HSHT Audio Podcast 00023
From an tattered notebook found in an abandoned old school house, that made its way to Cajun Chronicles Podcast’s Laurent Thibodaux’s desk recently. His very own schoolboy essay he wrote about his being a sincere lover of the bayou forests, He called himself back then a nemophilist, along with being fully aware that he was also a denrophile. He loved trees and he loved the natural forested lands of the many bayous and swamps, he’d been privileged to enjoy.
Laurent knew that on the mostly hidden heart of Louisiana, on Cat Island, stands tall a Cypress tree, where the ancient riverbed lay shrouded in mist. He was up in his treed feelings standing as a lone Bald Cypress. His gnarled branches reached towards the sky like the gnarled fingers of an old man who’d worked at hard labor. This was The Champion, some say the last of its kind, a silent sentinel guarding the secrets of Louisiana's past.
For well over 1500 years, the Champion had witnessed the ebb and flow of the Mississippi River, its waters rising and falling with the rhythm of the seasons. He had seen the arrival of the first peoples and later the Europeans, especially the Cajuns. They were a resilient folk who had found refuge in this wild land. He had watched as they toiled the earth. He marveled at how their lives intertwined with the rhythms of the river. He knew their spirits were as strong as the Bald Cypress roots and knew that anchored them to the soil.
The legendary cypress sighed. His voice was a deep baritone rumble that shook the Spanish moss-draped branches, sending ripples across the still surface of the murky slow stirring swamp water. The Champion watched in silent anguish as one-by-one his kind fell, their voices silenced forever. The wind shivered in agreement, whispering through his ancient limbs like a mournful dirge. "Lonely," he groaned, “I feel so very, very lonely."
“For centuries, I’ve stood here, a sentinel guarding the edge of the old Cat Island riverbed. Once, this place had been a part of Mississippi River’’s floodplain of ever changing water life. I can still hear thousand voices of my fellow knobby knee brethren, their rustling leaves, the vibrant calls of birds nesting in their verdigris old man bayou bearded and whiskered canopy. Now, silence reigns, broken only by the mournful croaking of a lone bull frog and the occasional distant hum of a distant air boat.”
"They named me, “The Champion," he mused, with more than a hint of bitterness in his tone. "The biggest and the oldest tree in the Cat Island Wildlife Preserve. Now, I look around and realize I'm just . . . the last of my kind."
Gesturing with a gnarled limb towards the desolate expanse around him, a wasteland of stumps and skeletal remains of his saw fallen kin, he groaned, "They came with their axes, those bûcheron lumberjacks. Hungry, greedy creatures. They didn’t see us as a living breathing being, saw, but on board feet, shingles, and most of all easy profit."
A flicker of anger, a rare emotion for a being so deeply rooted in the earth, crossed the ancient tree's scarred and marred face. "They fell my brothers and sisters, the other giants like me, without a thought. I heard even some of them were reduced to kindling or worse, to become fence posts. Now, I alone stand here, a monument to their folly, a tourist attraction of a ghost in a graveyard of trees."
The Champion continued to listen, his branches swaying in the wind like antennae, absorbing the wisdom of the spirits. He learned of the great floods that had once again reshaped the landscape. He knew of the hurricanes that had swept through the land, leaving destruction in their wake. Most historically importantly, he learned of the Cajuns' that passed by him of their unwavering spirit, their determination to rebuild, to carry on, to honor the land that had given them sanctuary when no other place was willing to.
But as the Louisiana sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie spirit shadows across the desolate gray landscape, a change slowly came over him. A sense of purpose, a quiet determination sprouted. "I may be alone," the Champion declared. His renewed voice regaining its former strength, "but I am not forgotten. I am a living witness to their human deplorable destruction, a reminder of what was lost."
And so, “The Champion” accepted the challenge to become a guardian, a silent sentinel watching over the fragile remnants of a once-grand pristine kingdom. He offered shelter to weary animal travelers. He gave shade as a welcome respite from the scorching sun and humidity. He provided a home for Mississippi Flyway nesting birds, a haven for the creatures that had survived the onslaught of climate change, tropical storms, and even hurricanes with their own names.
"I may not be able to speak with human words," the cypress mused, "but I can speak with my existence. I can tell the story of this place, of the beauty that it once was, and the importance of protecting what little remains. Let those who come here see me here, understand. Let them learn from my loneliness. Let me continue to ensure that no other creature suffers the same fate as Bald Cypress trees like me."
Now to my way of thinking about that gigantic Bald Cypress tree each time I’ve seen it . . . the fact that in its long time solitude, it has carried the stories of the past in its many rings of history it’s all about the miracle whispers of the spirits. In them is the interconnectedness of nature and humanity. That tree is all part of nature’s legacy of the many forests. Its history combined with the Cajuns and other peoples that came to Louisiana, are all still speaking and ensuring that their resilience would never be forgotten.
I swear he said, “I leave you with this the memory of my being the loneliest tree in the world and how I now hope to become a beacon of hope, a symbol of resilience, an example to the enduring power of Mother Nature, even in the face of willful man-made destruction. I’ve stood as a silent guardian for centuries, ensuring that the whispers of the old growth Cypress trees would never truly fade away.”
This tale is inspired by real New Orleans history, but some details have been spiced up for a good story. While we've respected the truth, a bit of creative license was used. Please note that all characters may be based on real people, but their identities in some cases have been Avatar masked for privacy.
A Word of Wisdom:
As you read, remember history and real life is a complex mix of joy, sorrow, triumph, and tragedy. While we've added a bit of fiction, the core message remains: the human spirit's power to endure, adapt, and overcome.
© Jerilee Wei 2024 All Rights Reserved.
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