A flyer for the novel Ghost of a Chance.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

  Here is yet another view of the Saint Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

The remaining hours left in the 150th Mardi Gras are clicking down and tomorrow, Fat Tuesday, is the last day.  I urge you to check out the BourboCam at http://www.nola.com.  You won’t believe your eyes.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

Check out the BourboCam on http://www.nola.com.  Mardi Gras is rocking the French Quarter.  It’s not quite as wild as last year, but at least it is happening.  Thank goodness.  http://www.ericwilder.com

Even after writing about bobcats, wolves and black panthers in east Texas, I wasn't prepared for what I saw in my own front yard at 8 this very night. I was writing at my computer when the din of barking dogs (my own) caused me to go to the front door to see what they why they were causing so much commotion.

I had fed the dogs, and my cats, just after darkness had fallen. Only one of the cats, Duke, had shown up for dinner and he hadn't eaten much. What I saw when I went to the front door, scarfing up the left-overs, was a red fox - a full grown red fox. Needless to say, I was quite surprised.

What must have caused this shy animal to venture forth at an hour so early that he might possibly be seen? I think it is the drought that presently has Oklahoma by the throat. The State has seen no appreciable rain since last Halloween night, some 118 days ago. We are presently suffering from the worst drought in Oklahoma history - yes, and that includes the Dustbowl Era.

Mr. Fox was probably hungry, moreover thirsty, and didn't want to wait until the opossums, skunks and raccoons had eaten the food left for the cats later on when It would be safer to venture forth.

We had an ice storm last week - a small amount of precipitation we are all very thankful for. When I walked outside my house the morning after the storm, I saw what I thought were deer tracks. I'm not a hunter, so I can't say for sure, but that's what they looked like to me. Hey, I live in the city limits of a fairly large town.

Anyway, what next? Maybe we have bobcats among us and I just haven’t seen them yet.

http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

 The Saint Louis Cathedral is the oldest cathedral in North America.  The cathedral lies in the heart of the French Quarter, adjacent to Jackson Square and close to Pirate’s Alley.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

Not only did Hurricane Katrina strike a near-lethal blow to New Orleans, it also flattened many coastal towns and cities in Mississippi and Alabama. Katrina was followed closely by Hurricane Rita, and this storm also compromised the levees in New Orleans. Rita left a swath of destruction in its path that stretched all the way to Houston, Texas.

Global warming is a scientific fact, and the world’s climate is changing rapidly. The worst hurricane season on record is only one example of recent natural disasters that includes the Indonesian tsunami and mud slides in Mexico. What are we do about it? Maybe we should look at the Netherlands as an example.

In 1953, record flooding in that country resulted in extensive property damage and almost 2,000 deaths. They spent three billion dollars to revamp its system of outdated dikes. Today, the Netherlands' system of dikes is a state-of-the-art masterpiece of thought and engineering. Are the Dutch resting on their laurels? Anything but! A rise in sea level - the likely scenario as the glaciers melt - will make their dikes obsolete. They are already thinking of ways to improve their system in order to impede the future encroachment of the sea.

The destruction in New Orleans captured the attention of the nation and the world. Still, the wonderful old city is but a small portion of the Gulf Coast. It will take far more than simply raising the existing levees in New Orleans three feet, or so, to cure its flooding problems. That would be like putting a band aid on a serious gash. Let’s don’t simply treat the symptoms, let’s address the stone cold fact that the problem is endemic to the entire Gulf Coastal Region. There is already an engineering plan on the table that will go a long way to save our barrier islands and marshlands, and mitigate the effects of future storms and hurricanes. This plan is already approved.

Then what’s the problem? The answer is funding. No one wants to fund this plan. Like the Dutch, we need to suck it up and spend the money to cure the problem. If we don’t, someday soon the citizens of the United States - and I mean everyone of us - will lose far more than the culture and cuisine of New Orleans.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

We left New Orleans the following day, driving east on I-10 toward Baton Rouge. For many miles, the turnpike rises high above low-lying wetlands. This is part of an area known as the Bonnet Carre Spillway, the emergency run-off for flood waters. Needless to say, the water was higher than normal.

As we spanned the miles of uninhabited marsh, the traffic thinned and I had a chance to think about what I had seen during our trip to New Orleans. The City had received a lethal strike from the worst natural disaster in the history of the United States. Months after Katrina and Rita, the citizens were still reeling from their effects. Reeling, but alive.

Many of my friends in Oklahoma had said, "Don’t rebuild New Orleans. It’s a waste of taxpayer money."

To this I say, "Ridiculous!"

Not just New Orleans, but the entire Gulf Coastal Region was affected by the worst hurricane season on record.. This region, extending from Florida to Texas, is the home of most of the nation’s refining capacity. Knock it out and the entire country grinds quickly to a halt. The Gulf of Mexico supplies 25 % of the nation’s oil and one third of its natural gas. Knock out this region and you may as well turn off the lights in the rest of the country. Houston and New Orleans are two of the largest seaports in the United States. Most of the nation’s coffee, for instance, enters the country through New Orleans.

Shut down the Gulf Coastal Region and America won’t even have a cup of java to sip while it ponders its lack of electricity.

http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

A storm named Katrina had visited Chalmette, Arabi, the Lower 9^th Ward, the Bywater District, much of Gentilly and the lake front. It had left rubble, empty wooden shells and heartbreak in its wake. Many of the expensive houses along Lakeshore Drive were also vacant, as were most of the mansions on Canal Boulevard. Katrina hadn’t discriminated against the rich.

That night, Marilyn and I had dinner on Bourbon Street at Ralph Brennan’s Red Fish Grill, both of us happy for a momentary return to sanity. We sat at the bar, watching Pittsburgh and Seattle play the last football game of the year. After a wonderful dinner and perhaps the best bread pudding either of us had ever tasted, we returned to the Sheraton and found a seat at the bar to watch the finish of the Super Bowl

I had a long conversation about the City with a personable man seated beside me named Bellamy. He was unsure of the City’s future, but had a positive attitude that things would eventually work out for the best. As Marilyn and I took the elevator to our room, I hoped that he was correct.  http://www.ericwilder.com

St. Bernard Highway is the old route from New Orleans to Chalmette. We were barely past Elysian Fields when it became readily apparent that this part of town had suffered far more than just a little wind and water damage. For miles we drove through an area that could best be described as a bleak scene from an end-of-the-world movie. There were no living creatures in sight, either human or animal. On both sides of the empty street were ruined shells of houses and businesses, and abandoned vehicles, all coated with layers of mud that made them appear as metallic corpses rendered lifeless on or about the same time. There was no vegetation, and this lack of greenery seemed to drain all color from the empty houses, leaving them painted with only the gray pallor of death. To say that Marilyn and I were stunned is at best a simplistic description of the shock and horror we both felt.

There were signs up on both sides of the street advertising cut-rate gutting and trash hauling. There was no sign of FEMA, or any activity indicating a plan in place to cure the massive problem. What if a home owner did gut and repair his own house? Where would that leave him amid a sea of destruction? Why would restaurants, store and shop owners return to this devastation? I had no answer.

All that was left of Arabi was hundreds of empty houses once filled with living, breathing beings. The town was now totally devoid of life. When I worked in the City many years ago, I had a simple apartment in Arabi, across from a Catholic Convent where its resident nuns lived cloistered and alone their entire lives, spending their existence praying for humanity. I wondered what had happened to them, and where they were now were. I suppose, wherever they are, they are wondering why their prayers failed.

Chalmette, if at all possible, seemed even more devastated than Arabi. This is perhaps because it is flatter and you can see farther. As far as Marilyn and I could see, there was only destruction. The house of my ex-wife's parents lay at the corner of Montesquieu and Casa Calvo. For the life of me, I couldn't find a landmark, and we drove up and down endless, destroyed streets looking for the intersection. What we found was a city once submerged for a week or more beneath a sea of moving water. I felt like a visitor observing the exhumed remains of Pompei, centuries after its volcanic destruction.

Near the Chalmette Battlefield, we began seeing activity and signs of human life. Some of the houses were occupied and there were even some workers busily clearing buildings of rubble. We stopped at a lone convenience store to use the restroom and learned that the sewer system still wasn't functioning. We were directed to a long row of porta-potties. When Marilyn open the door to one of these structures, she recoiled in disgust and quickly returned to the car. The porta-potties had remained, perhaps for months, un-emptied and the air was filled with the odor, nay, the stench of governmental neglect.  http://www.ericwilder.com

Sunday found Marilyn and me back in the French Quarter.  We had breakfast at a wonderful restaurant on Chartres.  I can't remember the name, but the owner had resorted to standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant to entice customers inside.  He enticed us, and we were glad that he did.  I had Cajun eggs benedict and a mimosa.  Marilyn had ham and eggs, Cajun-style, and champagne with raspberry liquor.  She claims that it was so good, that she will never drink another mimosa.

Our tour of the French Quarter ended at the Louis Armstrong Park, locked tight and unavailable for a visit.  We followed N. Rampart, almost to the Iberville Project.  Along the way we saw a Red Cross bus passing out meals to a long line of people.  Thank God for the Red Cross.  Nearby was a parking lot filled with FEMA trailers.

We wanted to visit the St. Louis Cemetery #1, but it was already closed and padlocked for the day.  As best as we could tell, the cemetery (famous for the drug and sex scene from the movie Easy Rider) was unharmed by Hurricane Katrina.  For those of you that know about the legend of Marie Laveau, there were many X marks on the wall around the place.

Nearby was the, as-yet, unopened Basin Street Museum.  I can hardly wait to visit it when it finally is ready for visitors.  We even walked on the sidewalk past the infamous Iberville Project.  It was groomed, freshly painted, and looked nothing like the place citizens were afraid to visit in the daylight, much less the night, prior to the hurricane.

"Is this the Iberville Project?" I asked a friendly-looking woman.

"Why yes it is," she answered with a smile.

When we finally reached the Sheraton, we checked our car out of the garage and headed up St. Charles to check out the Garden District.  It was intact with little damage sustained, as far as we could tell.  We stopped at Lafayette Square, a location that plays an intense role in my new book Big Easy.  It was also unscathed.  From there, we drove through the Faubourg Marigny area.  It appeared 3/4's unaffected by the Hurricane.  Heading down St. Bernard Highway, we quickly learned that not all of New Orleans had escaped the wrath of the storm.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

 Marilyn and I had walked several miles by the time we reached the Crescent City Brewery, and we were both ready for a comfortable chair and a cold beer.  The restaurant was jammed so we sat at the bar.  On the way back from a bathroom break, I noticed yet another cartoon of Mayor Ray Nagin that chided his chocolate city remark.  One of the bartenders was a young black woman and I asked her for her opinion on the subject.

"He embarrassed the entire town," she said, bluntly, her nerves obviously raw.  "Someone on his staff should have read the speech before he gave it.  He came across like a buffoon, and now the world thinks we're all buffoons."

Nagin gave his speech at the annual Martin Luther King parade.  What he actually said is, "It's time for us to rebuild a New Orleans, the one that should be a chocolate New Orleans.  And I don't care what people are saying in Uptown or wherever they are. This city will be chocolate at the end of the day."

In response to Nagin's remarks, City Councilman Oliver Thomas, also black, said, "Even if you believe some of that crazy stuff, that is not the type of image we need to present to the nation."

The wait staff at the Crescent City Brewery seemed to agree, and not a single one of them, be they black or white, was smiling.

Leaving the Brewery, Marilyn and I headed for the Sheraton.  Along the way, we stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall Irish Pub and sat at the dark bar for a Guinness and an Irish Coffee.  The pretty bartender was from Scotland, and her dog waited patiently for her at the far end of the bar.  A personable young man also named Eric was flirting with her.  I later learned he has finished a novel and is looking for a publisher.

We were soon joined at the bar by Gill and Tim.  Gill, we learned, is a graphics artist and Tim a poet.  "There isn't a single bookstore left in the City," Gill told me.

Under no time constraints - and on foot - Marilyn and I remained at the bar for several more beers and coffees - happy to learn that the Quarter was still filled with eclectics, artists, poets and people of vision.  Not a single person was happy with the Government's response to the City's needs.

Tomorrow, we check out the destruction in Chalmette.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com  http://ghostofachance.blogspot.com

There were six or more mule-drawn carriages operating on Decatur Street, the southeast boundary of Jackson Square.  Mules and drivers were lined up, along with artists displaying their wares on the wrought iron fence around the square.  Marilyn and I decided to take a carriage ride with a delightful young woman named Diane Hintz.  Diane told us she had lived in New Orleans for five years, but knew as much about the venerable old city as anyone I know.  Throughout the carriage ride, she kept our interest with interesting history and vignettes of practically every building and square we passed.

After the carriage ride, Diane gave us carrots to feed to Dolly the mule, whose personality and disposition was just as delightful as Diane's.  I took a picture of Dolly taking a carrot from Diane's mouth.  I'll put it up on the site as soon as I have the roll of film developed.

Diane was less than complimentary to FEMA and other agencies supposedly assisting the City and State in recovery.  The Quarter was obviously up and running, but who was driving the recovery, and was the rest of the City, and Louisiana, also recovering?  We stopped for a beer at the Crescent City Brewery, determined to find out.

http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

Perhaps one of the quintessential dishes served in the Big Easy is Etouffee. It can be made with either shrimp or crawfish, and there are as many variations of this dish as there are cooks that prepare it. Here is my favorite variation:

• ½ cup cooking oil
• 2 cups finely chopped white onion
• 1 large bell pepper, medium diced
• 1 stalk celery, medium diced
• 2 cups whole tomatoes, mashed
• 2 cups tomato juice
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 6 tablespoons roux
• 2 tablespoons Worcestershire
• 1/4 cup minced parsley
• ½ cup chopped garlic leaf, or green onion tops
• 2 cloves of minced garlic
• 1/4 tablespoon of red pepper
• 1/4 tablespoon of salt, or to taste
• 1/4 tablespoon of pepper, or to taste
• 1 pound of cleaned and de-veined crawfish

Pour oil into a heavy skillet and saute onions, bell pepper, and celery until limp. Do not overcook. Add tomatoes, tomato juice, lemon juice, roux and Worcestershire. Bring to a boil, then reduce to medium hat and add parsley, garlic leaf, garlic cloves, red pepper, and salt and pepper. Cook for about five minutes, then add crawfish and cook for fifteen more minutes. Simmer until ready to serve. This dish serves four over rice.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

      Little had changed on Canal Street.  We found the same liquor stores, camera and tee shirt shops.  When we looked at some of the tee shirts for sale, we realized the citizens of the Big Easy had not lost their sense of humor.  One shirt had a picture of Mayor Nagin that said, "Willy Nagin and the Chocolate City," an irreverent reference to the Mayor's verbal faux pas.  Another said, "FEMA - Fix Everything My Ass!".  My favorite was, "FEMA Evacuation Plan, Run motherfucker run!!"

We soon found that Bourbon Street was up and running, and we were far from the only tourists.  Hungry, we stopped for lunch at the Desire Oyster Bar.  My gumbo and bread pudding were delicious and I helped Marilyn eat a dozen raw oysters (also outstanding).  By the time I had finished my second Abita, I was starting to feel better about the venerable old city.

The Quarter teemed with tourists, and every restaurant and shop seemed open.  As I remembered things before Hurricane Katrina, artists, musicians and mimes abounded in Jackson Square.  We decided to take a buggy ride through the Quarter.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

 Marilyn and I awoke Saturday morning to a cold, blustery wind, but clear skies.  We had spent the night in Metairie and everything seemed fairly normal.  We returned to downtown New Orleans to see what it looked like in the light of day.

We took a wrong turn after exiting at the Super Dome and soon learned we were in a long line of cars waiting to park so they could pick up mail.  The grim thought that the USPS wasn't yet fully up and running after more than four months was disconcerting and added to our growing doubt that maybe we should be visiting someplace else.  After checking many hotels for a room, we were almost sure of it.

We were finally directed to the 41 story Sheraton Hotel on Canal Street where we managed to secure a room.  A friendly bellhop named Daniel kept us entertained with his non-stop patois as we went to our 22nd story room overlooking Canal.

"My cousin Hollis Price played ball for Oklahoma State," he informed us.

The view from our room's window was stunning and we began to feel better about our stay after seeing the amount of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, along the wide, historical thoroughfare.  The French Quarter, only a block away, beckoned, so we hoisted our cameras, steeled our hearts and headed for it.  http://www.ericwilder.com   http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

  After leaving Vivian, Marilyn and I drove south on Interstate 49, stopping along the way in Breaux Bridge. Breaux Bridge is in the heart of the region known as the Acadian Triangle.  A popular restaurant there is Mulate's, and we stopped for Abita and gumbo.

It was dark when we reached Lafayette and the intersection with Interstate 10.  After leaving Baton Rouge and heading toward New Orleans, both of us expected few cars on the road.  We quickly found the opposite to be true.

We encountered bumper-to-bumper traffic all the way to New Orleans, and there was a steady stream of vehicles exiting the city.  Louisiana drivers are horrible!  As I maintained a steady 70 mph, car after car sped past me.  My nerves were shot as we drove into town, and I wasn't expecting to see the well-lit skyline.  The opposite became true as we exited Jefferson Parish and entered Orleans.  We found the off-ramp to the French Quarter just as dark and uninviting.

We exited by the Super Dome, and soon became confused and lost.  Unable to gain our bearings, we drove in what was likely a large circle.  A dark circle.  It was then the horror slapped us both smartly in the face.  Everything was empty and abandoned.  Row after row of storm-damaged buildings lined the dark streets.  There was not even a single soul or vehicle in sight.

Spooked by the desolation and destruction so close to the heart of New Orleans, we took Interstate 10 back to Metairie where we found a Hampton Inn that was open for business.  All the carpets and base boards were gone but our fifth-floor room was clean, dry and comfortable.

The hotel had no restaurant.  The night clerk directed us across the street to a biker bar where a small crowd of mostly unfriendly people smoked and listened to loud, unappealing music.  Worried about being mugged, Marilyn and I had several bourbons before returning to our room.  Exhausted, we finally fell asleep with nervous visions of a destroyed city waiting for our visit the following morning.  http://www.ericwilder.com   http://energyissues.blogharbor.com

    Last Friday I visited Mac Rive’s Barber Shop in Vivian, Louisiana.  As you can see by the pictures on the wall, his shop is filled with memories.  Mac is the resident expert when it comes to knowledge about east Texas, north Louisiana and the Caddo Lake area.  “Yes,” he told me, “I’ve never seen them myself but a man I know has two black panthers on his property.”  Mac had pictures of bobcats, giant gars and feral pigs so I believe him.  http://www.ericwilder.com  http://energyissues.blogharbor.com