Sunday, May 5, 2002
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Sunday, May 5, 2002 |
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Plantation Week By MARY JANE HOLT
Who ever would have thought it would turn out to be a Plantation Week? Ah, but it did! Months back I had accepted an invitation to speak/read at a Literary High Tea slated for April 22 at the Grand Wisteria Plantation in Greenville, Ga. Ordinarily the Grand Wisteria is a romantic bed and breakfast with the elegant essence of a bygone era. Soon to open, however, is a truly beautiful special events facility recently constructed behind the main house. To participate in the High Tea event was enough to make my week really special. The 40 ladies in attendance were so very gracious and made me feel like they really enjoyed my work. So I just wasn't sure my week could get any better, since such a reception is a really big deal for a writer who stays to herself far too much according to some who think they know me! Now, my husband is one of those who thinks he knows me, and he had this idea that I should go to New Orleans with him on the weekend following my lovely experience at the Grand Wisteria. The father of a friend had passed away and the funeral was on Monday. He thought it would be nice for us to drive over together, rest a day, and drive back after the funeral. Little did I know what lay in store. It was opening weekend of the annual Jazz Festival so a room was hard to come by, though we did find a nice one at the LaFayette Hotel overlooking a beautiful green square just barely off the beaten path. We were within about five miles of the church where the funeral was to be held on Monday morning. Now most folks would have no problem passing time in the Big Easy. And I tried to do just that for about three hours on Saturday afternoon after our arrival. Throngs of folks all around us actually looked like they were having fun. Me? I was wondering if Syblelina or or Mablelina (the wild turkeys I feed in my back yard) would make an appearance with their new babies in tow before I returned home. New Orleans was hot. It stunk. It was crowded. It was loud. What was there to like? Daniel asked what I'd like to do on Sunday. He knew "resting" in that downtown atmosphere was not going to be an easy accomplishment. I already knew the trees were within driving distance. The Oak Alley trees, the grandest old live oaks you could ever imagine were calling to me. And so we drove west, out River Road towards all the old sugar plantations. If you don't blink on this drive you will catch a glimpse of some very stately old dwellings, several of which are now Bed and Breakfasts. But you truly must not blink because the plantation road frontage is very narrow. I am told that the entrances were just that narrow 150 years ago. Narrow at the front, deep and wide at the back, to the tune of 1,000 to 10,000 acres. The present owners or managers of some of these magnificent southern beauties can trace their roots back to the original owners. Others have changed hands many times with the transfer of ownership being prompted by little more than a bad hand at poker. Can you imagine!? Most outstanding on my modern day ride along the Mississippi River were the numerous industries. Though sugar cane fields still abound, industry rules! ...Or maybe they ruled until we reached Oak Alley Plantation. Nothing could have interfered with the total joy I gained from seeing and touching those gorgeous old oaks. I learned that a settler along around 1700 had built a small house at the site where the present mansion now stands. This settler had the foresight to plant 28 live oak trees in two very well spaced rows. They reached from his house to the Mississippi. It was not until 1839 that Jacques Telesphore Roman, a wealthy Creole sugar planter built the present mansion as a summer home for his lovely bride. Today, Oak Alley is a National Historic Landmark with its antebellum mansion and surrounding 25 acres. Of the original property, 75 acres is now a residential community that surrounds the mansion; 600 acres are leased for sugar cane cultivation and 450 acres remain virgin woodlands. Along with experiencing the stately old oaks, I also was privileged to share in the celebration of the life of a stately old man that I'm sorry I never met. As I walked out of St. David's Catholic Church on Monday morning and away from the poignant funeral service of Henry Philip Julien, Sr. I knew that the song "May the Work I've Done Speak For Me" had once more been very appropriately performed. Some folks build mansions. Others build character. It was clear that Mr. Julien had been a character builder. My trip was complete.
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