Night Birds

II

I was up very early this morning (around 4 a.m.) and met this little fellow out for a stroll along St. Ann Street on Jackson Square. He's a Yellow-crowned Night Heron, naturally. Here's what my Book of North American Birds has to say about his kind:

The bird's cloak is the color of pewter in moonlight, and his legs look amber-glazed. Surprised at close quarters, the bird will often freeze rather than fly, studying the intruder with sleepy, half-opened eyes. In turn, the lucky intruder wins a rare opportunity to study a bird of uncommon beauty.

Just so.

Pretty Plantations All in a Row

I've always admired the 18th century plantation houses on Moss Street with their West Indian style, hipped roofs and graceful second floor galleries. For some reason, I thought there were only three. But on an early evening walk on Bayou St. John today, I discovered two more. I felt like an amateur astronomer finding a new comet or asteroid. More astonishing was that these houses are all within four blocks of each other. 

I was so glad I brought my camera. So here they are, starting from the Esplanade side of Moss Street:

Number 1: The Pitot House, built around 1800.

Number 2: The Rectory of Holy Rosary R.C. Church

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Number 3: This one was new to me, but it's been there since 1784 tucked away on the corner of Grand Route St. John.

Number 4: I had dinner in this house once, a guest of the former owners. It's every bit as elegant on the inside.

Number 5: And how did I miss this beauty for so long? Hiding in plain sight at Dumaine and Moss.

Nicholas Cage Prepares for Death

You wouldn't think there was any real estate left for development in thickly-settled St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, but leave it to some Hollywood type to snap it up. Here is actor Nicholas Cage's new tomb in New Orleans' oldest bone orchard. It's only six months old, and already huge cracks are developing along the sides and foundations --  the humbling effects of our perverse climate and soil. My jaw dropped when I saw it this morning and it got me wondering how arriviste Nick will pass eternity with all those Crozats, Janviers, de la Rondes, Charbonnets and countless other dead Creoles potted nearby. Dear readers, this is a folly so rich that I hope for reincarnation as a fly on those ancient walls.

 

Perfect Day Mid-City

We're driving down South Broad on our way to City Park to play touch football with Harrison and Jake, the LeBlanc brothers. Simon says: "Stop the car, Dad." Homage is paid to superior beings, the Bunny Men of the old Falstaff brewery.

First stop, lunch at the original Bud's Broiler on City Park Avenue. Public service announcement: It's now open 24/7. Remember where you heard this.

I say to the kids: "Hey, let's visit Arthur Smith's grave, it's right across the street." We find this desolate scene at Holt Cemetery. What's happened to Arthur? Is he finally dead? Sick? Has he just lost interest? Does anyone know?

In City Park, we meet Ashley Brown and her pastel ball python, Colonel Mustard. Beautiful girl, beautiful critter.

Let the games commence, at last! Final score: Blogger and son, 21, LeBlanc brothers, 14.  Like I said, a perfect day.