The day I sat down to write this post, one headline in my morning news perusal contained the words “dire” and “now or never” in regard to the annual U.N climate report. What interesting timing that this story happened to coincide with me wrangling my thoughts around a quilt that is all about the environment.
Being a lifelong resident and explorer of the western U.S., I am very familiar with the breadth of regional landscapes, flora and fauna. Despite all of my outdoor adventures and amateur studies, I remain humbled and in awe of these majestic places. There is so much beauty — and resiliency — in nature. However, one place that I am enthralled with and have yet to explore are the lush bayous and Gulf Coast of southern Louisiana. It is no surprise to anyone who knows me personally or through this blog, that I have a massive admiration and adoration for the southern states, especially Louisiana, where a part of my heart resides in New Orleans. I am fascinated by it ALL: the music, food, drinks, cultural traditions, quilts, arts, people, architecture, porches, plants, animals and the environment of the southern U.S. Despite all of this pent up admiration, I have not explored the region as my heart desires. I dream of taking a boat out in the water and floating along among moss draped trees while watching pelicans fish. Don’t fret, I know there are alligators in the water so this boat is probably not going to be a kayak. The southern Louisiana wetlands, this place that captures my imagination, are one of the most at-risk ecosystems in the entire world. The wetlands are so important and their demise has “dire” consequences for not just the region, but also our planet.
This quilt is a tribute to southern Louisiana; an aerial view of a disappearing landscape and my love for a place I’ve never physically visited. The foundation of this quilt — my wetland interpretation — was created after playing around with some leftover green and orange scrap strips from a Joe Cunningham workshop. Once completed, I added the additional diagonal design elements which each represent a different impact or influence on this region. To make an insert, I used a ruler to make a large straight cut and then essentially spliced in a different colored/patterned fabric strip to represent the different influences across the quilt base. These diagonal lines represent: the oil and gas industry (in black, gray), seafood as both livelihood and food (in pink), a white piece of musical note fabric (for the beloved Cajun tunes!), sunlight (yellow) and various blues to represent people living in co-existence with nature. Yes it can be scary to take a perfectly good design and cut into it, so I recommend if this process causes you any consternation, put on some music you love, take a couple of deep breaths and remember that you are only cutting fabric.
The loss of the Louisiana wetlands happens at the astonishing equivalent of a football field every 100 minutes according to advocacy group Restore the Mississippi River Delta. Poof, the land is just GONE. The U.N. estimates that wetlands around the world are disappearing at 3 times the rate of deforestation. There are myriad factors affecting this rapid disappearance including loss of coastline, super strength hurricanes and the intrusion of too much saltwater into a freshwater ecosystem. To demonstrate this loss in my quilt, I surrounded the bayou land with incoming water. It may be hard to see here in these photos, the quilt itself is (purposefully) not square and instead has a freehand scalloped edge. I continued this water theme with the hand quilting in the shape of a raindrop with a concentrated center. Once I stepped back from my quilt, I could see this raindrop shape also appears like a bull’s eye which while appropriate, was not intentional. The quilt back is an incredible marbled fabric I purchased years ago for a whopping 25 cents at a thrift store and is the perfect fit.
I started Fever for the Bayou many months ago, but the poignancy of the quilt became more urgent after Hurricane Ida hit Louisiana on the 16th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall. How damn sad is that. The devastation wrought by Ida is nothing more than completely tragic and although our news cycle has moved on to other travesties, the people in these beautiful communities are still suffering. And it should also be noted, simultaneously cleaning up from and preparing for another hurricane season. To see what is happening to the thriving bayou communities and how impacted they already are by climate change is shocking. This is not some abstract doomsday future — this is now.
Since I am writing about a landscape that is irreparably altered by climate change, I want to state emphatically that climate change will affect ALL of us. So don’t question why people live somewhere with disaster risks — it is offensive. The west is drying up and frying up and people wonder what the hell us Westerners are doing living out here next to all of this combustible timber. Okay, we can move beyond this notion right? The consequence of questioning why folks live in an area that is already heavily impacted by our warmed climate is dismissive and fosters less empathy for people in a crisis. Moving is terribly hard and not an option for everyone. Leaving behind a place that you love, and that your family is connected to for generations, can leave a metaphorical hole in your heart. Losing everything you own is heartbreaking. Natural disasters are traumatic events. Let’s support each other no matter where we live because EVERY human will be impacted and we need to work together (a seemingly radical idea these days in our polarized world) if we are to make any progress. Rant done.
You may wonder why I chose the setting of my #quilts in the wild photo to be a burned up forest and it’s because this is what climate change looks like where I live. This is the Schneider Springs burn scar, a fire caused by lightning on August 4th, 2021 that raged for months and consumed over 100,000 acres of ponderosa pine forest. This fire was approximately 20 miles from our house and our valley was shrouded in a cloud of hazardous wildfire smoke for weeks. We drove with our headlights on during the day. Ash fell in our backyard. Any time spent outdoors required an N-95 in a futile attempt to prevent hazardous particulates from getting into our airways. Agricultural workers worked outside all day in this smoke so that cherries, hops, grapes and apples were delivered from our valley to the country’s tables. Summers didn’t used to be this way in the West. We are learning that there is no longer a wildfire season, nor is fire exclusive to a heavily forested zone, since a monster wildland fire wiped out subdivisions outside of the Denver metropolis on December 30, 2021.
Fever for the Bayou is named after a song/album by one of my all-time favorite modern blues rockers Tab Benoit. Tab hails from Houma, Louisiana and this quilt is heavily inspired by his music and his advocacy for protecting the wetlands. Tab’s music is swampy, rocking and always badass. When I put a Tab record on, I can feel the humidity in his songs and I’m transported to another place. I’ve never heard a Tab album, or live show, that wasn’t off the charts awesome. The album Fever for the Bayou is one I have listened to probably hundreds of times; it has accompanied me on road trips, house cleaning binges and now, this quilt. Tab has seen firsthand the consequences of environmental damage in southern Louisiana and in 2004 he started the Voice of the Wetlands nonprofit, Allstar supergroup and festival. If you can get your hands on any of the Voice of the Wetlands music, you will be very pleased. This quilt could only have been made to Tab’s music and I owe this piece to his rocking tunes.
Apologies if you came here to read about warm fuzzy quilts and instead got this bummer of a post. I have always said that my quilts are primarily inspired by nature and this is true for Fever for the Bayou as well. It is important that we recognize how much of a threat climate change poses for us. I am only 44 and I think, what else is going to disappear in my lifetime? If we are at the “now or never” tipping point, what will our planet even look like in another 40 years? All of the destruction is overwhelming and we all know that actions exist to minimize the destruction. Do your research and find your contribution to help stop this catastrophe. I’m leaving this post with a picture of magnolias because the same day we visited the burn scar, we returned to our neighborhood in rapturous bloom. That’s the juxtaposition of nature here in my climate.
Albums listened to: Tab Benoit Medicine, Fever for the Bayou, Legacy: the best of Tab Benoit, Nice and Warm, Homesick for the Road, What I Live For, Standing on the Bank. Recorded live sets from Telluride Blues and Brews Festival (Tab) and the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival (Tab and the Voice of the Wetlands Allstars).
Quiltunes 