Just back from Jazz Fest in New Orleans...
Our friends' house on Dufossat (dew faucet) Street is a narrow "shotgun" cottage like many in the Garden City (also the Crescent City because of its location on a bend in the MIssissippi) with a tiny garden in the back, entirely bricked and surrounded by a high fence. Probably the smallest garden I've ever sat in and very simple. Yet it may be one of the most satisfying gardens I've ever experienced. Mostly, one sits on the wood plank porch or back deck, in the rocking chairs with the fan whirling overhead to fend off mosquitos, a cool beer or iced drink in hand. Banks of green foliage and tree canopy, a few bright blossoms from the potted bromeliads and begonias border the dark brick garden floor with a teacup-size metal drain in the middle. Bits of lacy iron grillework from old New Orleans houses decorate the fence, and other odd bits--chrome hood ornaments, a fish, the letter E, street signs with Mardi Gras parking rules. A bit of sky shows through the feathery canopy of trees, most of them in the close-packed neighbors' yards. A mourning dove coos from a nest nearby and a cardinal skreets near the hanging feeder at the bevy of looting squirrels. The drain is essential for New Orleans is all about water. River water. Ground water. Rain. But even the water is outdone by the heat. Except for the trees, the garden plants lanquish in the exquisite heat. Steam rises from the bricks when the water falls--from hose or sky. The water trickles down the drain and away underneath the city.
Posted by briggs at May 2, 2003 4:15 PM