| This is the season when growing things say,
"Move over," as they make their way into life. Seeds
peel, stretch, and spread themselves out. Spreading out is
difficult. It requires a lot of effort to be rooted. When
you're first starting, it's hard to find your way if you've
never been there before. Knowing where something is is important.
In spring, growing things learn as they go. Right now, I am
following a footpath into new territory. I am walking a route
I have never taken before in the Garden District of Memphis,
Tennessee, exploring Central Avenue and South Cooper Street.
These sidewalks are smooth, not like the ones I'm used to.
The stamp on this one in the dry cement says it was installed
in 1949. There is not a single crack. This same sidewalk might
have lasted 2-3 weeks where I'm from, before New Orleans turned
it into a mosaic, erupting it wide with a network of roots
that seemed to be everywhere. This isn't a commentary on craftsmanship,
or on the companies that laid sidewalk. In New Orleans, things
have always found a way to grow their way out, up grading
from acorn to oak in one smooth motion. The growing season
used to have no clear stop and start points. The live oak
and other growing things that fill the city never went all
the way to sleep. Leaves would fall any time, blown down by
wind, then just grow right back out. Branches didn't stop
receiving signals from below. Elaborate colors came from the
flowers that bloomed year round. For maybe the first time
ever, at the end of last summer, the colors all went dark.
Persephone found herself in Hades.
In New Orleans, though, death has always turned itself back
into life. Many of us who live in the "city that care
forgot" believe those who are buried will rise back up.
It's only a matter of time. Nature is all about music, dancing
and merrymaking. Now Atlantis herself is resurrecting. Like
many a revival, this one began with a ritual. Work crews went
house by house, spray painting elaborate florescent orange
and bright pink symbols, each accompanied by numbers and abbreviations.
They were the markers for those who were beyond rescue, and
those houses that stood empty. An "O" meant no one
was home. An "X," accompanied by a number, someone
hadn't made it. These markers scrawled across entrance ways
were symbols of the beginning, although at the time, for many,
it felt more like the end. Despite the bright colors, these
were the ghastly reminders of Katrina's deadly kiss, a reminder
beyond broken wood and scattered bricks. The center eye wall
was strong enough to lift Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi
river until the levees split open and water filled the city.
These scrawled symbols in bright spray paint were also some
of the first signs that change was in the air. Time the great
transformer. After these work crews receded, make over began
all over the place; we began trickling back in from exile,
scraping, scrubbing and reassembling what was left of our
city. Everything that starts also stops and everything that
stops leaves a place for something to start. It's like being
a baby all over again.
Baptism is when what was washed away rises back up. New Orleans
went down into the water. Now we are reaching from beneath
the waterline to flower above the rubble. This is our season,
a reminder that we are still making our way. Spring lifts
up everything when it starts. For the seed, it is the initial
jump from confinement that pushes in all directions. For us,
our determination is what the water left behind. And, like
all growing things, we are determined to rise back up. In
New Orleans, death has never been the end, it has always been
a time to rattle bones as you get up and dance.
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