While turning into a teenager a lot of time was spent roaming along the banks of rivers and bayous in a state recently hammered by hurricane. Dense forests too thick in places to walk through without applying the edge of a machete to its thorny underbrush, the banks of the waterways were favorite paths. An old woman living alone in the middle of the thicket would curse and chase us away if we got too close to her shack. Water moccasins and timber rattlers dwelt there too. This stretch of river was spared Ida's attentions as she rolled inland.
The old woman in the shack is long dead, but I wonder how those living along bayous southeast of this place fared. Possibly much better than a lot of city dwellers did, I suspect.
