New Orleans is not a place of stone. At home, I am surrounded by stone. Ever since I was a little girl, I needed to "touch" the rocks and stone. It began in Nannie and Papa's driveway out in the country with Mom, and carried on throughout my life. Is it any wonder the Chatette called my name, and I listened?
I've been gone too long. I'm desperately missing the stone of home. I need to touch it. I need to kiss it. I need to feel its strength, power and the endless history that it holds. It's everywhere. It speaks to me.
Not only do I have garden work to face during this tease of a trip this summer; but, I already know there is much work that is going to need to be done with the stone. I'm going to get my touching, kissing, and feeling again wish.
Ah, but the stories that will rise to the surface once more!
All of these cleared areas that you see in these photos will need to be cleared again, pruned and manicured. When I left during the summer of 2014, I already knew that the lower terrace was going to need to be dug and cleared again too. If I don't stay on top of it, all that mud and soil rushes back. I'm guessing that everything will be covered up again.
As you can see, rewards await!