Port Allen, Louisiana off Highway 415. I used to live in a village 30 miles upriver from Baton Rouge. Once you leave the urban heart of the city and cross the Mississippi river, the scenery dissolves to strip malls, drive-in massage parlors, eat places like Shoney’s, and the low, brick building that sells porn. It’s in sharp contrast to the lovely long ribbons of road that mirrors the river, fringed in cane fields, and dotted with old homes, and vendors selling blackberries, brown eggs, or orange satsumas. So I was particularly struck one Christmas when the porn shop installed an illuminated Santa and Frosty on the lawn of their dim establishment. I was on my way to photograph the Alma Plantation sugar mill. Along the way, harvested fields of cane were burning, sending gray funnels of smoke into the night sky. The dark beauty of the fields, the bitter cold air, and the isolated porn shop with its inflatable cheer tore a bit at my heart. The irony of life. This is what I remember.