La petite chapelle sur le bayou

On the grounds of St. Genevieve's Catholic Church in Slidell, framed and shaded by live oaks draped in Spanish moss, is a small brick building, the Chapel of the Sacred Heart.

"Come to me all you who labor and are burdened and I will refresh you."

While not ourselves Catholic, we do find this a restful, restorative place to visit—though perhaps that has more to do in our case with the live oaks, the Spanish moss, and the location on the banks of Liberty Bayou.

Spider lily

 

Spider lily, Crinum americanum, at Bayou Lacombe. Photos by Jessa.

Audubon meets Monet

 

Photo by Jessica Farrell-Churchill.

Cane-cutter

Swamp rabbit, Sylvilagus aquaticus. Photos by Jessa. (Almost all of our photos from this trip, in fact, are Jessa's. Girl just doesn't like to share the camera.)

I caught one of these once, back in Georgia, or rather my hawk did. It was well over twenty years ago, and I can't quite remember whether it was Watauga or his successor Pocomoke; both were tiercel redtails flying at about 32 ounces, and accustomed to hunting grey squirrels. Occasionally, mostly at field meets down around Statesboro, we'd get a slip at an eastern cottontail. But one day, while hawking the wet back woods of a cattle ranch somewhere between Athens and Jefferson, my two-pound tiercel latched onto the hind end of a five-pound swamp rabbit, and the rodeo was on. The rabbit dragged the hawk around a small clearing, changing directions a few times, and I was sure it was going to throw the hawk before I could join the fray. But when the rabbit tried to duck under a log, the little tiercel let go of the cane-cutter with one foot and braced it against the log instead, stopping the rabbit in its tracks and gaining control long enough for me to make in. I can still remember how heavy that rabbit felt in my game bag, and how proud I was of that tenacious little hawk.

Bunches and bunches

Speaking of non-native plants...

Southern Louisiana's climate is subtropical, and bananas are sometimes used in landscaping. (People sometimes harvest fruit as well, but as the LSU Ag Center notes, "Most Louisiana bananas are selected for landscape appeal and cold hardiness and not for fruit; harvested fruit from landscape bananas may be sweet or starchy, depending on the variety, which is seldom known.") This "tree" decorated—and eventually outlasted—an auto-body shop. In contrast to water hyacinth, though, bananas rarely if ever become invasive here—subtropical is just too cool for them to grow out of control.

[The inflorescence, or "banana heart", from which the fruits develop.]

Water hyacinth and pickerelweed

This spot in Slidell is where Jessa used to fish with her family. Note the abundant water hyacinth, which is undoubtedly pretty but which would not have helped the fishing. Louisiana was quite possibly where this invasive species from the Amazon first found a foothold in North America; although other theories have been proposed, Eichhornia crassipes may have been introduced at the 1884 World's Fair held just across the lake in New Orleans. By 1910, water hyacinth had become a serious enough problem that a congressman from Louisiana, Robert Broussard, proposed importing hippopotamuses from Africa as a combined biological control agent and food source. The American Hippo Bill failed by a single vote.

Also present, and also blooming in purple, was a related aquatic plant, pickerelweed. Like its cousin, Pontederia cordata has become invasive in some parts of the world, but here it is native.

Dragonflies

 Eastern pondhawks (males blue, females green).

Four-spotted pennant.

McGehee cypress swamp

After our first visit seven years ago, I wrote, "More municipalities should set aside spots like this," and I stand by that sentiment. We present, again, one of our favourite city parks, in McGehee, Arkansas.

Hannibal's homecoming

Our latest trip started with a dream I had about my late friend Mike. I mentioned it to Karl, who said he had also been thinking about Mike and went on to say, "If I can figure out a way to get Hannibal back from New Orleans, the Coulsons are giving him back to me." Hannibal was Mike's last Harris' hawk, and had been bred by Tom and Jennifer Coulson; after Mike's passing, he was flown by Bob Noble and then by Karl before ending up back with the Coulsons.

Normally, Tom and Jenn could have simply put Hannibal on a plane to Lincoln or Omaha, but amongst all the other COVID-19 disruptions, the shipping of animals on airlines has been suspended. Jessa and I wanted Hannibal back in Nebraska almost as badly as Karl did, and since the Coulsons actually live in St. Tammany Parish on the North Shore, our home territory when we're in Louisiana, we volunteered to bring him home. Karl expressed some misgivings about sending us into what looked like a COVID-19 hot zone, but we assured him we'd take precautions.

And so it was that we made a rush, three-day weekend trip back to Louisiana, where we had a nice albeit fully-masked visit with Tom and Jenn, ate our share of Vietnamese baked goods and take-away seafood, and took a few photos which we will share in the coming days. Hannibal crossed not the Alps on an elephant but the Ozarks in the back of our Subaru, and is now settling back in at Karl's. 

[A few snapshots from Karl's garage as we got Hannibal fitted with fresh furniture. Masks at this end of the trip as well.]

Welcome home, Hannibal! I know Mike would be pleased.