On the road at 5:30 am. Still dark. A busy smattering of trucks and cars are already on route to here and there. I join them.
Getting out of Texas becomes a bit of a chore. High speeds. Constant road construction leading to narrowed lanes, concrete walls right up against the roadway. Lanes ending or appearing suddenly without warning.
After an hour, I stop to get coffee and a spinach egg white plate with fresh fruit at some little cafe at some exit I don’t remember. The server calls me Ma’am constantly, though she is my age or so.
It’s just me, her, and the cook. Lively Mexican music fills the air.
Finally, I make Louisiana. Slowly the road opens up. Swamps with giant pines and dead looking cedars surround the freeway. At one point, a river is diverted right down the middle of east and west bound lanes until it opens at a wide bayou mouth.
I spot Pelicans cruising the waters at a leisurely speed. The sun is beginning to rise so I’m thinking morning insects mean fish biting mean happy Pelicans feeding.
Then, I get tricked by Lafayette.
,
I assume a town named after a famous pirate will have to be interesting. I head downtown. It’s 10:00 and not a thing is open.
I meander up and down the four block historical square. A beautiful courthouse which, if I didn’t have to pee so bad, I would have stopped to photograph.
I finally spot a public parking lot. Pull in. AM immediately accosted by thirtyish meth woman on bicycle.
“That sure is a pretty dress,” she opens, coming within a foot of my driver’s side door as I’m preparing to step out. Too much in my space.
“Thank you,” I stay congenial despite the proximity. “First day I’ve worn a dress in months. The humidity makes it seem like a good choice.”
“Listen Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you but I’m start\ting a new job on Saturday at xxxxx (some place I sure don’t know).”
“Good for you,” I say. “Congratulations.”
I edge by her, closing my door, move around until we’re face to face.
“See, I can take the bus most of the way,” she says, both oblivious and earnest.”But I have to ride this bike after the line ends. (it’s a strong, heavy, steel thing with big, wide tires). And I need a new tube. I’ve already got most of the money….”
“How much is a tube?” I ask.
“Nine dollars, Ma”am.”
She pulls out a small roll of bills, all ones, and a few coins.
“I got a little over six now.” She holds it up for my approval.
“Where’s the bike shop?” I ask.
“It’s just right around the corner, up there a block. They be open in a few minutes.”
‘Tell you what,” I say, “I want to help celebrate your new job. Walk there with me and I’ll buy you your tube.”
I smile. She look at her bills. At me. Puts the money away.
“Well,” she waivers, “Mebbe I’ll meet you there in five minutes. You go eat or whatever.”
“Oh, I’m not eating. I just need to pee.”
That embarrasses her. She blushes. Says, “See you.” Gets on her seat, begins paddling away.
So I guess that’s appropriate for a pirate city, after all.
Late lunch is in “Something Springs” somewhere past all the miles of rice paddies 
and over the giant spans across the big Mississippi Rivers, 
down onto a lush pastured countryside.
I drive past fast food joints, noticing how many offer cracklin’s, fried shrimp, crayfish/crawdads, and boutin.
Past the “historic center,” which consists of exactly two blocks of antique shops, one after another. No services, nothing save sales.
Turning down a side road I spot a little green corner cafe, named The Green Cafe. Decid to trust it.
The Green Cafe is a Mediterranean cafe run by a father and his son, neither with much English. They didn’t advertise which country their recipes are from but I had smooth, fresh hummus, a great feta Greek style salad with a bit of cajun kick, some thin sliced grilled chicken and warm pita bread. And a powerful connection with a cajun girl.
I strike up conversation with this eighteen year old girl who is blind. She is blind because some older boys raped, then beat her, when she was thirteen. They threw her so hard against a wall that her ocular nerve was damaged. The sight in one eye went immediately, the other is slowly degenerating.
She and I trade brain injury stories, recovery stories, and a few selected anecdotes from our mutual lives of having been bullied and mocked for being “special.”
She is a feisty, smart young woman; I tell her so.
She is also training a three month old Belgian Malanois (yikes) as her service dog, insists it is actually going quite well.
“He’s so smart,” she tells me, “He was shaking hands and laying down after just four days. People say they’re mean, nervous dogs. But they are just really smart and they need to be kept busy. They like to work.”
Turns out today is her birthday. I wish her happy birthday and happy life. Tell her, “You can be anything you want. Don’t ever let anyone limit you but yourself. When you need to.”
I head onward East.
Soon I arrive in Alabama.
My turn off to Long Beach comes pretty quickly. One minute, I am barreling down the interstate, the next I’m slow driving down side roads with my window down, breathing the air. Something sweet I don’t recognize. I am reminded I’m in the Land of Dixie when I notice this
It’s interesting because I only saw two T===P bumper stickers in all of Texas. One giant billboard in Louisiana with a picture of Jesus, T and Vance sported the text, God wants you to Trust Jesus, Trump and Vance. The thing was the size of a three story barn. No missing that sucker.
Nevertheless, you can feel it’s deep red South. There are churches or Christian billboards every where I look. People are incredibly polite or they’re hostile (especially the men) for no reason other than they don’t know me. And I guess because I’m a woman traveling alone. Thankfully, there seems to be a 9:1 nice person to asshole ratio.
I drive through miles of pretty pine barrens and swampy, overgrown fields until I arrive at the gulf. Right there before me.
I get out, take off my shoes, wade through thick, soft, sugary white sand to the water’s edge.
I intend to wade in the water until I see it: how close the refinery and big sewer run-off pipes are, I gingerly dip my toes into the water, walk the beach instead.
I stare south, east, the directions I’ll be heading tomorrow.
Spring break along Gulfport and surrounds, into the Panhandle of Florida. Should be an experience.
But for now, I’m here, in this modest, magical, earth mama cabin provided by a Christian witch (that warrants a good conversation).
It’s just me,
many song birds, the biggest, friendliest bumble bee I’ve ever seen–I mean, two and a half inches long, for realz- and insects humming away all around as the wind whispers through the pines
I rock in that chair on the porch after a nice long, walk down the lane.
Faintly off in the distance, voices of happy children playing. The night begins to cool.
Respite night.
Blessed Be.