Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Iberia Parish’

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

On Sunday afternoon, the rain had stopped, the air was a perfect 70 degrees, and my house was full. Full of people with great admiration for my mother-in-law, Anne Simon, who once served as a district judge in a three parish area of Louisiana. She was not holding court, but the respect and honor was present. Minga (her grandmother name given by my oldest daughter) was signing her 5th book. Her first book Blood in the Cane Field came out in 2014. She has only been a writer for 10 years. She is 92 years old.

Actually, Anne has been working on being an author for a long time. She graduated from Wellesley and was the token woman chosen from her class to attend Yale Law School. Mona Lisa Smile was a movie based on her Wellesley class. At Yale, “They didn’t even have female bathrooms,” she told me. At Yale, she met Jerry Simon, a young man from an exotic place, New Iberia, Louisiana. In 1956, she was the only woman law school graduate in her class at LSU Law School. Jerry had swept her away from Yale to plant her firmly in Louisiana soil. From 1956-1984, Anne and Jerry practiced together as partners in a law firm. My husband Jeff joined the practice in 1981. In 1985, Anne ran for District Judge and became the first woman to hold that office. In her retirement, she served as an ad hoc judge for the Louisiana Supreme Court. All that time, she collected stories.

On Sunday, Anne told the group gathered in our home about how she came to write this latest novel, Blue, Gray, and Black Blood: The Civil War in the Bayou Country. She was interested in Civil War history. In her studies, she found that farm boys from western Massachusetts volunteered for the Union Army. She knew this area of the country well (Wellesley is located in Massachusetts) and imagined that they might have crossed paths with French speaking African Americans in Acadiana.

This photo shows Anne talking with Phebe Hayes, a historian and founder of the Iberia African American Society. Phebe was studying her family’s genealogy when she had lunch with me and Anne on the back porch of Anne’s house. I was there when the two discussed Phebe’s discoveries about her ancestry. Her ancestors were French speaking Creoles who joined the 52nd Massachusetts volunteers heading west. Through Anne’s thorough research, she wrote a historical fiction book “so you could imagine what it would have been like to live during that time.”

Phebe Hayes, left, and Anne Simon, right, celebrate the publication of a book that shares their history.

“We need to know every group’s history, not just our own. They intersect and we understand more when we know more,” said Anne to the crowd gathered. I was honored to be able to provide my home for the book signing. And many thanks to the people who helped with the event.

Read Full Post »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Most days I take the slow, country road route from one school to the other rather than getting on the mad highway. I pass the underpass round-about that has been in some stage of construction all year long. Drive beyond the road where I need to turn because due to said construction, it’s been blocked. Make a u-turn and swing by the corner gas station (sometimes I stop for a Subway salad), and turn right into a grove of trees that transports me to a peaceful country road.

Yesterday there was no one on the road, no one following me, so I stopped at each icon to take a picture. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly and enjoy the slow ride.

The white cows have been birthing babies. I’ve watched as their herd has grown, how the mothers all tend to the little ones, and how they cluster together like kids out at recess.

The old red barn stands a little crooked, but someone cuts the grass. I secretly wish they would let the wild flowers grow. She seems lonely and old, yet independent and wise. I look her way and smile, resisting the urge to give her a name and throw my hand out of the window and wave.

The horses run and frolic in the fresh spring air. They are frisky and shy, moving quickly away from my presence.

Take a right at the white church. Saint’s truck has been there for weeks doing repairs. I honk and wave to him. He recognizes my car. I hear his familiar laugh as I drive away. This old church is our safe spot for our school’s evacuation. We’ve never had to walk here along the fields of sugarcane, but they will be ready for us if there ever is a need. Praying there is never a need.

Today as I drive this road again, I will be mourning the loss of another school shooting, saying to God “Why?”

My life is a blessing. All lives are precious and should be adored. Prayers help me, the supplicator, but until there is real change, gun control action, my prayers will be futile. When will this madness ever end?

Read Full Post »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Ring of Fire Sunflowers, photo by Margaret Simon

My daughters packed their cars, their dogs, a toddler and returned to New Orleans on Saturday. The house was cavernous and quiet. I needed to do something for myself or I knew I would sink into the sofa and sulk.

Petite Anse Farm advertised a cut-your-own-bucket-of-flowers weekend. On Sunday morning, I grabbed my coffee and smoothie and hit the road. The farm of beautiful Jennifer and handsome Andrew Graycheck is about 8 miles south of town. I was greeted by Georgia, their Australian Shepherd and Lorelei, their 5 year old.

Lorelei helps me choose the best zinnias. Their stems need to be strong and not springy.

In the warming breeze, I set out with a bucket of water and clippers. I stopped to take photos. I took Lorelei’s picture, and she took mine. She also helped me choose the best stems to fill my bucket.

Photo by Jennifer Graycheck with my phone. She’s a fine art photographer and gave me some great pointers for using “portrait mode.”

When I checked out with Jennifer, I asked, “What am I going to do with all these flowers?”

“Give them to the people you love!”

At home I gathered jars and vases and cut the stems again to place in arrangements. After lunch, I set out to deliver flowers.

My friend (and my husband’s cousin) Annie has been called as a priest for our church. She is the first female priest in charge for the Episcopal Church of the Epiphany in its 165 year history. I wrote an article for our local newspaper about her. You can read it here. I stopped by to thank her for all the little things she is doing at our church to make it a stronger community of caring people.

Madre Annie Etheredge flashes her smile.

I made 4 more stops. It took me 2.5 hours because everyone was home and ready to visit. I caught up with friends and delivered a bit of joy in the process. Literally and figuratively filled up my bucket.

Read Full Post »