Nutria Tales

AT NICHOLLS STATE UNIVERSITY
MASS COMMUNICATION DEPARTMENT
Chez
NOUS
EN LOUISIANE
Spring 2013
VENETIAN GRILL
Nutria TalesHOUSE SHADOWS
Editor’s Desk
for a taste of the Venetian’s southern charm.
Plantations appear throughout the landscape in Louisiana. Many people associate
CHANNING PARFAIT plantations as one of the many icons of the
old south. The antebellum homes are known
EDITOR
for their architectural beauty, but not many
people know the stories of the families who
lived there. In House Shadows, we learn more
about the family who occupied Shadows on
the Teche, a plantation along Bayou Teche’s
THANK YOU for supporting Chez Nous en banks in New Iberia.
Louisiane. As editor, it has been an imporWhile you hold Chez Nous in your hands,
tant goal to maintain the stories you find at please be on the lookout for our online verhome in Louisiana, but to also present them in sion of the magazine coming soon. We will
a visually appealing way for our readers. With not waste your time with a simple PDF version
more pictures, color and attention to detail, I on the web, but each story will have interacam certain this revamped version of our trust- tive graphics and more pictures to help you
ed publication will hold your attention.
learn more visually about what you have read
In this edition, we celebrate the at-home
charm and the often-undiscovered truths
about popular icons in South Louisiana. This
journey begins on our cover page. Many
people know nutrias as the creatures that are
found dead on side of the road after someone
hits them in the dark. But learn in our story,
Nutria Tales, that many people celebrate the
many uses of nutria through food, clothing
and much more.
Also in this issue, we stop by Thibodaux’s
Venetian Bar and Grill, where they specialize
in serving the locals. Many of the waitresses
and patrons have occupied the bar and grill
for many years, and the environment they
have created there is the epitome of South
Louisiana hospitality. Don’t be afraid of the
“usuals” you’ll find there, dive into our story
2
in our publication.
Nutria tales will contain maps of areas populated with the most nutria and recipe cards for
those who enjoy cooking the interesting creatures. We will also have an actual Venetian
menu and a map of the bar and grill’s location
in Thibodaux. You will also be able to scroll
through the Week’s family photo album and
take a virtual tour of Shadows on the Teche.
Again, thanks for reading Chez Nous and
being a part of the
exciting changes
at our publication.
We hope you enjoy this issue as
mush as we loved
telling the stories!
pg.
4
Coffe &
Chatter
What’s Inside?
8
Nutria
Tales
12
House
pg.
pg.
Shadows
3
Coffee & Chatter
THE Venetian bar & Grill
4
r
I
SARAH ELIZABETH
// Contributing Writer
Inside 401 Jackson St. in Thibodaux exists
a hangout that hasn’t changed much since
the 1930s. Its faded yellow walls have been
through it all. Local boys fighting in World War
II; teenagers gyrating to rock-and-roll music;
men walking on the moon; townspeople gossiping about presidential scandals.
Above the cash register a sign reads, “Fresh homemade roast
beef, $7 a pint.” But if a new customer mistakenly does not bring
cash, one of the waitresses will say this: “You can mop the floors.”
The crates of plastic soft drink bottles that line the wall across
from the grill and stove are the only indicators of the present. Time
has worn away the tiny plaid pattern on the off-white counter top,
leaving white splotches. Mismatched stools line the counter top —
some are olive green, some are black. A few turquoise ones jump
out from the other colors.
On those stools sit old friends rather than customers.
Behind the counter top, the ladies of Maronge’s Venetian Bar and
Grill shuffle back and forth, pouring coffee, grilling hamburgers
and conversing with “the usuals.”
Lionell is a usual. He’s been eating breakfast at the Venetian since
1967, after he retired from the Army.
“I eat here every day, Monday through Friday,” he says casually.
“They’re closed on Saturday and Sunday. . . I have to be sick not to
come.”
A smile appears on Ann Hue’s face, who works behind the coun5
ter. “Sometimes he’s a little grumpy,” she says. “We
serve him anyhow.”
are filled with liquor bottles, lines of glass Coca-Cola
bottles, stacks of yellowed newspapers, decks of cards.
Everything is good at the Venetian, Lionell says, but
Hanging on the shelves are campaign signs from
he just comes for breakfast. “I can’t stand my wife’s local elections; one dates back to 1963. A Nicholls
coffee. That’s why I come here.”
State banner hangs above the bar, and a sign with a
mousetrap reads, “Push the red button to complain,”
Lionel speaks with a deep, raspy voice. He sees sits near the cash register.
with big, brown-framed glasses and wears a 1944
Thibodaux High School ring.
There are a few gaming devices; a pool table with
a Budweiser lamp hanging above it. By the window
“Burn the biscuit,” he tells the waitresses, because there are a couple of square tables with multi-colored
he likes his biscuit toasted.
mosaic lamps draping above them.
Larry Maronge, owner of the Venetian since 1980,
“We don’t have the young crowd like we used to,”
has encountered many customers over the years. Larry says. “It’s an old bar. We don’t stay open that
Upon seeing Lionel, he says: “That’s the worst one.”
late.”
“We’re friends - we like
to kid each other.”
-LIONEL
Lilly Hebert has medium-length curly-brown hair
The grill opens at 4 a.m. and closes at one in the
and rosy cheeks. In between waiting on someone, she afternoon.
acts as the pacifier.
“I get over here 10 minutes to three to make sure
“He’s not that bad,” she reassures.
everything is ready to go. I leave at about six, and I
But Lionell isn’t insulted in the least by Larry’s sar- come back at about 7:30 and stay here until three.
And that’s enough for me.”
casm.
“We’re friends – we like to kid each other.”
Unlike teenagers today, Larry says the bar’s veterThe bar, which opens at 5:30 a.m. in the morning
and closes at 3 p.m., is separate from the grill. Along ans limit their drinking due to the threat of driving
with the grill, it opened in 1938. A board displaying under the influence tickets.
the results of horse races at the New Orleans Fair
“It’s not like in the old days. Attitudes have changed.”
Grounds used to hang on the wall. Pinball machines
and a blackjack table were once there, but not anyLarry bought the Venetian Bar and Grill from its
more.
original owners, the Italian Bilello brothers, almost
27 years ago. Before then, his grandfather and parents
Framed black and white photographs line the had leased the grill from the Bilellos.
walls, along with issues of Life magazine with John
F. Kennedy and Jackie on the cover. The bar’s shelves
“It’s my livelihood,” he says. “And it’s got a lot of his6
tory, too.”
He says donuts
became too commercialized
and
his Sicilian family
got rid of the machine.
But the hamburgers, sandwiches
and poboys have
stood the test of
time.
“If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut,” one of the
octogenarian customers taunts at him.
Deanna, whose eyes light up when she laughs, says
the customers are no trouble. “They pick at me, but
it’s just joking.”
Between the old men and the women
working behind the counter, there is talk about an
86-year-old friend who is in the hospital. A “Get well
soon” card is passed around, collecting signatures.
The men drink their coffee, reminisce about old
times and read the paper. “The same crew comes here
every morning,” Lionell says. “Lots of friends.”
Behind the counter, the ladies of Maronge’s Venetian Bar and Grill shuffle back and forth, picking up
breakfast items and preparing for the lunch crowd.
“You meet so many people,” Lilly says. “I enjoy
working with the people.”
Ann has worked at the Venetian off and on for three
Behind the counter, Deanna Ter- years. She comes in when the crew needs the help.
racino, whose curly
“It lets me get away from home. At home you get
blond hair is pinned
tired
of staring at the four walls.
up, cooks meatballs. The guys joke about her throwing
one at Lionell.
“I should be retired. I’ve been working in this business
my whole life,” she says, and then continues wip“He’s scared,” one of the guys teases. The banter
ing the counter top.
continues.
As Larry closes the Venetian for the day, the stools
“Free breakfast on Tuesdays?” Lionell inquires, beare
empty; no one is behind the counter.
cause he has been waiting for his change.
The laughter of old friends resonates throughout.
Ann, with her short salt and pepper hair and blue
Follow the star to
W 3rd St.
Narrow S
t.
W 4th St.
vd.
E
k
for friendly smiles
at the Venetian!
t.
W 1st S
al B
l
.
Rd
401 Jackson St.
che
Lafour
u
o
y
a
B
Can
Ba
u
yo
Jackson St.
Photo by Keri Turner
Larry still refers to the grill, which does not serve
donuts, as the donut shop.
“They
came out with the
first donut machine
in Thibodaux,” he
declares. “It stayed
around until the
early 50’s.”
sweater, is in the middle of serving another customer.
“Hold your horses now,” she tells Lionell.
7
Nutria Tales
They’re more than just big rats
Dalton joseph
Life is good in 1940 for
Edward Avery McIlhenny.
|| Contributing Writer
farm where he keeps ducks and cattle, crossbreeding varieties of each to make new types. He even
added a new stock to his land two years before, beaver-like creatures called nutria.
In addition to his management of the family’s TaThe rodents may be ugly as hell with their large
basco Sauce business, M’sieu Ned, as McIlhenny is yellow teeth and rat-like tails. But the fur – the fur
called by many, owns a booming bamboo farm on might make McIlhenny a fortune.
Avery Island, located between Lafayette and MorOf course, when he bought the creatures for $100
gan City, La. His other exploits include a livestock from farmers in St. Bernard Parish, M’sieu Ned underestimated the time and effort that breeding nutria would take.
Those damn rodents breed quickly. In two years’
time, McIlhenny’s nutria increased from 20 to
nearly 1,000.
Nutria can also naw through almost anything.
When they escaped from their enclosures, the nutria devoured practically every kind of vegetation
they could get their long teeth on. M’sieu Ned had
to reinforce their wooden pen with wire screening, the only thing nutria seemed unable to chew
through.
And the screens worked for a while – until August 1940 and an unnamed hurricane.
M’sieu Ned was as prepared as he could be. He
had all his animals sheltered and penned in, fences
locked up and screens secured. This was not his or
the animals’ first hurricane.
Gray clouds blanketed Avery Island, darkening
the sky. And then the rain began. Big drops began
soaking the land, nearly drowning the vegetation.
The wind followed close behind the rain. The 90
mph wind blew the trees and bamboo plants from ly. Such consumption often leaves soil exposed to
side to side, yanking branches down every so often, weathering and erosion, damage that has contriband rattling the rafters of every building on the Mc- uted to coastal erosion.
Ilhenny Estate.
The Nutria Control Program of Louisiana seeks
If M’sieu Ned had thought to check up on his live- to help eradicate the nutria problem in the state. Of
stock before the wind got too strong, he might have the approximately 400 people enrolled in the proseen the frightened creatures sensing the wind and gram, about 320 are nutria trappers, says Edmond
bad weather. He might have noticed that the fenc- Mouton, the biologist program manager of Louisiing was shaking with every gust of wind, threaten- ana Wildlife and Fisheries.
ing to loosen entirely. And he might have glimpsed
Nutria trapping used to be a profitable career for
the wiring of the nutria pen tearing at the enclosure, many: “Back at the turn of the century, even as late
or the creatures pushing past each other to escape. as the 1970s, there was quite a bit of money in trapHe might have seen the rodents scampering away ping,” Mouton says. Nutria were considered valuin every direction, motivated either by fear of the able for their fur, their meat and the use of their
wind or the excitement of freedom, or both.
excess parts for livestock feed. However, in the late
He might have seen all of this, and he might even 70s “the number of trappers started to fall, demand
have been able to stop them in the midst of the for fur started to fall and nutria prices dropped.
storm.
People quit trapping nutria and the population ex-
“There’s two things them nutria
don’t like: that rifle and that stick.”
-Vernon Naquin
But M’sieu Ned, sheltered in his sturdy home,
ploded,” Mouton explains.
was entirely unaware.
Like trappers in the early 20th century, modern
Interesting story, except for one small problem.
trappers use nutria trapping as a secondary source
It’s not true. But more on that later.
for income. Trappers in the control program “are
Nutria became free to consume any and all vegpaid $5 for every tail they turn in,” Mouton says.
etation they encountered. And they bred at remark“It’s not what it used to be by any means.”
able rates in the marshes. And since then, they have
Chris Areas, one trapper who has received help
been a factor in problems to Louisiana marshlands
and challenges for both trappers and environmen- from the Nutria Control Program, continues his
family’s nutria trapping tradition in St. Bernard
talists.
Parish. Areas, who learned how to trap from his
Environmentally, nutria have damaged thougrandfather, bought old traps and inherited other
sands of acres of Louisiana’s wetlands, referred to
equipment from his father. He believes trapping
as the “nutria ground zero” by Dr. Shane Bernard,
is the best method for eradicating nutria, because
historian and curator of McIlhenny Co. and Avshooting drives the creatures into hiding.
ery Island, Inc. Because the nutria’s diet consists of
Vernon Naquin of Houma makes his living by
greenery, the rodents thrive on Louisiana’s indigenous vegetation. They generally eat plants at the trapping nutria in the fall and winter, and shrimping
stem bases and roots, killing the entire plant quick- in the spring and summer. “It’s an everyday thing;
if you got a job, you can’t go do no nutrias,” Naquin
9
they ain’t worth nothing: $2. If I wouldn’t know
how to skin ‘em like I do, I wouldn’t fool with it.
There used to be good money in the furs, but those
days are over.”
Designers Cree McCree and Billy Reid argue that
the days for good money in nutria fur are certainly
not over. Both have utilized the fur as a fashionable
means of using nutria that might otherwise go to
waste. “I think we need to honor the animal by using the animal, not just killing it,” McCree observes.
McCree is the founder of Righteous Fur, a non
profit organization that seeks to raise awareness
about coastal erosion caused by nutria. In 2011,
Righteous Fur received a grant from the BaratariaTerrebonne National Estuary Program (BTNEP) to
help produce and promote McCree’s fashion line.
explains. Nearly 50 years of nutria trapping has literally paid off for Naquin: “I’ve been doing good
with the trapping lately ... in the last two years.”
Then, with a laugh, he says, “I work them traps and
I work that rifle and the weather gets right ... I’m
going at ‘em.”
10
Billy Reid, an Amite-born resident of Alabama,
presented his latest nutria fur fashion during New
York Fashion Week in January. “If there’s such a
thing as manly fur, nutria is it. I was duck hunting
in Mississippi when it occurred to me. I know what
it’s doing to the wetlands, so we should do something with this,” Reid says.
He got started in trapping when he was nine
While nutria fur finds its place in the fashion inyears old. “A friend of mine’s daddy was doing that
and I kind of liked it,” Naquin says. “I catch a lot of dustry, most of the nutria becomes livestock feed. A
couple of people, however, have turned nutria meat
nutria in the traps: that’s my specialty.”
into nutritious food for domestic animals. Hansel
“Okay, mister nutria ...” Naquin calls out right beHarlan, a Baton Rouge attorney, and his sister, Veni,
fore he makes a kill, smacking one behind the head
are the owners of Marsh Dog, a company that prowith a short wooden plank. He removes it quickly
cesses nutria meat into dog food. As a dog owner,
from his trap, explaining, “What you’ve got to do is
Harlan was concerned about the quality of his dog’s
hurry up and get them out of the way, so they don’t
food: “With constant food recalls, harmful foreign
bleed” into the marsh. Naquin uses a combination
ingredients and multiple allergens, I didn’t comof clubbing and shooting to land kills. “There’s two
pletely trust what was available so I began researchthings them nutria don’t like: that rifle and that
ing and experimenting,” Harlan explains. Nutria
stick,” Naquin says. “Now I love shooting ‘em; that’s
meat is “high in protein and low in fat,” Michael
the fun part. But you can’t shoot ‘em all the time
Massimi, invasive species coordinator for BTNEP,
... why put the traps when you’re gonna chase ‘em
says. And because nutria consume organic, horaway from your traps?”
mone- free plants, their meat is free of the artificial
Part of Naquin’s trapping job is skinning the ani- hormones often fed to sheep and cattle, the primary
mals. “I’m pretty quick at skinning ‘em. I average meats in dog food, Harlan further explains.
about one nutria a minute.” Naquin explains that
Though not seemingly popular, nutria meat for
fur trading and prices used to be more profitable.
human consumption remains a reality in some
But he would not even bother skinning if the price
places. Edward “Fuzzy” Hertz, a retired trapper
for fur had not increased in the last year: “If you
and former owner of Fuzzy’s Bar in Lafitte, enjoys
know how to skin ‘em, you can sell the hide. [But]
eating nutria meat. He and his family began eating
it after years of trapping. “The meat was so pretty,”
Hertz says. So they began barbequing, frying, and
stewing nutria meat.
were seen in New Orleans gutters. Nutria, at this
point, were being publicized as a nuisance species.
Within days ... our efforts to sustain a nutria market
were shot down,” Parola laments. Despite the loss,
Also championing nutria meat is Chef Philippe Parola firmly believes in the health benefits of nuParola, an award-winning French chef. Parola be- tria meat for the public.
gan a promotional campaign with the Louisiana Department of
Wildlife and Fisheries
to market nutria meat
because it is organic.
“During the campaign,
my friends and great
Chefs Daniel Bonnot,
Susan Spicer and John
Besh helped convince a
majority of consumers
that nutria meat is very
high in protein, low in
fat and actually healthy
to eat,” Parola says. The
campaign put on events
that highlighted dishes
using nutria meat.
“With the help of
Mr. Noel Kinler and
Edmond Mouton of
Wildlife and Fisheries,
our group cooked nutria stews, nutria soups,
roasted nutria, and
grilled nutria at many
functions. One particular event at Bizou Restaurant on St. Charles
Avenue in New Orleans
featured a nutria dinner
and a nutria-fur coat fashion show where 300 happy guests arrived to eat nutria prepared by Chefs
Spicer, Bonnot and myself,” Parola explains. This
campaign experienced a couple of setbacks, however: the USDA did not approve nutria meat for the
market and police began using nutria for shooting
practice. After this, “local media reported nutria
As mentioned earlier, that popular story about a
hurricane freeing the nutria in the 1940s is, in fact,
just that: a story. McIlhenny intentionally released
his nutria into the wild in 1945. Regardless of how
much or how little blame falls on M’sieu Ned, one
thing is clear: there is forever a connection between
the McIlhenny name and that pesky rodent in the
history of these animals and Louisiana.
11
12
House
COLBY GERARD
// Contributing Writer
More
than 30 trunks sat stored side
by side on the third floor of the Weeks’ family home. Seventeen thousand letters, receipts
and invoices spanning nearly 180 years, along
with three generations of clothing are packed
away. Stories of births, deaths, slaves and Civil
War experiences are just some of the events
detailed, documenting the Weeks’ family life
during the 19th century at the Shadows on the
Teche, an antebellum plantation sitting on Bayou Teche’s
banks in New Iberia.
In addition to supplying the public with knowledge about the home and its family, these
documents guided William Weeks Hall, its final resident and fourth-generation family
member, in his 1923 restoration of the antebellum residence.
At the time, it was one of the first private restorations of a southern home.
Besides D.W. Griffith’s 1923 filming of “The White Rose” on the property, Hall tried to
enhance the Shadows’ importance nationwide by hosting notable people such as film producers Walt Disney, Cecil DeMille and Elia Kazan, and country singer and actor Tex Ritter.
“They, in turn, would use The Shadows as the basis for their essays, as a setting for their
fiction and as a background for their movies,” Marcell writes. “Weeks [Hall] hoped [this
publicity] would serve to make The Shadows indispensable to the cultural life of the nation.”
His efforts were rewarded when the National Trust for Historic Preservation informed
him of the house’s acceptance on June 26, 1958, as he lay on his deathbed. The 63 year old
died the next day.
13
S
Since 1961, the home, which ranks among the most photographed properties in the South has provided visitors with
an example of 19th century Louisiana living. It offers tourists a view of the 2.5 acres where the house—constructed
between 1831 and 1834—and its surrounding gardens sit.
These are the only remains of the nearly 150 acres Louisiana
sugar planter David Weeks purchased in 1825. Weeks would
never live in the house he built, however, succumbing to an
undisclosed illness in August 1834 while seeking treatment
in New Haven, Conn.
While David Weeks had become an established sugarcane
farmer at the time of his death, he faced the challenge of
growing a plant accustomed to the Caribbean islands’ tropical environment in south Louisiana’s semi-tropical climate,
which has a shorter growing season. Although this new climate could hurt the crop, the region’s bayous and rivers provided rich soils, which served as natural drainage systems
and provided transportation routes. This helped to maximize the industry’s profits. Located along Vermillion Bay 12
miles south of The Shadows, the family’s sugar plantation,
Grand Côte (now known as Weeks Island), provided these
characteristics. The crops harvested at the St. Mary Parish
plantation could be transported from the bay to the Gulf of
Mexico before being sent to sugar markets such as New Orleans, Mobile, Charleston, Savannah, Baltimore, New York
and Philadelphia.
After his death in 1834, Weeks’ wife, Mary, managed
Grand Côte in addition to caring for her six children, the
family’s 150 slaves and The Shadows. At the plantation,
Mary’s brothers aided her in overseeing the production of
sugarcane — south Louisiana’s most prized crop — on land
14
considered some of the most valuable and fertile. Following
their 1841 marriage, Judge John Moore, a U.S. congressman,
also assisted Mary in the plantation’s operation.
Prior to the Civil War, the family experienced some of its
most successful harvesting seasons. In the 1850s, Grand Côte
was a regional leader in sugarcane production. Additionally,
the plantation produced more than 459,000 hogsheads —
barrels holding between 800-1,200 pounds of sugar. From
1861-1862, it was the largest supplier at the time. While the
Weeks were prospering in 1861, potential trouble was brewing. In January, John Moore helped adopt Louisiana’s Ordinance of Secession. Louisiana left the Union before February arrived. More trouble followed in mid-1862, more than
a year after the war began, as both Confederate and Union
troops had begun disrupting sugar planters’ lives, destroying
homes. The destruction reached Mary Moore’s friends, who
lived along Bayou Lafourche, before infiltrating the Teche
that fall.
Patricia Kahle writes in “Shadows-on-the-Teche,” “...as the
harvesting of the sugar crop got under way, residents of the
Teche country saw not only the familiar cane carts, but also
carts loaded down with trunks containing the belongings of
planters fleeing the Bayou Lafourche region and lower Teche
country in front of the advancing Federal army.”
In June 1863, Mary’s children, William, Charles and Harriet Weeks Meade, along with their families, all left The Shadows as the Union troops moved closer to the region. Charles
Weeks evacuated to DeSoto Parish in northwest Louisiana,
while Harriet Meade and William Weeks retreated to Texas.
As overseer of Grand Côte, William Weeks thought Texas
would be a safe area for his slaves, because he didn’t think the
state would be invaded.
the property from confiscation and greater damage.”
As the summer of 1863 ended, John Moore also fled The
Shadows, avoiding the approaching Union troops.
Following the Civil War, William Weeks and his family,
and John Moore returned to the home. While the house was
not destroyed, the fences and other structures on property
were torn down because they were valuable fuel sources.
“The movement of the Federal and Confederate armies,”
Kahle writes, “curtailed travel, and she [Mary] rarely saw or
heard from members of her family. For Mary, ‘everything
seems so changed.’”
In November 1863, the Union soldiers arrived at the
house, using the three-story Greek and Classic Revival styled
home as its temporary headquarters while protecting New
Iberia. According to Kahle, the troops considered the town
“an important point along their communication and supply lines.” The soldiers used the first floor and surrounding
grounds while the remaining family members lived on the
second and third floors.
“To the commander in chief, or any officer—we appeal to
you as gentlemen to protect us against the outrages and annoyances of your men,” Mary Moore wrote the Union forces
in the fall of 1863. “We are alone having no gentlemen with
us. Please send us a guard.”
During the Union army’s stay, Mary was ill; however, she
prayed that her husband and children would be safe, imagining the time they would all be reunited at the war’s conclusion. Although life was challenging, Mary refused to pledge
loyalty to the United States. “My husband and children shall
never know that mortification,” she proclaimed.
On Dec. 28, 1863, Mary Moore received a letter from her
husband, informing her he was fine, brightening her spirits
so that she could “laugh at the Yankees,” Kahle writes. That
evening, she fell asleep reading a new novel. She never awakened.
Her oldest son William later wrote: “...she was apparently
asleep, but alas, the vital spark was extinguished, the body
cold and lifeless. Her candle had burned out and the book
was still in her hand.”
The Union soldiers buried her in a section of her garden
that later became the family cemetery.
A few weeks later, the Union army left the house.
Kahle: “Her refusal to abandon her home probably saved
Visit Shadows on the Teche
Open 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Tours start 15 mins. past the hour.
Although they now lived at The Shadows, the William
Weeks’ family stayed at Grand Côte during the sugar grinding period.
But things were different now.
Land that had been prosperous for sugar farming prior to
the war only supplied 18,000 barrels during the 1864-1865
harvest. The climate adjustments that caused David Weeks’
problems when sugar production began at the beginning of
the 19th century paled in comparison to the new problems:
devastated mills, natural disasters and developing working
relationships with free slaves.
Between the 1870s and the 1890s, The Shadows and its
fences were repaired while trees and shrubbery were planted.
A new cistern was also built. Despite these improvements,
the house began deteriorating during the last five years of the
19th century, a little more than a year after Hall’s birth.
While the Weeks’ family papers were a reference for the
National Trust in its 1983 restoration of the home, the papers are no longer stored at the home. They are now kept at
Louisiana State University’s archives. Although these trunks
no longer sit on the house’s third floor, their stories coupled
with the restored home continue to provide valuable insight
into a period that is gone, but not forgotten.
As Kahle said: “Preserving more than a house, more than
just a portrait, more than just a faded letter, we are preserving a link with our past, to help us and future generations
understand who and where we are by understanding who
and where we were.”
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