Turns out our word bayou is from a Frenchified Native American word. Most I’ve seen are like this—dredged and channelized.
Photographically, the high point was a morning walk in a wildlife preserve also known as a swamp. Lots of Spanish moss but no Spanish.
The trail took us back to open water—a lake? This bird kept its distance yet still was curious about us. Snowy egret.
Closer was this little blue heron, busy hunting and mostly ignoring us.
Back on the road we drove through an area with lots of ship-building, which appeared to be roadside but was really in nearby channels.
Later we got into a cane-growing zone. It is harvest season and a few guys and many machines were active. Lots of trailers, full and empty, moved the chopped plant material to…to…I assume presses?
Many bridges, a few high enough for ships to pass.
Much later we were in a traffic jam (no alternative routes), and the Guru made a new friend. Kinda.
And another spectacular sunset. Life is darned good. We sleep in Texas tonight. [Those two sentences not logically connected.]