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Creole Jambalaya
Appears in
Published 1963
For me, one of the most romantic places in the United States, and perhaps the world, is the shadowy, unreal swampland of Louisiana, where the grey streamers of Spanish moss trail heavily from the branches of oak trees, removing all sense of depth and turning the bayoux into a series of dreamy backdrops for some gigantic ballet.
The trees, growing straight out of the water, seem to float in space, balanced precariously over their own writhing reflections. Strange creatures of these wastes - alligators, raccoons and swimming snakes - contest possession of the dark waterways with men in canoes, Cajun Indians, who have lived in this area for centuries and yet (almost the strangest fact of all about this lost land) speak among themselves perfect seventeenth-century French.