Star of the Southdown show

In this community and just about any other are treasures that many of us don’t take a moment to appreciate, although doing so has great benefits and should be done often.

Southdown is one of those. Whether one has visited and gone on one of the well-proctored tours that help tell the story of this stately pink mansion at St. Charles and La. Highway 311, or gone on the cheap and merely enjoyed a walk to its porches for a selfie, or browsed through the books and photos available at its gift shop, making a connection with Southdown is a way of connecting to Terrebonne Parish’s past, the good the bad and the ugly.

It should be noted here that Southdown Plantation had its beginnings in an economy under which enslaved human beings turned sugar into gold for the planters who owned it and indeed built the very structure itself. Getting to know Southdown is a way of learning more about their stories too, those unsung unfortunates whose remains lie in unmarked earth in a burial ground near Civic Center Boulevard.

Southdown holds other histories as well.

The Minor family, which had the house built and profited for decades before the great and terrible war that ended America’s cruel and peculiar institution, somehow was able to hang on in the years that followed.

Under the boot of carpetbaggers and federal usurpers who in turn sucked Terrebonne Parish dry of hope, money and property during the Reconstruction era, the Minors manage to keep their family’s sugar business afloat, thus rescuing the local economy as it diversified from agriculture to energy and maritime. The big pink house is symbolic of this as well.

And so it is proper that the Terrebonne Historical and Cultural Society, which helps tell the story of the parish and its people, throws one of the biggest public parties in the area, twice a year, the Southdown Marketplace Arts and Crafts Festival. Last weekend saw the most recent of these, which involved thousands of people eating jambalaya, roast beef po’boys and other festival fare. They soaked up the warmth of an early spring sun while pushing strollers or steadying elders from white-topped tent to white-topped tent.

Lots of communities all over the U.S. have festivals like this, where arts and crafts can be bought. To be clear, while some of the vendors were typical of what one finds in other events on such circuits – products that are unique but not necessarily local in nature – there is enough home-spun treasure, like the hand-made models of work-boats and river boats – to keep interest high.

The festival also offers an opportunity for the people who make things happen in the community to dive into their public service mission with a vengeance. Members of the Houma-Terrebonne Rotary Club manned drink and food booths. In the aisles between tents old friends reacquainted with each other, in some cases folks who hadn’t seen each other for years re-connected. I witnessed this myself.

I also witnessed something that for me made the visit particularly memorable.

In the sky, high above the fair, was a moving dark speck. I must confess that I didn’t spot it. James Loiselle, whose photos of the fair appear in this issue, was the one who pointed and recognized the visitor for what it was.

As the winged marvel drew closer, its white head confirmed the suspicion James voiced, that this was no vulture or mere hawk but an American bald eagle. The raptor swooped and wheeled, circling over the ditch that once was a busy bayou.

I took some time to marvel at the eagle, wondering how it made sense of what had sprung up in this portion of its territory, the tents and more tents that must appear like big marshmallows from a vantage point so high.

The eagle widened its circle, then flew straight above Little Bayou Black. It circled wide again, a solo gift of music in motion for anyone fortunate enough to witness its impromptu performance.

After looping and diving – still well above the fair – the eagle soared to parts unknown, but leaving a lasting impression for me, and a sense of privilege for having been gifted with the sight.

With the fair in full swing, I made my way to the food pavilion and ordered a po’boy, wearing a smile that evinced my very personal secret joy, that I had witnessed the unsung star of the Southdown show.