THE LAWSON’S PEAK BOOKS

Signs of Life

We will be nearly finished, I think, when we stop understanding the old pull toward green things and living things, toward dirt and rain and heat and what they spawn. – John Graves, “Goodbye To A River”

Though it’s only late February, I am starting to see and feel faint signs of life. Or at least hope.

Rains this winter have done much to resurrect those beloved wild waters nestled between the hills north of here, and if I were there right now, I am sure they would be singing between the stones and composing sonnets over the long reaches of white sand. I can almost hear them from where I sit.

Make no mistake, I completely realize how utterly ridiculous it is for a man to put so much passion into a silly thing like wildness. I fully understand that by all accepted yardsticks I am an utter failure as a conforming member of society. Some kinda nut, a tree-hugging, John Muir-worshipping nitwit.

I got no problem with that.

Because what I realize I’ve done is taken that first step on a path toward a destination. There are long miles ahead, pitfalls and gauntlets, but the reward surpasses . . . → Read More: Signs of Life

Once More, With Feeling

And another dadgum thing, while I’m on my high horse.

What’s going on with the various so-called developments on the horizon, in Garden City and across the bayou from Parc sur la Teche? Anyone? The silence is deafening…

Just what is the root of all the problems here in this part of the parish?

J-O-B-S

That’s it. Cut to the chase. Jobs, jobs, jobs. Jobs solve most of our problems. Jobs mean people have money to spend, which means businesses grow or open anew, and governments have money in the coffers to do things like fix lunarscape streets.

Jobs! Jobs! Jobs! What the devil are we doing to create jobs on this end of the parish? Excluding the Port of West St. Mary, not much, it seems.

Jobs keep neighborhoods vibrant, healthy and safe. Jobs keep people off government dependence. Jobs scare the riff-raff and the rabble out of town.

It’s the jobs, stupid, to coin a political phrase. Jobs! People have jobs, they buy new cars and trucks and appliances, and maybe they buy them from local businesses instead of big-box outlets and big-city slicksters. And those businesses stay in business.

Without jobs, this place is not going . . . → Read More: Once More, With Feeling

What Else Is Eating At Me

It’s time to get some things off my chest, and it ain’t going to be pleasant for either of us, I’m afraid.

After several kind and helpful replies to last week’s column, “How It Happened,” I decided to yell, “Damn the iceberg, full speed ahead,” and elaborate on what’s really to blame for my bad mood and frequent flight far and away to green forests, fast water and knee-deep silence.

Listen! Things are bad in west St. Mary Parish. Yeah, jump down my throat for saying that, oh great politicos and so-called civic leaders…just make sure you practice what you preach.

I know, it’s supposed to be my job to bring out the pom-poms and rah-rah-rah, go team, go. But everybody pretends everything’s hunky-dory. Well, wake up, friends and neighbors…it’s not. There’s one, possibly two businesses throwing in the towel right now, and they are just the latest in a long, long line in the mass exodus from this part of the parish.

By the way, what the devil happened to that committee the parish was supposed to create to look at the insane cost of permits and fees for construction in St. Mary Parish? Swept under the rug . . . → Read More: What Else Is Eating At Me