Along the Gulf Coast, the roads of my childhood wound around bayous, along the beach, across marshy meadow. These roads, made from spent clam shells harvested from the waters of Lake Pontchartrain and the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, left behind a cloud of fine white dust, crunched beneath tires, and scuffed up fancy shoes and bare feet and knees alike.
Although many of these white shell roads are long gone, smoothed over by pavement, cement, smooth river rock, or overgrown completely with time and weeds and vine, life along the Gulf Coast remains mostly unchanged.
Families still gather on front porches to wave at passers by. Cocktails and sweet tea and cheese straws are still passed around at five o'clock. Kids race around on bicycles, dodging mosquito control trucks and the call home for dinner.
Cicadas call in metallic tones, frogs sing in wavering tunes, and bats circle in the dusky fall of the evening sky. It is a land of nearly eternal summertime.
Recipes are exchanged. Births and deaths, Carnival and All Saints Day, Christmas and Easter, are celebrated with both solemnity and exuberance.
And whatever tales aren't appropriate for the front porch are whispered in hushed tones on the back steps. Histories are shared, notes are taken, written down on the minds of men and women, mothers, fathers, grandparents, cousins.
Communities celebrate each day as if it is the last. The last day of summer. The last day before the hurricane comes ashore. The last day to live life to its fullest.
In this we share the bond of food and celebration as we walk together, remembering the past roads and sharing the path to new ones.
I am looking forward to waving at you from my own porch, sharing with you my own stories, recipes, cocktails, photographs, events, and so much more.
Cheers from the Road!
