Saturday Fun at the NOLA Creole Tomato Festival in the French Quarter

A couple of weeks ago, my good friend here on the coast, Master Naturalist Andrea, of Hummingbird Trapping fame, was kind enough to invite me to join her and spouse, Ralph, to journey with them over to the French Quarter in New Orleans yesterday, to attend the Annual French Market Creole Tomato Festival.

Entrance arch to the French Market, in the French Quarter, New Orleans.

During this past week, Andrea and I talked briefly about the upcoming Festival, and what all it might have in store for us. During our conversations, Andrea informed me that she has also invited our mutual close friend and co-worker, Master Naturalist Buddy John, to come along to the festival.

Annual Creole Tomato Festival in the French Market.

There were lots of tomatoes for sale at the Creole Tomato Festival.

So, yesterday morning early, I drove the two miles over to Andrea and Ralph’s home, in nearby Pass Christian, to park my car at their place, and ride with them and John over to The Big Easy, for this French Quarter special event.

Upon arriving at Andrea’s and Ralph’s, I learned that John, and his brother Bill, a University Teacher from Dothan, Alabama, who was in town visiting John and his parents, would be meeting us there in the French Quarter.

Under a partly cloudy sky, with a slight breeze and a morning temperature already above 80 degrees at 8:30am, Andrea, Ralph and I set out across the new, $266 million Bay of St. Louis bridge, built after the old one was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, on our way to New Orleans and the Creole Tomato Festival.

While driving into the east side of New Orleans, we drove past and through several areas of the City which had been flooded just after Katrina, noting evidence of both serious recovery and seriously damaged areas, still awaiting recovery efforts.

In my own mind, as we drove through those areas, I silently wondered how many more years it would take for these heavily damaged areas to rebuild.

I also said a silent prayer as we drove along I-10, entering the City, for the thousands of families who were former residents here, prior to the storm and the flooding, who had suffered so much agony and loss because of Katrina.

Just before 10:00am, we left I-10 and withing several minutes, we arrived at the U.S, Mint, and shortly thereafter, made our way down Decatur Street, and into the Public Parking lot, over the Mississippi River berm, behind the Cafe Du Monde, finding a vacant parking space in short order.

When we stopped off at the local tourist information office in the ground floor of one of the Pontalba Apartment Buildings, which line Jackson Square on two sides, we wanted to find out the particulars about the festival.

In the information office, we learned that not only was the Annual Creole Tomato Festival going on during the weekend in the French Market area, but to our good fortune, there were also two other festivals going on: the Louisiana Seafood Festival and the Louisiana Cajun-Zydeco Festival! The three festivals were actually working together to make it a combined weekend festival, called: New Orleans Vieux-To-Do.

As we left the car, I slung by camera bag over my left shoulder, the sling of my Nikon D100 over my right shoulder, and a bottle of water in my right hip pocket. At that time, the streets and sidewalks were not too crowded yet, and it was easy to walk right along.

Fried Green Tomatoes were also available at the Festival.

There are lots of benches all around the Jackson Square walk ways, for families to rest at.

Ralph called John to find out where he and his brother were, and learned they were out 15 minutes out yet, from our location. So, the three of us slowly made our way across Decatur Street, over to Jackson Square, and walked around to the St. Louis Cathedral to take a look inside.
The St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square.

The St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square.

The cathedral is huge, and inside, very beautiful. A number of people were inside, some sitting in pews, while others walked around reading the various plaques, and viewing the inside architectural features. I had never been inside it before, and it is worth a visit if you are in that area.

An interior view of the St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square.

After snapping a few images, we walked back outside, and then around the other side of the Square, past all of the Carriages lined up waiting for fares on Decatur Street, to the corner across from the Cafe Du Monde.
The world famous Cafe Du Monde, on Decatur Street, in the French Quarter.

Ralph and Andrea walk around Jackson Square.

Dozens of mule-drawn carriages line Decatur Street, in front of Jackson Square, across from the Cafe Du Monde, in the French Quarter.

Andrea checks out paintings displayed on the front fence on Jackson Square.

There were some body-painted mimes hawking for dollars and change around Jackson Square.

John, Bill, Ralph and Andrea talk next to Jackson Square.

As we stood there briefly, talking, waiting for John and Bill, watching a silver-painted mime doing a routine, I glanced across at the Cafe Du Monde and noted that there was a line of customers, stretching all the way around to the back of the awning area, and back around front again, waiting to get inside.

World famous Cafe Du Monde.

WOW! That line meant for quite a wait to get in there, to sit at a table for a cup of chicory coffee and white, powder sugar-covered, beignets.

In this file image I snapped during a 2004 visit I made to The Cafe Du Monde, you see what a typical visitor to the world-famous Cafe experiences, partaking of the delicious, but rich, beignets.

Inside the kitchen of The Cafe Du Monde is where the magic of the beignets takes place, when, fresh out-of-the fryer, a copious amount of powdered sugar is heaped on high, as is shown in progress in this file image I snapped on a previous visit to the cafe, in 2004.

A few minutes later, as the area streets filled with auto traffic, and the sidewalks and walk ways filled with people, John and Bill walked around the corner fence of Jackson Square, and made their way to where the three of us waited.

After exchanging greetings and pleasantries, the five of us walked across the street by the Cafe Du Monde, and started up Decatur towards the French Market where all the festival vendors and music stages were located.

As we walked past the entrance of the Cafe Du Monde, I noticed that there at the entrance were two men playing music for the customers at the crowded tables inside, and those who waited outside, for their turn at enjoying the Cafe Du Monde experience.

I recognized one of the musicians as Herman “Hack” Bartholomew, an incredibly-talented, black trumpet player, I had met and talked with several times over the past 7-8 years, in my past visits to the French Quarter and the Cafe Du Monde. As we walked by the, I gave Hack a squeeze on the top of his shoulder, and said Hello, telling him that he was still playing beautifully.

New Orleans’ own Hack Bartholomew, outside of the Cafe Du Monde, in a file image I snapped of him during a visit I made there in mid-2004, during The Essence of Jazz Fest.

One end of the French Market also has fruits and vegetables for sale.

Various kinds of fish are also available in the Farmer’s Market section of the French Market.

We then spent the next 45 minutes or so, walking around the French Market area, through all of the vendor stands and tables, and watching the Zydeco band playing and spectators dancing at the upper music stand of the Market.

There were three music venues set up in the French Market area for the Festival.

One of the Zydeco music bands playing Saturday morning at the Festival.

Ralph and Andrea paused to watch a number of people dancing to the Zydeco music.

One of the many couples dancing to Zydeco music Saturday morning.

Andrea browses at one of the vendor stands in the French Market flea market.

Andrea tries on sun glasses at one of the French Market stands.

Display manikin at the French market.

Another display manikin at the French Market.

During that time, the sun was shining down hotly, which prompted the other three fellows to visit one of the beer stands for a cup or two of one of the tasty brews on tap there.

The fellows having a beer.

Ralph and John enjoy a beer or two Saturday morning, in the sun and heat.

It was fun for me, just doing some serious people-watching then, as all of the people there moved about, danced, sat and stood around, just quietly enjoying themselves. I found myself silently wishing that Blond Girl could be there with me, sharing the experience. Another time…

Two ladies enjoying a huge plate of boiled crayfish at the Creole Tomato Festival.

At about 11:00am or so we walked down to the French Market Cafe for lunch, ending up in the upstairs dining room, when the main floor room was already full of diners. Our lunches consisted mainly of crayfish, oyster, gumbo and salad entries, with unsweetened tea as the preferred beverage of choice.

It was nice to be able to sit down and eat in the air conditioning, during our lunch. And to also have the opportunity to enjoy the relaxed, friendly conservation that ensued between us.

Just a wonderful time, enjoying a special experience with special friends, while being so far from family and home.

After lunch, we walked outside, and then over to the old Ursuline Convent for a short visit, which was “Home of Ursuline Nuns who came from France to relieve the poor, sick and provide education for young girls.” It was the first girls school in Louisiana, and the oldest building in the Mississippi Valley.

Upon leaving there, the other four walked back over to the French Market to enjoy the sites, while I took a short opportunity to walk down Decatur Street, looking for a souvenir cap, with the inscription “Bite Me – Bait Company.”

Lady at the fountain, next to the river, behind the Cafe Du Monde.

After checking quickly in about a dozen souvenir shops, I was unable to locate one of those, and walked back up Decatur to the gold John of Arc Statue, to meet Andrea and Ralph around 2:00pm, so we could head back towards Long Beach.

One of the other bands playing Saturday afternoon at the Creole Tomato Festival.

An old hearse extremely decorated with various objects, parked on Decatur Street Saturday during the Festival.

Although the sun and the heat was taking its toll on me by then, I felt a bit sad we were leaving the French Quarter.

Lots of trees in the French Quarter, like this beautiful Crape Myrtle, were in brilliant bloom Saturday along Decatur Street.

I truly enjoy visiting there, and always seem to find that when I am fortunate enough to visit, it never seems to be for enough hours to see and experience all there that I want to see and experience there. The place just draws me, beckons to me and has a hold on me.

One of the many carriages providing guided rides in the French Quarter.

We decided to drive back to Mississippi on U.S. 90, along the coast, to see the fishing camps along there, and pay a visit to the Dong Phuong Vietnamese Bakery, just east of New Orleans, for some tasty baked goodies.

The Dong Phuong Vietnamese Bakery on U. S. 90, just east of New Orleans, where we stopped to buy some baked goodies on the way back home from the French Quarter.

Later, after crossing back over the Bay St. Louis bridge, into Pass Christian, only a mile or so from his home, Ralph noted that it was definitely time for a nap when he arrived at there, as he was getting tired.

And, so was I.

It sounded like a good plan to me.

Thanks again, Andrea and Ralph, for inviting me along! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANDREA, on Thursday!

A good day, with good friends, at a good place.

Try it, when you get the chance.

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HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART!

This is the time of the year when I get to wish the love of my life, Blond Girl, my wife for the past 40+ years, two special wishes: Happy Mother’s Day (today), and Happy Birthday (tomorrow).

Blond Girl during one of our many trips to Mississippi.

I often tell people that I must have been a decent person in my most recent past life, to have been so privileged during this life, to meet, come to love, marry, and then create and raise three wonderful children with, children that any parent would be proud to have.

I willingly concede that most of the credit for how wonderful our children turned out, honestly goes to their mother. We were fortunate and truly blessed then to be able to have her be a SAHM (stay at home mom), for their early years, providing to them daily, all day, with an unlimited amount of love and nourishment and Christian direction in their lives.

Financially, with only one of us working then, those years were a real strain on us to survive, even to put food on the table at times. But,we managed somehow, and the kids came out just fine. Thank you, Jesus, and Blond Girl!

Family pic, taken a number of years ago. L-R: MIL, Youngest Son, Daughter, Blond Girl, Dad, Oldest Son.

When we married, neither of us had graduated from college yet. So, during the first two years of our marriage, I worked full-time as a Sub-Assembly Supervisor for the SCM Corporation, and Blond Girl continued with her classes, at the same college she was at when we became engaged (Blond Girl’s Surprise 21st Birthday Party).

She graduated then, receiving her Bachelor of Arts in Mathematics and Spanish, and began working full-time. And at that point, after the plant I had been working at closed, I was working three part-time jobs, and also started back at classes, finally graduating two years later.

More recently family pic. L-R: Dad, Youngest Son, Oldest Grandson, Daughter, DIL (Wife of Oldest Son) – holding Youngest Grandson, Oldest Son, Blond Girl/Mom.

After graduating in December, the following spring, I took two graduate courses, continuing to work, then started into the beef cattle business with my father, and in the spring of 1974, accepted a position as the Foreman of a large cattle in northeastern Wyoming.

I left Wisconsin to start the job in February, while Blond Girl continued working at a medical center several miles from our home.

At that time, Blond Girl was pregnant, expecting our first born in mid-August. I flew back to Wisconsin in June, picked up Blond Girl and all of our belongings, and, with the assistance of my mother, we moved out to the ranch and settled in to one of the ranch houses where I had been living since February.

Oldest Son, who has an interesting sense of humor, a number of years ago.

In mid-August, our oldest son was born in Belle Fourche, South Dakota, a 55-mile drive over the Little Bear Lodge Mountains from the ranch, a drive which was a real story in itself. In June, 1976, our Daughter was born, in the same hospital.

From the first day we brought our oldest son home from the hospital, Blond Girl was a wonderful mother.

About a year later, to the delight of both our parents, we moved back to Wisconsin, and ended up living with 10-15 miles of both sets of parents.

Our Daughter, taken about 5 years ago, at her wedding.

Four years later, our youngest Son was born, and our family was complete. I have lots and lots of memories of their growing years, with their loving mom right at the center of every one of those memories.

Youngest Son, in an image from several years ago when he was a senior in college, helping MC a seasonal fundraiser for intellectually challenged children.

During the later part of those years when she was home with the children, she also made room in her heart and our home, to have my mother come to our home, so that Blond Girl could also care for her, as my mom started her long recovery from a serious stroke she has suffered.

During that time my mother was with us, my father was at home in their home, recovering from his second heart operation, a quadruple bypass. During his recovery, he was not able to provide care for my mother, so she came to live with us.

It was good for our children to share that recovery experience with their grandmother, especially our Daughter, who shared her bed with her Grandmother. Unfortunately, Grandma passed on within a year.

My mother was also a wonderful mother to myself and by brother and sisters, and I miss her very much.

Blond Girl, thank you for all that you have given of yourself to our children all their lives, and also to our two grandchildren. And thank you also for all you have given to me during these 40+ years of marriage.

You are truly an angel unaware! (Thank you, Jesus!)

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

And

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I love you so much!

~Your husband

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The Beatles: “I want to hold your haaaaaand,…

Following is a story about music and falling in love during college life in 1964-65.

The Beatles on Ed Sullivan, Feb. 9, 1964.

The first time I saw and heard the Beatles sing, was the first time they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, Feb. 9, 1964, like forever ago.

And just like that, much of the youth of America fell in love with them, and their music. Today, their music is almost as popular in this country as it was back then.

As my youngest son was growing up and became interested in music, he first came to like the Beach Boys, but soon after that, he elevated The Beatles to top place of all the performers he likes, and probably to this day, he likes them the best of all time.

When he was a freshman in high school, he sang the Beatles song, “Something” and brought the house down at that particular music concert.

He went on to initially major in vocal music/performance when he went to college, and ended up with a minor in Music, and a major in communications. While in college, he sang in a number of performing choirs, and sang the lead in several musicals, possessing an amazing tenor voice.

What prompted this post about The Beatles, was that it was playing on my CD player in my car this evening, as I made my way back home to my travel trailer, driving along in the rain, on the beach highway (90), from Biloxi.

As I listened to the boys sing (and sang along with them) during my drive, my thoughts drifted back to 1964 and 1965, when I was a sophomore in college at one of the State Universities in Wisconsin. The spring semester of my freshman year, I pledged a fraternity, and then signed up to live in the fraternity house on campus the fall of my sophomore year.

I remember vividly that the Beatles music was played almost non-stop in the fraternity house that fall semester of 1964, by one or more of the brothers residing there, and, consequently, it was almost impossible to have a quiet study area anywhere in the house at any time of the day or night.

Basically then, it was because of the Beatles and their music being so popular in my fraternity house, that I became almost a fixture evenings at the campus library, at a certain table, every week night, in order to get my school work done, and get ready for the next day’s classes.

I did come to love their music, though, and still do, to this day. It was like deja vou, having the Beatles come to be so well-liked in America, after first having it happen to Elvis, a little earlier.

At the dances and parties the fraternity threw at the house, their music was always played, and usually very loudly.

During that year when I lived at the house, my academic performance wasn’t exactly sterling, to be sure, and I attribute that to a couple of distractions. Also, many of the weekends of that sophomore year, I drove an hour and 45 minutes back to my home, where I tended bar on Friday and Saturday evenings in my parents’ supper club. Not much studying got done those weekends, either. But I did earn a little spending money for the following week at school.

It was during that fall, while studying at that same table in the campus library, that I met and shortly thereafter, came to love, a sweet, little blue-eyed, red-haired, freckled young coed, by the name of Kelly, who was also a sophomore, and was from a small town from north of Milwaukee. Thanks for getting me to the library every night, Beatles!

After meeting and going out a few times, Kelly and I spent a good amount of time together, as much as her and my studies and work times allowed, and became rather serious about each other. One memory I have is from that following spring, on St. Patrick’s Day evening, we decided to drive up to Madison and visit some of the bars on State Street in celebration of the holiday, and both had way too much green beer to drink to be able to safely drive back to the campus. That was back in the days that I actually drank.

So, we ended up sleeping in my car on a Madison street that night, and drove back the next morning, when our blood alcohol levels were much lower. In consideration of the amount of beer we had consumed that evening, sleeping was, um, all we ended up doing in the car. Good thing I had a quilt in my trunk, or we’d have probably froze to death that night.

I could have attempted to drive over to my great aunt’s home on the east side that night, and stayed there, but I probably would have had an accident on the way there.

One night about a month after that St. Patrick’s Day road trip, Kelly sat down to talk with me one night and explained that she had decided to leave school and go back home, so that she could try to discover what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted a complete change in her life; complete. This included leaving our relationship.

I had felt that for some time, she was feeling unsure of herself, in many ways, so it wasn’t a complete shock when it came. She felt bad that I felt bad, but I assured her that I understood, and would abide by her wishes, no matter the pain involved, as I loved her and wanted most of all for her to be happy in life.

So, with a hurting heart, I let her go, and walked away, thankful for the precious time that we had had together. She was a sweet soul.

Shortly after that, I did the paperwork to transfer to another university for the fall semester, partially because I wanted to leave my former campus, and the memories of Kelly, behind, and go on.

As fate would have it, a former high school friend, told me about a student apartment house he and another friend were renting at the college I was transferring to, and my brother and I were able to rent a room on the third floor of the same building for the fall semester.

Coincidentally, the apartment house was located about ten steps off State Street, and only a few yards from the very bars that I had visited the previous St. Patrick’s Day. And, more unknown to me at the time, it was only one block up the street from the high rise student dorm where Blond Girl was living, while she was also a student at the same university.

That fall, in 1965, during one of those weekend bar-tending trips back home from school, one Saturday night, standing next to a Juke box, I formally met, and thanks to God and my gracious brother, then shortly thereafter, came to fall in love with Blond Girl. What a ‘coincidence’ that I had moved to campus that fall, and was now living only a block away from where she was living.

We have been married and in love now for over 40 years, and counting.

One of my good friends here on the coast, Andrea, will understand when I say, that Kelly’s going away, my changing colleges, and moving to within a block of where Blond Girl was living, were ‘God winks,’ so that then I could meet and fall in love with the one I was supposed to be with in this lifetime, Blond Girl.

That definitely works for me.

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BLOND GIRL’S SURPRISE TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY PARTY!

In my recent post “JUKE BOX MAGIC – THE FIRST TIME I REALLY ‘SAW’ THE GIRL I WAS GOING TO MARRY” I wrote about ‘Blond Girl’ and explained how I came to go on my first ‘date’ with her, to a movie.

Fast forward to May 11, 1967.

It was Blond Girl’s twenty-first Birthday.

She had transferred to the State University Campus located in the southwestern part of the State that semester, and was living in one of the women’s dorms on campus.

I was on a hiatus from school and was working as a Line Supervisor for the SCM Corporation, at an assembly plant about 60 miles from Blond Girl. I had made arrangements with her to take her out to eat on her birthday, to a Supper Club located about 15 miles south of her campus.

Around 6:30pm that evening, I stopped at her dorm to pick her up, and we drove south to the Supper Club, which was called ‘The Dugout.’

After parking in the Club parking lot, where there were only a few cars around, we walked inside into the bar room for the start of what she was expecting to be a quiet, intimate birthday dinner for two.

As we walked into the large bar room, Blond Girl’s jaw dropped open in surprise, as sitting there on the other side of the bar having a drink were her mother and father, and beside them, my mother and father.

Talk about a surprised young lady!

Blond Girl just could hardly believe that I had arranged for both of our parents to come down to help her celebrate her 21st birthday!

We walked around the bar where we were both greeted with hugs and handshakes, and she received many expressions of Happy Birthday! A few minutes later, we all adjourned to a table in one of the private dining rooms, where we ordered supper and talked until it arrived.

After a great dinner, both sets of parents gave Blond girl birthday gifts, which she proceeded to open and admire. At that point I reached under my chair and handed her a smallish, neatly wrapped, shirt-sized box, which contained my birthday present to her.

Blond Girl opened the box and the wrapping paper inside, and then BURST OUT LAUGHING!

Inside the box I had given her, all neatly folded and clean, was her waitress apron she had worn to work at my parents Supper Club the previous Saturday night, when she was home for the weekend, and where she helped out on occasion. She had inadvertently left the apron at the Club when she finished her shift then and had gone home without it.

Then as she took the apron out of the box to hold it up for all to see, she stopped, noticing something was in the apron pocket.

“What’s this?” she said, as she reached in the pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped box.

“Hmmmm,” I said, “maybe you should open it and find out.”

And so she did, carefully removing the wrapping paper, and then slowly opening the small, hinged box.

Looking at the open box, she froze, her mouth once again locked open in time.

She looked at the box, then looked at me, then looked back at the box, and then at me again…

Inside the box, was a very large, marque-shaped diamond engagement ring, mounted in silver gold, with a small piece of paper sticking up in the rear of the hinged box, which asked: “Yes, or, No?”

When another 5-10 seconds passed and she was still speechless and hadn’t said anything, I finally asked her: “Well…?”

She silently nodded her head slightly up and down twice.

I then took the ring from the box and put it on her finger, which was followed by a kiss and long hug.

At that point, both moms were crying, and I believe that both dads were wiping away a tear or two themselves, having been present at and witness to a most special event in their children’s lives. Both sets of parents expressed their appreciation for being invited to this special evening.

When we all finally left the Supper Club a little later, I drove a now engaged Blond Girl back to the University campus and her dorm, and said goodnight.

When she got back upstairs to her third floor room, her roommate, Jeannie, from Boston, now was the speechless one when she saw the new ring. The news spread throughout her dorm like wild fire, and soon almost every girl there had to come by and see the newly engaged Blond Girl and her large rock.

It was definitely a special birthday celebration!

Meanwhile, 40 some years later…

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