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I was born in 1937 in Cut Off, a small French-speaking community on a bayou in south Louisiana, all of the little country farming and fishing towns, wide spots along Bayou Lafourche such as Cut Off, snuggled tightly along the bayou road. The bayou and the road snaked away from the Mississippi River through the small farming/fishing communities for more than 80 miles along a high ridge down to the Gulf of Mexico thirty miles south of Cut Off. These bayou settlements were founded in the early part of the 19th century. The 'forest' was cleared to make way for the farms and plantations that developed into the agricultural economy of the region. When I was growing up, sugar cane was the main crop. Just before the fall harvest, the fields resonated with the sound and sights of the rippling green stalks. Such was my country childhood which, unbeknownst to me, formed my initial sense of the importance of indigenous landscape.

Odd little pieces of left over 'forest' are still found here and there. For me they hold the memories of my childhood picnics, games and school outings which more than sixty plus years ago provided my introduction to the beauty and peacefulness of trees and cultural landscapes. Mostly pecan, oak, willow and gum, the trees sprouted from a forest floor filled with pink/fuchsia azalea and wild wisteria. This sparse 'forest' in marshy south Louisiana planted the first seeds for my life long 'romance' with trees and open spaces.

How would you define a cultural landscape?

My understanding of a cultural landscape was first informed by my 'country' environment ... and much later, in the waning years of my sixth decade of life, it was professionally defined in Pioneers of American Landscape Design, a book with which I became acquainted through a mail-order book club. Its editor, Charles Birnbaum, became my 'teacher' and friend. I came to know that a 'cultural landscape' (built or natural) provides a sense of place. When it is a historic cultural landscape, it is one that is infused with familiar usage which spans generations.

Why did you get involved in the landscape that was threatened in your community?

In 1974, my husband and I chose to live in a house which overlooked a community icon, the nine-hole City Park Golf Course. Officially opened in 1928, it was the first municipal golf course in town and up until the late '50s; it was the only municipal golf course in the city. It provided (and provides) a golfing venue for a diverse golfing population in Baton Rouge. Community golfers, students, youth, visitors, seniors, families and folk of all ethnic background and skill levels have enjoyed the challenge of the City Park Golf Course for more than seventy seven years.

Off and on through over thirty years of living across from the City Park Golf Course, I have privately researched its origin and history. Through my research as well as through my children who had grown up playing every day in City Park, I was deeply connected to the park and golf course. I am also deeply connected through my volunteer work to an adjacent neighborhood which is a "re-emerging" inn