Born and raised in Iowa. It will always be Home, with a capital H. Living the good life in Louisiana. Loving my adopted home. Two places so different, so beautiful. I am enriched by both.

September 1, 2022 – “Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and a filé gumbo, ‘Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher amio. Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o, Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on da bayou.”

If you’re hearing Hank Williams’ voice right now, please be aware that when he sings “bayou” and pronounces it “bayoooo” with a drawn out long “o,” he is more interested in rhyming than in language accuracy. The word is pronounced “by you,” pretty much like it looks. But that’s ok, Hank. We love singing along with you!

These are my friends Lori and Beth. We went for a paddle on Bayou Desiard that runs through my adopted hometown. A bayou is not a river or stream or creek. It is a long, skinny stretch of slow-moving water. This stretch is bordered on both sides by magnificent cypress trees, which look like evergreens but aren’t. Just above Lori’s head, the needles are turning a beautiful coppery red gold.. They will ultimately all fall into the water, staining it the same color.

September 22, 2023 – “The Iowa River singing it’s song, Sweetly the river just rollin’ along, Down to the Big Muddy, father of waters, On to the Sea, right or wrong.”

I did not grow up singing this song! Indeed, I just found it on YouTube. But it’s a good one by Tim Gustafson and you can listen to it here. I did grow up near this river and spent many an hour fishing it and exploring its banks with my brothers.

In September I was home for my 65th high school class reunion and spent some extra time visiting a natural area near the river. The trees on the bluffs along the west bank were putting on their autumn colors and the ever-present gulls were singing along.