The Ride to Mallard Junction P.2

Back a while, I traced a ripped up railroad from Abbeville to Eunice. That afternoon's ride was a great lesson in the topography of Louisiana along that right of way. I also documented the many points of interest. None out shown the one in Bayou Vermilion at Abbeville.



I had to show the bridge to the Lt. and all of his deputies. As always,
a gesture of kindness resulted in a big payoff. Leaving the
viewing area I saw yet another Abbeville treasure I'd missed. If
you have not strolled the old section of Abbeville, first fortifying
yourself with a little history, you are missing a great attraction.







Panning south from the cemetery, the rice mill comes into
sight. Rice mills and rice driers are different. A rice drier
is much smaller and only dries the wet rice so it doesn't rot.
The mill does so much more.

Where we are going, rice driers are as common as sugarcane
mills once were. The old sugarcane mills are almost gone now with
only nine or so remaining in the state. I fear the same fate for
the historic rice driers. I was telling Al that I compare them
with the windmills of Holland, but they are far superior in their
majesty and beauty. They are the castles of southwest Louisiana.



Hey Al, what's this old mill's name again?

Al mentioned, using the vernacular of New Iberia's
chief spook, that this mill enjoyed not only rail transportation
(still in use), but access to the bayou in the past. I almost heard
a chorus of admiring deputies singing, "Yes sir, that's right, sir".
I knew he would have them tightly trained, but...gee Al.



We followed Cushing's route through Kaplan and Geydan.

Somewhere along there, south of the road was this unusual building.
It could have been an early mill with adjoining driers. Lt. Al envisioned
it as a great "Big House". It was off the ground which dealt with potential flooding
and it has obviously withstood resent storms successfully. Further,
the square footage seemed appropriate.



For the sake of comparison, a normal home sat beside it.



We left La.14 momentarily. We both wanted to pursue this
tiny road, but, Mallard Junction was calling, "Quack, Quack".



Returning to La.14, it was time to go over the Mermentau River.





We would descend into Lake Arthur, the town, not the lake.
There we spent close to an hour and a half. It would be the
find of this trip. There were other monumental places which
gave up great amounts of information, but LA would be out-
standing.

You'll have to wait until my aun vie returns for me to continue.
No not Aunt Vie, aun' vie, you don't speak French? Prepare
yourself for a lesson on the history of Lake Arthur. You have
to understand the significance of the rails that you are about to
follow to fully appreciate their being. I know, I'm asking a lot.

CLICK HERE for page 3.