of the James Burton Foundation is the creation of a guitar and car museum in Shreveport to house Burton’s extensive personal collections.  Our next festival after the Revel will be the Louisiana Film Prize Festival.

Ian McNulty, author of Louisiana Rambles,  said "It's sort of a cliché but Louisiana is a place where people love to have a good time."  I know I’m smiling in anticipation of many good times to come! 

Jack White at the Municipal

Vintage postcard showing Municipal Auditorium

Our summer musical experiences started in early summer when Jack White played Shreveport’s historic Municipal Auditorium.  Though he says the manager/lawyer types tried to dissuade him from playing this small venue in a mid-sized city, Jack White told the audience during the concert, he insisted on it being included.  And Shreveport loved Jack White!

I knew who Jack White was before we heard him in concert, because he seemed more intellectually curious and daring than many musicians-- truly interested in and appreciative of the historical roots of music.  Take for example, his 2004 collaboration with Loretta Lynn that netted them two Grammy awards!  While I remembered a few facts about him, I wouldn’t have called myself a big Jack White fan.

In the time leading up to the concert I spent a month in Virginia with my mother because she had a medical crisis.  I had to postpone my return to Louisiana several times.  Ricky kept sending me videos of Jack White, “On this video he is playing with the Buzzards.”  “Watch this one, he’s playing with the Peacocks.”  As I delayed my return home, Ricky was supportive.  “Stay as long as you need to,” he would say, “but try to be back by the Jack White concert.”

I made it home with some days to spare, and Jack White was a frequent supper table topic in the days before the concert.  “Some say he is playing with the Buzzards on this tour, some say it’s the Peacocks,” he would tell me.  Ricky watched lots of videos of Jack White on the internet in the days leading to the big night.  “He really puts on quite a show,” Ricky would tell me.

 

On the evening of the concert we arrived at the auditorium about 7:00 pm to find an orderly line winding down the block of people waiting to get into the venue.  We filed in with a much younger group of concert goers sporting multiple tattoos.  Ricky and I felt we were representing Baby Boomers.  We were “naked” without tattoos, but we were able to climb the flights of stairs to our seats in the second balcony without supplemental oxygen.  Our seats were straight on in front of the stage, albeit high up.  I was happy that our balcony seats didn’t have a drop-off over the rail in front of us as a couple of inebriated young women stumbled up and down the steps.  I would have been a nervous wreck.

After a lackluster set by a warm-up group, Jack White and his band, mostly male with a female fiddle player, took to the stage and took over the auditorium.  When the music started, my chest was vibrating from the sound waves that pulsated through the air straight toward us.  I couldn’t even fathom what the general admission audience was feeling as they crowded in front of the stage.  As a Boomer, I don’t exactly have perfect hearing.  I decided to preserve what was left of it.  I looked in my purse for tissues, which I then stuffed in my ears.  Ahhhh, I could now enjoy the music.  At one point, Ricky looked at me and asked, “Are my ears bleeding yet?” 

We loved the energy and virtuosity of the band and, in the process, gained a bit of street “cred” with the children of our friends.  I hope they never found out I had tissue stuffed in my ears the whole concert.  Ricky’s comment was, “They are even louder than The Who!”

The set list for Shreveport, according to  Setlist.  I can’t tell if it's accurate except I know he closed with Shreveport’s Leadbelly  song, Good Night, Irene.

Huddie Ledbetter (Leadbelly) grave
photo from  Chris Jay's blog, "Three Places in Shreveport That I'd Take Jack White"

1. High Ball Stepper
2. Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground (The White Stripes song)
3. Lazaretto
4. Temporary Ground
5. Hotel Yorba (The White Stripes song)
6. Three Women
7. You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told) (The White Stripes song)
8. Ball and Biscuit (The White Stripes song) (Partial)
9. Before You Accuse Me / Meet Me in the Morning / The Milk Cow Blues / Little Red Rooster
10. Icky Thump (The White Stripes song)
11. Sugar Never Tasted So Good (The White Stripes song)
12. Old Enough (The Raconteurs song) (Partial)
13. You've Got Her in Your Pocket (The White Stripes song)
14. Weep Themselves to Sleep
15. The Hardest Button to Button (The White Stripes song)

Encore:

16. Just One Drink
17. Hello Operator (The White Stripes song)
18. Top Yourself (The Raconteurs song)
19. Steady, As She Goes (The Raconteurs song)
20. Hypocritical Kiss
21. Power of My Love (Elvis Presley cover)
22. Seven Nation Army (The White Stripes song)
23. Goodnight, Irene (Lead Belly cover)

Jack White requested that the audience refrain from taking photographs (which many people ignored) and said there would be multiple photos from the concert on his website for audience use.  These are a few of those photos.

 

Caroline Dormon's Legacy: A Return to Briarwood

(You can click on any photo to enlarge for better viewing)

A sense of peace and tranquility surrounds Briarwood, the Caroline Dormon Nature Preserve, near Saline, Louisiana, even when my husband and I arrived for the annual picnic to find cars parked up and down the road.

A trip to Briarwood Nature Preserve takes you to a place where one woman's values and principles are evidenced in everything seen.  

detail from a brochure about Briarwood

“Miss Carrie,” as Caroline Dormon was known to friends and family, was a cousin of my husband’s grandfather so we try to attend the annual picnics. An added bonus is getting to visit with some of the other Edgertons who attend this event. My husband met Caroline Dormon when he was young and the family visited Briarwood for a family reunion.



Ricky is boy in forefront right and
Miss Carrie is standing in the shadows
(With appreciation for photo provided by Ricky's cousin Edwin Edgerton III)

Briarwood was the summer home of the Dormon family, and Caroline was born here in July 1888.  She returned to Brairwood as an adult to live here full time.  As I've been reading about Caroline Dormon, I found glimpses of her life story depicted in some snippets from national and regional magazines (as quoted in Briarwood brochures). 

“During her lifetime at Briarwood, Caroline built a log house, carved trails through the woods, scooped out a ‘reflection’ pond and planted hundreds of wildflowers, trees and shrubs collected during her travels throughout the South."
Southern Living Magazine, July 1992

 Caroline was a scholar all her life and taught school briefly in her early years after attending college in Alabama.  The following family photo shows a sign near one rural school where Miss Carrie taught.



 “The unpretentious unconventional woman lived most of her 83 years in a log house set amongst secluded woodlands in a remote area of northeasternmost Natchitoches Parish.  Often beset by financial stress, she resorted to such humble and mostly unsuccessful ventures as offering summer camps for girls or selling home-canned products.  Yet she gained world renown as a conservationist, naturalist, botanist, artist, historian, author, student of Indian lore and collector of native plants.  Louisiana State University awarded her an honorary Doctor of Science Degree.”    
Forest and People Magazine, 3rd Quarter, 1990

Caroline Dormon devoted her life to preserving the flora and fauna found at Briarwood and planted many more species on the land.  Today over 7,000 species of plants have been recorded at Briarwood, and it's not surprising that one goal of the non-profit group that oversees this nature preserve is to teach the value of native plants in the landscape and their potential for medical use.

 

 As Ricky and I wandered the trails around Briarwood, we took photos to help remember this day.

 

path through the wildflower meadow

 

 

 

lily (still trying to remember which one)

 

Native Azalea

The aroma of the white native azalea filled the path

Illicium floridanum (also known as purple anise, Florida anise, stink-bush, or star-anise)
an evergreen shrub native to the south-eastern United States
especially Florida and Louisiana. Smells like a wet dog!




Sign at the pond




Old sign identifying tree

Love the texture of this bark



There's a writer's cabin on the premises for people doing research related to Briarwood.

 

A friend David Snell vividly described Caroline Dormon in Smithsonian Magazine, February 1972:  “I can see her now, calling to [her sister]Virginia, the indoor Dormon, whooping and prancing about like some bamboo-stemmed marsh bird, and swinging her arms high over her head, with palms aloft and fingertips pointing backwards, in delight and disbelief that Heaven should have chosen to so bless this day.”

I felt the same way--experiencing delight and disbelief-- at the natural wonders that Briarwood provides to visitors.

Briarwood is managed by a non-profit organization, The Foundation for the Preservation of the Caroline Dormon Nature Preserve, Inc. whose goals include protecting Briarwood’s old growth forest, as well as the protection of Dormon’s botanical collection of native plants and rare and endangered plants at Briarwood.  Briarwood also seeks to provide a safe habitat for wildlife and strives to educate adults and children in the importance of biodiversity and the preservation of the ecosystem.

For more information, please refer to these books related to Caroline Dormon, as well as the Facebook page, Briarwood Nature Preserve.

• Flowers Native to the Deep South, Dormon’s book of wildflowers  (Baton Rouge: Claitor's Publishing Division, 1958; 2^nd printing, 1999)
• The Gift of the Wild Things: The Life of Caroline Dormon, by Fran Holman. (Lafayette, La: The Center for Louisiana Studies, 1990)
• Adventures in Wild Flowers: The Timeless Writings of Caroline Dormon, editor Fran Holman (Catawba Publishing, 2010)

You may also want to read my earlier blog post about a previous Briarwood visit.

 

 

 

 

Gumbo Tales: Finding My Place at the New Orleans Table, by Sara Roahen

Gumbo Tales: Finding My Place at the New Orleans Table, by Sara Roahen.

W.W. Norton & Co. 2008. 293 pages.

 

This is the fifth book I've read for the Foodies Read 2 Reading Challenge this year, and I loved the book.  I bought Gumbo Tales several years ago, and it is another one that sat on my library shelf waiting for the right time for reading. Unfortunately, hurricane season in Louisiana is the apropos time to read this series of essays on the food culture of New Orleans area, because Roahen's book discusses venues destroyed by Katrina and the elderly restaurateurs who didn't survive the evacuation. 

Today, as I write, people in New Orleans are digging out after Hurricane Isaac, while others in South Louisiana are evacuating because of broken or breached levees.  The destruction wrought by hurricanes, even supposedly low level 1 hurricanes, wreak havoc on a state still recovering from Hurricane Katrina, which swamped New Orleans and St. Bernard Parish exactly seven years ago to the week (Katrina was a slow developing catastrophe).

While some stories in Roahen's book are tragic, she uses humor effectively to prevent the essays from being too depressing,  pessimistic or maudlin.  She divides her book into chapters on emotion-laden subjects, at least in my household--topics, such as:  gumbo, po-boys, crawfish, coffee and chicory, and red beans and rice.  Other important subjects she scrutinizes are sno-balls (snow-cones);  red gravy (Italian tomato sauce); turducken (if you watch football, you should know this one); and oysters.  Other chapters include Sazeracs, vegetables, poisson meuniere amandine, pho, coconuts, king cake & y-ka-mein, le boeuf gras, and turkey bone gumbo.

Roahen's descriptions will interest anyone wanting to know more about the melting pot of New Orleans inhabitants as told through their food.  Roahen does explain in her foreword that some of the places mentioned were washed away, and she doesn't know if or when they might return, e.g. the Vietnamese market area outside the city, but they were so much a part of the fabric of the New Orleans she experienced that she couldn't leave them out.  Roahen herself no longer lives in New Orleans, but the reader knows that the city has become part of her so she will return often.

Anyone familiar with the Crescent City will undoubtedly see favorite neighborhood venues mentioned.  I know we rarely visit New Orleans without stopping by Mandina's, an Italian-creole neighborhood restaurant on Canal that has been totally revamped since Katrina.  And drinks on the porch at The Columns on St. Charles will become part of our ritual after our recent visit. 

This book to be one to be read slowly and savored, and I plan to pack it to use as a culinary guidebook for our next visit to NOLA.

New Orleans Memories Continued

Evening events kept me busy this week so not much time for blogging or, more accurately, not much energy left for blogging.  However, sitting in my library on this scorching Saturday afternoon, my mind has returned to New Orleans.....

There have been many trips to New Orleans since my first memorable college experience--other conferences attended--with graduate school and working in education, academia has been a major part of my life.  One of my favorite conference experiences was when my ex-husband and I lived and taught at Sinte Gleska College, now University, on the Rosebud (Sioux) Reservation in South Dakota. 

Shortly after our arrival, we attended a Native American Education Conference with our friend who was tribal chairman of the Rosebud Sioux. Our friend was open-mouthed during our tour of the French Quarter and looked on in puzzlement as small boys accosted him in the Quarter, yelling, “I bet you a dollar I can tell you where you got dem boots.”  Our friend was dressed in the traditional Indian cowboy attire--jeans, ribbon shirt, silver and turquoise accessories, cowboy hat and boots-- and presented a handsome silhouette on Bourbon Street, so ladies of the evening also called out to him, much to his embarrassment. 

At another academic conference when we were still grad students, my ex and I had to travel on our own meager budget.  I remember this conference because we stayed in some small Canal Street store-front hotel where you had to get buzzed in.  The rooms had high ceilings, ours was spacious and kind of sectioned off, so we shared it with my husband's major professor because we were too poor to get our own room!  We presented academic papers on Social Foundations of Education at the conference, enjoyed the intellectual give-and-take of the discussions, and explored the city with colleagues after the sessions ended each evening.

Dauphine Orleans Hotel, New Orleans

Later, I went to work as a regional preschool coordinator for the Louisiana Department of Education, a project then housed in the School of Allied Health Sciences, LSU Medical Center in Shreveport.  Preschool coordinators were then part of a summer seminar in New Orleans. My colleagues and I stayed in the French Quarter on Dauphine Street, enjoyed late afternoon teas at our hotel and compared seafood dishes at various restaurants around town.   

Courtyard, Dauphine Orleans Hotel

Our week long class was held each summer at the University of New Orleans (UNO) and, as I’ve never been one to pass up a book store of any kind, I browsed through the UNO book store during breaks, purchasing esoteric titles on the history, sociology, anthropology or philosophy of education.

My husband Ricky and I love New Orleans. Before we were married, we attended Mardi Gras where we dived for beads and slept in passion tangled sheets on a pallet on the floor of a friend's small St. Ann Street house. We attended Jazz Fest to hear famous performers, then ended up in a tiny neighborhood club where a sensual man played the saxophone in a smoke-filled room and mesmerized patrons swayed to the music like snake charmers.

Our friends' second story front porch where we sit and people watch

When Hurricane Katrina and the flood hit, Ricky and I took in a family who were evacuated to the V.A. Hospital in Shreveport. They lived in our guest cottage until we could find them a house to rent. Though they were strangers to us when we met, like many relationships forged by the tragedy of Katrina, they have become our friends. This has been great for us because we have close friends to visit when we travel south to New Orleans.


When I first visited New Orleans so long ago, I never imagined this unique and troubled city would become part of who I am.

NOLA, the first time

In the sea of memories, "the first time" often stands out--the first day of school, the first kiss, the first formal evening gown, the first trip to New Orleans.

My first trip to New Orleans was a spur of the moment trip to a history conference while I was in college.  One of my hometown friends stopped by my dorm room to lament the fact that she was due to leave the next day to attend a history conference in New Orleans, but the other girl scheduled to go had cancelled.  The history professor taking the group to the conference wouldn't let just one female go by herself.  The hotel accommodations for the males attending were separate from those of the female students because of room availability. 

"I'll go with you," I quickly volunteered, "if my parents will let me."  I called home and did some fast talking.  The next day I was heading to New Orleans for the first time.  The history professor drove a van with 4 or 5 students, and it seemed like a long trip from the mountains of Virginia.  I don't remember the boys who went with us from our college, but I do remember New Orleans! 


The history conference was lively--there were heated discussions between young black activists and author William Styron because he, a white man, had the audacity to tell the story of Nat Turner in Styron's Confessions of Nat Turner that won the Pulitzer Prize that year (1968).  These angry black men in the audience also disagreed with the literary license Styron took in painting his portrait of Nat Turner. We sat in an aisle of the filled-to-capacity meeting room to listen to the debate. 



 My friend Annie and I continued our historical and cultural studies the next day in a tiny bar as we drank bourbon and Coke, while an older black man played the piano for us and very few other patrons--of course it was before noon!  We took a bus tour of New Orleans and walked through old cemeteries and looked for sites associated with voodoo queen, Marie Laveau.


 
One evening all of us from our college went with others from the history conference on a river boat cruise on the Mississippi.  Half intoxicated history professors danced with coeds, trying to grope them.  After an overly friendly, middle-aged professor danced with me, I pointed out my friend as a slow dance began and told the professor that she liked to dance much more than I did, which was true.  She could also handle herself better in delicate situations. 

A tropical rain storm descended as the cruise ended, and there were no taxis to be found.  All of us from our school ended up in the revolving bar atop the Monteleone Hotel to wait for a taxi.  That in itself was interesting since we attended a Methodist College that frowned on student drinking.  We had one drink and watched the city of New Orleans slowly revolve or so it seemed from our vantage point.  Once we were able to secure a cab, it dropped off the professor and male students at their hotel, with them all claiming extreme fatigue.  We later learned everyone from our college went back out that night, each intent on adventure.

Annie and I were not ready to call it a night, so instead of having the driver take us to our hotel, we had the cabbie take us to a bar we had visited earlier in the week.  It had been full of Tulane students, we had befriended the wait staff, and we felt it was a safe option for two girls alone in the Quarter. 

We didn't stay there long, however. We soon met two young sailors on leave and with them, we proceeded to hit every bar on Bourbon Street.  The shows in the bars were risque and my sailor got a bit frisky, so I made my friend trade with me.  I was happier to be paired with the shyer of the two guys.  The evening ended hours later with a brief kiss, probably to the disappointment of the sailors.  In truth, they  were even younger than we were, and at least they could tell their shipmates they had dates for the evening. 

As soon as our escorts left us, my friend and I were out on the street again, hunting for food this time.  We found an all-night diner close-by and put some food into our stomachs to counteract the bourbon we had consumed. 

As I recall, we headed home the next day.  I've always felt the Crescent City had to live up to high standards if subsequent visits were to be as eventful as my first, but more about that later. . . .