The Avenue.

I stumbled across a site today that is the home of a photographer who captures the historic architecture of St. Louis.  He made a pass through New Orleans late in 2006 and did a pictorial architecture tour called On The Road In New Orleans.

These photographs simultaneously made me more homesick than I have been in a year, and broke my heart.  As I sat there scrolling through the images, I could tell you almost precisely where every one was taken, from which corner and what you would see if you turned your head left or right.  I saw landmarks that I took for granted for over thirty years of my life.  I saw pictures of a city that made my heart skip a beat for the longing to return and put down stakes again.

Within most of these pictures, I saw destruction and decay.  I saw a city that had been abandoned by all but the hearts of those who have no other choice than to stay and pick up what pieces they can — a city that care forgot.  There were images to remind me why I choose not to go back, a city ravaged by crime, corruption and filth — plagues that existed before I was born but have been magnified and brought into sharp relief by a catastrophe.  I fear every day for the health and safety of the family and friends who remain there.  I wait for that call, the one to tell me someone I know has been robbed and killed, or hit by a stray bullet.  I read the local news every day and wonder why they haven’t burned most of the city down and bulldozed the ashes flat to make way for a brighter future.

New Orleans is where I was born and raised — it’s in my blood, heart and soul.  I don’t know that I will ever return, though… certainly not for a very long while.  But no matter where I live, no matter where I plant a flag and claim as my own, I’ll always be from New Orleans.  Like Fred LeBlanc says “It’s so hard to take this hurt and hide it on a shelf, it’s just cause I never want to be from somewhere else.”