{"id":644,"date":"2026-08-03T04:13:06","date_gmt":"2026-08-03T04:13:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644"},"modified":"2026-08-03T04:13:06","modified_gmt":"2026-08-03T04:13:06","slug":"how-to-survive-in-a-louisiana-swamp","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644","title":{"rendered":"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

I\u2019d come because I was curious about what drives someone to live in a swamp. The flat-bottomed boat nosed through the murky water like an alligator. At the tiller, Keith steered with the confidence of a man who\u2019d run these channels since boyhood, his camouflage style and mirrored sunglasses screaming summer of \u201987. Tara sat up front, loose strands of blonde hair breaking free from her braid in the cool wind.<\/p>\n

Read more Camile Paglia is still exhausting<\/a><\/p>\n

We were slinking through the edge of the Atchafalaya Basin, the largest river swamp in the United States. It\u2019s about an hour and a half west of New Orleans, Louisiana, where the French Quarter had been restless the night before, with partying tourists and jazz bands. I\u2019d heard Pierre Part (population: 3,000) was about as Cajun as you could get; that it was the most French-speaking town in the US outside a village in Maine. And so that\u2019s where I\u2019d headed.<\/p>\n

Out here on the water, the landscape reminded me a bit of the Florida Everglades: an overgrown, labyrinthine place for die-hards and outlaws. A last frontier feeling. This was a place for people who wanted to chart their own course in some downright hostile conditions. I\u2019d come to Pierre Part to meet a couple who\u2019d decided that their American dream was to live part-time in a one-room wooden houseboat on a swamp.<\/p>\n

Keith motored us around town a bit, passing porches, docks, weathered houses set close to the water. Pierre Part was essentially an island \u2014 a long stretch of high ground surrounded by wetlands. Tara pointed out landmarks. Her grandparents\u2019 house. The street where her stepmom grew up, and her parents before her, and their parents before them. It felt like moving through her family photo album. \u201cThis is the end of the road,\u201d Tara said as I looked at the last house on the bank. Everything from here was by boat.<\/p>\n

For a stretch it was nothing but open water, brown and opaque. A faint stagnant odor came off the surface. Along the shore, the cypress trees blurred into a solid brown-green wall until little dark cuts began to show. \u201cWe call \u2019em a bayou run,\u201d Keith hollered. \u201cThere\u2019s a maze of \u2019em, just like trails in a forest.\u201d He steered left into a narrow channel. It felt a little mysterious, a separate ecosystem that could only be accessed through local Cajun knowledge. Here and there houseboats appeared along the bank.<\/p>\n

In the distance, I noticed a man sitting on the small porch of a grey cabin. \u201cWho are you, and what are you doing on our houseboat?\u201d Tara called out. She had this fantastic accent, a Southern drawl with a touch of French that carried a playful ease.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m the boogeyman!\u201d The man smiled.<\/p>\n

Tara burst out laughing. \u201cThat\u2019s my dad,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019s 82.\u201d<\/p>\n

We floated closer. Tara climbed up to tie the rope around the porch post. Her father looked no older than 60 \u2014 lean and upright in a faded denim shirt and cap.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow are you doing, sir?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m doing,\u201d he said, reaching out his hand for a shake. \u201cCarlis Goday.\u201d In his Cajun accent, the weight landed on the second syllables.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe man without a car, Car-less. Last name\u2019s Go-day. If you can\u2019t go nights, you go days.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tara gave me a little tour of the house, which looked no bigger than 250 square feet. \u201cThis is the kitchen.\u201d She pointed to the propane four-burner stove in one corner, a single counter opposite, and a roll-out grill wedged between. \u201cKeith does all the outside cooking, I do the inside. We haul this grill out onto the porch just to give us more room in here.\u201d The rest of the room was simple: a bunk bed, a futon folded into a couch, life jackets, tools. Fishing gear in organized piles. A flatscreen TV and an enclosed bathroom with a toilet were the only luxuries. A small sign nailed to the wall read BORN TO FISH, FORCED TO WORK.<\/p>\n

Come summer, Keith told me, the bayou turned into a playground: waterskiing, hydrosliding, wake-boarding, swimming in clear pockets before the water thickened to pea green. \u201cThe snapping turtles you gotta be wary of, they can really bite,\u201d Tara warned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got a swimming spot we love, even with alligators everywhere.\u201d She smiled at my wide eyes, as if living a few feet above alligators was the most natural thing in the world. \u201cThe bigger alligators are usually shy,\u201d Keith added. \u201cThe smaller ones, you can get closer to, but they won\u2019t mess with people. They like swimming up to our dock when we\u2019re cleaning fish or frogs. But out here they don\u2019t really bother us. I think they had maybe two deaths in Louisiana since, I don\u2019t know\u2026 hundreds of years.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The Cajun story didn\u2019t start in Louisiana. It began along the coast of the rugged western edge of France, a Celtic stronghold of sailors and pirates who started crossing the Atlantic in the early 1600s, settling in what was then the young French colony of Acadia and is today Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island, Canada. Here, the Acadians lived the way they always had: close to the water, close to family, close to the Catholic church. They turned salty tidal marshes into farmland, wove their own clothing from flax, and \u2014 stubbornly \u2014 made a living 3,000 miles from home.<\/p>\n

But it wasn\u2019t to be. Acadia was in turbulent territory. The Acadians wanted to remain neutral between Britain and France, but when the British defeated the French, the Acadians were pushed to swear allegiance to the British Crown. They refused: their loyalty was to God, not to European empires. That defiance came at a cost, and in 1755, the British forced them out in what became known as the Great Expulsion. Villages were torched, families torn apart, thousands deported. Many died from disease and starvation. No documents written by Acadians during this period have ever been discovered, and so the expulsion remains as much myth as heritage to the people of Louisiana (who love both myth and heritage).<\/p>\n

Some Acadians ended up back in France, some scattered through the British colonies, and others drifted to the Caribbean. Those who came to Louisiana \u2014 still a French colony in those days \u2014 found something familiar. The prairies and swamps reminded them of home, only warmer. Difficult enough to live on that few bothered them and fertile enough to survive, especially with the help of Native nations like the Chitimacha, Atakapa, and Houma living along the Gulf Coast.<\/p>\n

Cajun French includes many Native-derived loanwords \u2014 even the term bayou, from the Choctaw word bayuk<\/i> (\u201csmall stream\u201d). In time, the groups began to intermarry, encouraged by proximity and shared hardships, and Cajun food developed from indigenous smoking methods, ways of preservation, and seasonings. The Cajun staple fil\u00e9 powder, made from ground sassafras leaves, comes from the cooking traditions of the Choctaw and related Gulf Coast tribes.<\/p>\n

The story of black influence in the bayou runs just as deep. Many enslaved Africans sought refuge in the wilderness, forming Maroon communities hidden along the swamps. Some of them lived independently; others mingled with Native tribes and Cajun settlers. Gumbo\u2019s okra-thickened broth has African roots, a stew of cultures that\u2019s simmered for hundreds of years. As time passed, Acadian slurred into Cajun. But the backbone of the culture stayed the same: make your own way, stay close to your people, adapt to whatever the land throws at you.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Carlis Goday wasn\u2019t born on the bayou.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was raised in the French Quarter in my younger years,\u201d he was telling me as we stood around on the deck.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think it\u2019ll be like in 20 years out here?\u201d I asked him. \u201cYou think it\u2019ll stay the same?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no.\u201d Carlis said it with vehemence and without hesitation. \u201cThings are changing too much. Too much erosion.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hurricanes were tearing up so much that there was nothing left to hold the land together but tree roots, while they pulled in salt water that killed off grasses, hastening the decline.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything\u2019s going,\u201d he said. \u201cEverything\u2019s washing away. But this\u201d \u2014 he pointed down at the water beneath the porch \u2014 \u201cThis was built when they put in some oil rigs back here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOil rigs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMost of the man-made canals were from the oil companies,\u201d Tara explained, cut as inroads for drilling rigs and pipelines, as well as drainage. \u201cThat\u2019s the big industry out here, oil and gas.\u201d<\/p>\n

Big enough to employ them both. Keith did maintenance for offshore platforms, Tara was a materials coordinator. It seemed like they had things figured out: one foot in the swamp, the other in capitalism, providing the financial security that let them live by the rhythms of the natural world. A yin and yang approach.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Keith trolled slowly, deeper in, scanning through tree trunks to the left of us. Things got quiet, and he looked serious for the first time, like he\u2019d switched into survivor mode.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoping to go find a big nutria rat to show you,\u201d I heard him say.<\/p>\n

\u201cNutria rat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery invasive around here. They tear up a lot of these marshlands. They\u2019ll eat all the roots of the vegetation, dig holes in levee systems. A lot of people trap \u2019em for the tails. Certain times of the year you can trap the nutrias, and they\u2019ll give you $6 a tail.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a government program,\u201d Tara added.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe actually shot a few last weekend \u2014 and we ate \u2019em.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou eat \u2019em?\u201d I said, probably failing to hide my shock.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re actually a very clean meat. They\u2019re vegetarian.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many pounds are they?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, they can get five pounds to probably up to 20.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re like midsize dogs?\u201d The image in my head wasn\u2019t getting any prettier.<\/p>\n

Keith laughed. \u201cI\u2019m-a show you some in a few minutes \u2014 you\u2019re gonna see. New York, they don\u2019t have anything on us in rats.\u201d<\/p>\n

The boat slowed, the motor humming just enough to push us along. \u201cThey hear the motor and take off running,\u201d Keith said, scanning the shallows. \u201cBut a lot of times if you just kind of creep up on \u2019em, they\u2019ll sit in the lilies or in the marsh and eat grass.\u201d<\/p>\n

Suddenly Keith\u2019s posture shifted. He cut the motor and reached for the rifle on the floor of the boat in one swift motion, chambered a round without taking his eyes off the forest, and raised the barrel. A click. Then the sharp crack of gunfire split the quiet, echoing through the trees.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I heard it,\u201d Tara said. \u201cThat was a good shot.\u201d<\/p>\n

The motor coughed back to life, the boat gliding towards the bank. Keith hopped out and slipped into the undergrowth. I followed. He must have been 100 feet away from shore when he finally crouched down to the ground. Then he straightened, pulling up a long, limp brown body by its slick 10-inch tail.<\/p>\n

Read more Weaponized migration menaces Europe<\/a><\/p>\n

He was holding a wet, shaggy nutria, its long orange teeth jutting like chisels. Its webbed feet dangled in the air, black claws curled tight at the ends. Something between a beaver and a rat, and ugly as sin.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a small one,\u201d Keith said, raising it high for Tara to see. \u201cMy friend calls \u2019em swamp bunnies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd that\u2019s part of the dinner menu tonight, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you like to try?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean, if you\u2019re doing it\u2026 when in Rome.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe could try frying it,\u201d Tara suggested.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh\u2026\u201d Keith considered it for a moment. \u201cI think a nutria stew would be awesome.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve often heard people say that America has no culture, and I think that claim couldn\u2019t be more off. Sure, America doesn\u2019t have one neat, homogeneous culture \u2014 it\u2019s too mixed, too big, too complicated for that. What it does have is a whole host of cultures sprinkled across its vast and beautiful geography. That\u2019s the true gift of this country: you can choose the life you want to live, in the culture that feels right to you.<\/p>\n

And the beauty is that so much of America still stands with its arms open. If you show up somewhere as an outsider, and take the time to respect how people live there \u2014 not trying to change them, not trying to prove that where you\u2019re from does things better \u2014 you\u2019re usually met with real warmth. Come in curious, ask questions, listen more than you talk, and try to understand where people are coming from, and wow, it\u2019s a beautiful thing.<\/p>\n

For Keith and Tara, I was realizing that it was the unpredictability of life out here on the bayou that\u2019d become the attraction. Keith had told me the biggest threat of living here was the storms \u2014 hurricanes blowing 160 miles an hour for hours on end, floods rising fast and rolling through without mercy. Looking out at the still water all around us \u2014 the soft wind rustling the moss in slow sways, chorus frogs peeping from the banks \u2014 it occurred to me that the risk of living here was that one moment, the place gives you peace, but the next it could strip everything away.<\/p>\n

I try my best to see things from the perspective of the people I\u2019m meeting up with, because I\u2019m always curious how others see the world. Out here, I could feel the comfort that comes from knowing your immediate survival doesn\u2019t depend on supply chains or policies but on your own skills and relationships. Keith and Tara were as connected to their food source as you can get. Swamp-to-table cuisine.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, say the grid goes down,\u201d I said. \u201cEverything stops \u2014 no cell coverage. You guys are fine out here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d Tara said, no hesitation.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re gonna be fantastic,\u201d Keith said, a wide smile spreading across his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuel and clean water would be the tough ones to get, though?\u201d<\/p>\n

Keith glanced at Tara, as if checking that they were on the same page. \u201cYeah, but there\u2019s ways to get clean water. We\u2019d boil it all day long if we got to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how many rounds of ammo at the house?\u201d Tara asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOoh . . .\u201d he paused, trying not to look too pleased with himself. \u201cEighteen thousand rounds, maybe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re getting ready for something, Keith?\u201d I asked with a grin.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlways,\u201d Tara cut in, laughing.<\/p>\n

Keith didn\u2019t answer me on the fuel question since, of course, without fuel, all of this stopped: the motorboat, the cooking stove, the backup generator. It\u2019s romantic to imagine making it in the wild on our own \u2014 and Keith and Tara could do better than most. But the truth is, we\u2019re all dependent on civilization; it\u2019s just a question of degree.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you guys feel about the rest of the country out here?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI watch no news. None,\u201d Keith said. He sounded proud. Defiant.<\/p>\n

Tara leaned forward with a small laugh. \u201cWe haven\u2019t watched the news in years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI used to keep up a little bit,\u201d Keith said, \u201cand it would just upset me so much to see all the stuff going on. So I was like, \u2018You know what? I\u2019m a lot happier, honestly, not keeping up with it.\u2019 \u2019Cause how much positive stuff do you see in the news?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d Tara said quickly.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo this is what we do\u201d \u2014 he looked around \u2014 \u201cand we enjoy our lives doing it. And if we\u2019re not here, we\u2019re doing stuff with our families. For Christmas, you\u2019re probably looking at 60 to 70 of just my family. People like to get together here. You do a crawfish boil, and you just tell everybody, and they bring a dish, and everybody just has a great time.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Soon the houses came back into view. I spotted Carlis sprawled on the dock napping. Afternoon sunlight warmed the wooden planks, the soft whistle of a cardinal carrying across the water.<\/p>\n

\u201cI got you a treat,\u201d Keith said, dropping the nutria at his father-in-law\u2019s feet. \u201cYou want some nutria stew?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tara set a heavy iron pot on the stove, rice and onion sizzling as Keith busied himself with the day\u2019s catch. Carlis lifted a bottle: homemade wine, wild muscadine from the swamp, generations of craft bottled inside, stretching all the way back to his ancestors in France.<\/p>\n

\u201cTara, can you bring me that gut bucket in the back?\u201d Keith called out. \u201cThe white one we found earlier?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tara wrinkled her nose and looked at me. \u201cI know, that sounds so gross, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Carlis cracked the bottle of muscadine open and tipped it forward, the deep red liquid glugging heavily into a white Styrofoam cup. He lifted it under his nose and breathed deep. \u201cAah. Tol\u00e9, \u00e7a c\u2019est bon!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

A little Bordeaux in the bayou, I thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you feel the Cajun culture\u2019s under threat at all?\u201d I asked as he took a slow sip of the wine.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re losing it,\u201d he said. His face tightened at the thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cBack when I was little, just this area here, I\u2019d say 100% of the kids spoke French. Nowadays, you\u2019re lucky if you get 25% to 30%. Just like my grandkids. They understand it, but they never wanted to talk it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you spoke it \u2019cause your parents made you speak it, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey didn\u2019t make me \u2014 that\u2019s all we had. French was my first language. In school, they made us quit talking French.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo the US school system didn\u2019t want any French being spoken at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cAnd then just lately, the last few years, they started with French immersion \u2014 teaching French.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLanguage is like a tidal wave,\u201d I said to Carlis. \u201cIt\u2019s hard to go against.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was how it went, the pendulum swinging from pushing out French influence to embracing it again. Starting in the late 1800s, you could see the pressure to make Louisiana less French in all kinds of small, telling ways \u2014 French street names anglicized, public institutions phasing out the language. Catholic parishes were reorganized, some priests replaced with English-speaking clergy. And yet, for all the pressure to \u201cAmericanize\u201d, the culture held on. Children still spoke French at home, even if they were punished at school for it. Music carried the language when conversation couldn\u2019t. Recipes traveled from grandmother to grandchild. What survived did so stubbornly, underground at times, until the Sixties, when the cultural revival movements \u2014 Cajun music festivals, immersion programs, the creation of a state agency for Francophone Affairs \u2014 began bringing the language and traditions back into the everyday. But the reality is that kids will speak the language that\u2019s cool with their friends, the language of the TikTok videos that they\u2019re watching.<\/p>\n

Over in the kitchen corner, Tara lifted the black pot\u2019s lid as the stew roared, a rush of steam and bubbling, rich and heavy. She leaned into the cloud, breathing deep, satisfied.<\/p>\n

Plates in hand, we stepped outside to eat in the open air. I lifted a forkful. \u201cAll right,\u201d I announced, almost ceremonially. \u201cMy first nutria.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was on my toes. Food can be such a big part of identity that the rejection of a meal can seem like the rejection of a culture. I took a big bite and chewed on it for a moment. It wasn\u2019t bad. Earthy, dense, close to rabbit or dark chicken meat.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s like nothing I\u2019ve had before, to be honest,\u201d I said. \u201cTexture\u2019s like\u2026\u201d I hesitated. \u201cGummy. A lot of flavor. It\u2019s got some kick to it, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Keith leaned closer. \u201cBig question is \u2014 would you eat it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled, swallowing. \u201cIf I was out here, yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

They both laughed.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

This is an edited excerpt from Your Fellow Americans<\/em> by Peter Santenello. Copyright 2026 \u00a9 by Peter Santenello. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster, LLC.<\/p>\n

Read more Did MAGA create the Ceuta crisis?<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019d come because I was curious about what drives someone to live in a swamp. The flat-bottomed boat nosed through the murky water like an alligator. At the tiller, Keith steered with the confidence of a man who\u2019d run these channels since boyhood, his camouflage style and mirrored sunglasses screaming summer of \u201987. Tara sat […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":643,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[44],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-644","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-dispatch"],"yoast_head":"\nHow to survive in a Louisiana swamp - \u0421ity Flow Journal<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp - \u0421ity Flow Journal\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I\u2019d come because I was curious about what drives someone to live in a swamp. The flat-bottomed boat nosed through the murky water like an alligator. At the tiller, Keith steered with the confidence of a man who\u2019d run these channels since boyhood, his camouflage style and mirrored sunglasses screaming summer of \u201987. Tara sat […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"\u0421ity Flow Journal\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-08-03T04:13:06+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"admin\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"admin\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"17 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"admin\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/eb5442f0ad6aa87f0eddf619a8d0abc4\"},\"headline\":\"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-08-03T04:13:06+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644\"},\"wordCount\":3387,\"commentCount\":0,\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Dispatch\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644\",\"name\":\"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp - \u0421ity Flow Journal\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-08-03T04:13:06+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/eb5442f0ad6aa87f0eddf619a8d0abc4\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp\",\"width\":1024,\"height\":668},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?p=644#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"\u0421ity Flow Journal\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/eb5442f0ad6aa87f0eddf619a8d0abc4\",\"name\":\"admin\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/50b1ad2e498f523425ee0a8cc5180a210646db1622662a3d56cc405d3e0c346a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/50b1ad2e498f523425ee0a8cc5180a210646db1622662a3d56cc405d3e0c346a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/50b1ad2e498f523425ee0a8cc5180a210646db1622662a3d56cc405d3e0c346a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"admin\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityflowjournal.com\\\/?author=1\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp - \u0421ity Flow Journal","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp - \u0421ity Flow Journal","og_description":"I\u2019d come because I was curious about what drives someone to live in a swamp. The flat-bottomed boat nosed through the murky water like an alligator. At the tiller, Keith steered with the confidence of a man who\u2019d run these channels since boyhood, his camouflage style and mirrored sunglasses screaming summer of \u201987. Tara sat […]","og_url":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644","og_site_name":"\u0421ity Flow Journal","article_published_time":"2026-08-03T04:13:06+00:00","author":"admin","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"admin","Est. reading time":"17 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644"},"author":{"name":"admin","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/#\/schema\/person\/eb5442f0ad6aa87f0eddf619a8d0abc4"},"headline":"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp","datePublished":"2026-08-03T04:13:06+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644"},"wordCount":3387,"commentCount":0,"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp","articleSection":["Dispatch"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644","url":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644","name":"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp - \u0421ity Flow Journal","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp","datePublished":"2026-08-03T04:13:06+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/#\/schema\/person\/eb5442f0ad6aa87f0eddf619a8d0abc4"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/eefc29da85a4d746b058fcaf614d252a.webp","width":1024,"height":668},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?p=644#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"How to survive in a Louisiana swamp"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/","name":"\u0421ity Flow Journal","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/#\/schema\/person\/eb5442f0ad6aa87f0eddf619a8d0abc4","name":"admin","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/50b1ad2e498f523425ee0a8cc5180a210646db1622662a3d56cc405d3e0c346a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/50b1ad2e498f523425ee0a8cc5180a210646db1622662a3d56cc405d3e0c346a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/50b1ad2e498f523425ee0a8cc5180a210646db1622662a3d56cc405d3e0c346a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"admin"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/cityflowjournal.com"],"url":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/?author=1"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/644","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=644"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/644\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/643"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=644"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=644"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cityflowjournal.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=644"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}