by The sign read: “Longfellow Evangeline Historic Site“. Whoa. What’s this? Evangeline is a fictitious character in an epic American poem and Longfellow was a New England poet who never set foot in Louisiana. How can this be a historic site?
The grounds, however, looked so appealing and inviting that I turned into the long drive shaded by ancient oaks dripping with flags of gray Spanish moss and parked in an almost empty lot.
Quickly I discovered that the site is a re-creation of an Acadian farmstead from the late 1700s. It is the type of place the fictional Evangeline would have encountered toward the end of her search for her lost love. (Spoiler Alert: While she had persisted, he had moved on.)
Back in the 1990s I was a genealogy fiend for a while so when I see a site like this I start thinking about which of my ancestors would have lived in something comparable and what their lives would have been. This is not the right location for my family, however. We are not from Louisiana, but my great-great grandparents lived in a small log home, perhaps like this one, on the American frontier in the early 1800s in what is now Indiana.
Would the refugee Acadians–Cajuns–have sat on this porch during the heat of the day or only taken their ease in those rocking chairs after the sun settled into the West? Or maybe they would have only sat outside during the cooler months of the year? During summer it would have been meltingly hot and not much cooler come sundown. (As I was soon to find out.)
The interior is one room. On the left is a hand crafted bedstead with a quilt and protective netting. For whatever it is worth, many Europeans consider quilts to be a notable American art form, not merely colorful, frugal bedding.
And on the right side of the room: the kitchen with local foods like oysters, okra and blackberries. The fireplace, however, does not look as if it was usable for cooking. Maybe the wife cooked outdoors on an open fire. The chairs suggest that they might have had meals in this area, but…
On the back porch there is a rough table and benches for outdoor eating. Or perhaps the table was used as a workbench? Or maybe this was used when the family grew larger? A hand mill for grinding corn is also on the back porch.
Lost in the swamplands
Now comes the part where I got lost in the swamp in 100 degree F midday heat.
Beyond the farmhouse on the Longfellow Evangeline Historic Site there are acres of land and streams and curving trails and narrow paved roads. I wandered across small bridges, past fields marked as pasture for animals and looked into small cabins scattered around the property. And then couldn’t find my way back. So I decided to follow a paved road, confident it would loop around to the parking area.
Well, it didn’t.
After walking about a half mile I came a rickety bridge by this beautiful bayou and at the end of the road, a locked gate. I loved watching the colors and reflections and slowly swirling patterns in this bayou–but I also wanted to get back to my car and cool off. I was noticably feeling the effects of the heat and humidity.
So I turned back and eventually discovered where I had gone wrong and made my way back to the 21st century parking lot and my 20th century car with air conditioning.
The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even past.
What happened next reminded me of Faulkner’s famous line: “The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even past.” A few miles away I drove by a house with a rusted metal roof and faded wood siding that, from the exterior, could have been a bigger cousin to the one at the Longfellow-Evangeline Historic Site. I stopped and took a couple of photos. It is still being lived in and instead of rocking chairs on the front porch, there was a white plastic chair, probably from WalMart. In Southern Louisiana the past still lives.
Visit my author’s site to see books I have published
2 thoughts on “Time travel in the Louisiana swamps”
Comments are closed.