Historically, New Orleanians have learned to avoid this seemingly inescapable part of nature. The first settlers built on higher ground in the city so as to lower the risk of flooding. Most houses, including the one in which I live, sit on top of brick piers designed to let the water in, and then let it out just as easily. The development of a levee system allowed for more of this water to disappear and was successful in blocking the sight of water, if nothing else.
Water has become the proverbial elephant sitting in the corner of the room. Every time I lift my eyes from my aerial view map (which I thought showed a lot of blue…) and my eyes focus on the lack of visible water, I feel like I have walked into the middle of an ongoing argument between New Orleans and Water, and New Orleans is trying to put on a dry outward appearance.
For a city whose existence is interwoven with the water that surrounds it, I'll admit I felt a little bit cheated when I first moved here. I grew up in a town nestled next to the Ohio River. The river has always been an unfaltering reference point to where I am, always visible despite the system of flood walls and flood gates because of the hilly terrain. Unlike the Ohio River that rushes past my hometown, the Mississippi River is not terrifically impressive as it flows past downtown New Orleans. For the Mississippi, it is actually pretty narrow between the French Quarter and Algiers Point, a historic part of the city connected by ferry and bridge. The Lake is beautiful, but off the beaten path. The only water I really see on a daily basis is the rain. And it does rain consistently.
The humidity in the air should have given me an idea of just how much water this thick air can hold. New Orleanians have grown accustomed to the quite literal ebb and flow of these bucketing downpours. I, however, have not. When it rains, the street flooding is like the city’s reminder that yes, there is a lot of water lurking around here. Hard rains tend to provoke water out of its hiding places to create flashfloods like I have never seen before.
Earlier this month on a rainy afternoon, I decided to go see a movie at the IMAX theater on Canal Street. I left the side street where I live and headed to St. Charles. Like crossing over an invisible line, I was suddenly driving in several inches of water. The steady afternoon rain had transformed St. Charles into a river bounded by the concrete curb of the neutral ground and banquette. I was amazed. How could this have happened? The only flash floods that I have encountered have been along the rural roads adjacent to the Ohio River, never on a street in the middle of a city. I looked at the cars parked alongside the still flowing traffic and water was approaching the tops of the wheels. Why was everyone still driving forward? Was I the only one who had heard countless times not to drive through water covered roadways?
There was a car from out of state pulled up onto the neutral ground, the driver and passenger leaning out of their rolled-down windows at the new river that had formed around them in awe. Yet, the New Orleanians drove on like seasoned veterans. They knew that this water would recede just as quickly as it had appeared, and that they could wait it out or keep driving. I, on the other hand, felt like someone from the Deep South must feel like driving through a winter snowstorm - complete inexperience.
I pulled what little history I knew about New Orleans from my mind, and figured that since I was heading toward the French Quarter, and that pocket of the city had been settled on higher ground for this specific reason, I would eventually be able to turn onto a dry street. As I got closer and closer to this historic safe haven, the water level changed from river to stream to puddle. And after crossing over the invisible line that ended this street flood the same as it had started, the water of this city became just as invisible until the next time it feels it has been
forgotten.
1 comments:
Ginny,
I like the way you describe “invisible lines” in the city. Perhaps you can elaborate on this somehow in your eventual final story? It’s quite a nice image and so true: you’re never aware of elevational changes until it rains...when suddenly, the city seems to roll and dip!
I also enjoy how you’ve identified how the architecture responds to water (brick piers). Are there other ways that architecture responds to the specificity of this climate/place?
You mention that water is the “proverbial elephant in the room.” How so? Why? This can be read a variety of ways, so clarifying what you mean is important.
Very nice comparison to your hometown, as well as how visitors vs. natives deal with the downpours. Very observant.
Some minor points:
1. “I...felt...completely inexperienced,” rather than “complete inexperience.”
2. Adding a line inbetween paragraphs will make your paragraph breaks easier to read.
3. Watch for and remove unnecessary commas and long sentences. An example:
“I pulled what little history I knew about New Orleans from my mind, and figured that since I was heading toward the French Quarter, and that pocket of the city had been settled on higher ground for this specific reason, I would eventually be able to turn onto a dry street.”
Thank you for posting the photographs and for writing this piece.
Liz
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