Or at least rural Louisiana.

Today I had to go up the road a piece to take son's saddle to get some repairs while son is on vacation. Someone gave me the name of a gentleman up in Bush (the name of the town) who repairs horse tack. So, up the road I went. Bush is about 20-30 miles up the road toward the Northwest of where I live. Twenty miles into rural America; the land of fences made of old wagon wheels, roadside vegetable stands, rolling hills, tall stands of pines, and schools with names like "Fifth Ward Elementary" that have large water collection cisterns in the schoolyard.

I found Mr. Hanson's home 100 yards from the intersection of highways 40 and 41 at the end of the first left hand gravel driveway just over the old railroad bed, just like he said I would. What a delightful gentleman he was. He worked for the electric co-op until 2000. Two days after Katrina they came knocking on his door for help getting the lines back up. (He still isn't really sure how they got down the driveway with all the trees that were down.) Three visits later and after some negotiating on his price, this gentleman came out of retirement to help those "young guys" get the power lines restrung. His story of riding out Katrina, sitting on his couch with his wife, watching the roof of his barn fly by and saying to his wife, "you know, we may have made the wrong decision to stay", just tickled my funny bone.

And then there were the sewing machines. One was a cast iron black antique machine that had a story of its own. The machine was made in 1909, still runs and he uses it now to sew nylon. He bought the machine from "some nuns" at a convent in New Orleans many years ago. The nuns used the machines to sew leather sandals. There was also a hand cranked machine that really looked like just half of a sewing machine. That one is used to sew the leather on saddles and other tack. When he bought it he thought it looked like a toy, but he showed me work that machine has done and it is no toy.

We talked about what my town used to be like. (My family live here from 1963-1968 and then moved back in 1976) We talked about the pediatrician who built our office and has been gone from town since the early 80's. We talked about riding out Betsy and he told me about Camille. His eyes lit up when I told him that I am going to bring my son with me when I pick up the saddle. Son has asked me to teach him to sew this summer and I think that seeing what this gentleman does, his love of sewing and how he has combined it with his love of horses will thrill my son. His barn smells of Murphy's soap, leather, and horse. Across the street from his driveway is the BVFD, Bush Volunteer Fire Department. This is the other half of the joy of living where I do, midway between rural life and New Orleans.

As I drove up there and then again on the way back, I could feel my body relaxing. The miles and miles of pine forest and the ozone air have been missing from my world in the past months. I love New Orleans, but I love the pine forests and rural Louisiana just as much. Today I got to remember that other side of life.