Redbrick dust was gathered from bricks in the cemetery that had crumbled over time. The crumbling bricks were rubbed and the resulting dust was gathered in bags. Voodoo practitioners spread this dust in a straight line in front of a home that needed protection.
Visiting cemeteries can deplete your auric energy, especially if you are an intuitive, medium, or empathic in nature, as you will be sensitive to the grieving energy stored in these locations. When you visit, whether to enjoy the architecture or to see if the spirits are willing to communicate, remember afterward to “shake off” the energy. This is best done by stamping your feet outside the entrance to shake off any of the dirt that may have stuck to your shoes. Next have something sweet to eat to ground your body; chocolate or fruit works best. When you return back to your hotel, take a shower and visualize the water washing away the energy of the day and removing any residual energy that may have attached to you. Then surround your body with pure white light and see your body refreshed and energized. This should restore your energy and prepare you for a night out in NOLA.
CHAPTER 2
Who’s Haunting the Garden District?
“In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long-lost perfume.”
—Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire
IF YOU ASK A LOCAL IN NEW ORLEANS for directions, be prepared to hear the descriptive terms uptown and downtown, rather than east and west. The dividing line is Canal Street, with the French Quarter being downtown. On the other side of Canal Street is the area called uptown, along with the historically beautiful Garden District. Living up to its name, the area is filled with lush fragrant gardens linked with ancient oak trees and the heavenly scents of jasmine, magnolias, day lilies, oleander, honeysuckle, wisteria, crepe myrtles, roses, mimosas, and hundreds of other flora and fauna so luscious that I lost count of them all as I wandered from street to street.
The historic Garden District was established for the American settlers and German, Irish, and other European groups to build beautiful antebellum homes and mansions and to create an area where they would feel welcome. These groups were looked down upon by the French Creoles who lived in the French Quarter and were not welcome to integrate into the Creole society, so the European groups decided to snub the Creoles right back and build elaborate homes and gardens showcasing their wealth and prestige to the French. Next to the Garden District is uptown, where beautiful plantations were built close to the Mississippi River to take advantage of the breezes blowing in from the moving water.
Out of every dark cloud comes a silver lining, as the old saying goes, and this war between the European cultures and classes led to the creation of one of the most beautiful areas in New Orleans, with stunning architectural details both inside and outside the homes. The district was designed by New Orleans architect Barthelemy Lafon, who centered the homes on expansive gardens, giving the area its name. The lush gardens also warded off an occasional problem from the nearby riverfront area, where cattle pens and slaughterhouses in the summer created certain quality of life issues. The gardens worked double duty as they offset these highly unpleasant odors, filling the air with the most pleasant fragrances possible.
Like most homes in New Orleans, many of the Garden District residences report a ghost or two haunting the abodes. In a town this rich in mayhem and zest for life, it’s not surprising that some residents remain in spirit to enjoy the home of their dreams after a lifetime of hard work.
The city is magical and stirs the creative juices, as if muses were calling them forth to be reborn. It’s no wonder that so many artists, musicians, and authors visit as often as possible and long to call this area home. Hearing the call of my own inner muse suggesting that I make New Orleans my home, I strolled through the streets of the Garden District. Lost in thought, I found myself standing on First Street in front of the former home of Anne Rice, where she wrote The Witching Hour. Anne’s vivid descriptions of location and surroundings pull the reader into the story, and they are transported here in New Orleans. Strolling past the street is as close as most will come to investigating any of the haunted reports in these homes, though I half expected to see the ghost of Deirdre from Anne’s book, sitting on the porch in a rocking chair.
The Garden District lives up to its beautiful name, as depicted in this artist’s rendering painted on an antique wood chair.
During my travels through the Garden District, I met a ghost when I least expected it, riding on the St. Charles streetcar with me. The streetcar is my favorite way to travel through New Orleans, and I have to ride this line every time I’m in the city. The St. Charles streetcar runs for 13 miles along a crescent shape, from Carondelet at Canal Street through the majestic areas of the Garden District to Carrollton Avenue. It’s the oldest continually running streetcar line in the world, and the cars are in beautiful condition, with mahogany seats and brass fittings. It’s a comfy ride as you lower the windows and feel the breeze blowing in as you rush along the tracks. I’ve ridden this line many times, and it’s a great way to view the homes and take pictures. I especially enjoy looking up at the trees as I roll by to see how many trees I can spot with Mardi Gras beads hanging from their branches.
There’s always a mixture of people riding the cars. Locals ride on their way home from work, some heading downtown to be dropped off on Canal Street and others switching streetcar lines from Canal to head over to the French Market. I love hopping from line to line to ride the cars. I’ve had some of the best conversations while riding the streetcars, chatting about the city and catching up on local stories and gossip.
During the streetcar ride when the ghost appeared to me, I didn’t recognize him as a ghost at first. He was an elderly man sitting several seats ahead of me, and I didn’t pay him much attention. He wore a hat and was dressed in a suit like some elderly men still do. While I thought it was charming, my attention had been drawn into a wonderful conversation with a delightful African-American woman sitting next to me. She had been sharing stories with me about her life and her ancestors who had lived here, along with stories about her children, who she prayed would be safe while they lived and worked elsewhere. Her deepest prayer was that they would return to New Orleans to live here again. While we didn’t delve into the topic of the supernatural in our conversation, I could sense that she had intuitive abilities and saw that many of her ancestors were around her in spirit, watching over her as we chatted.
As we approached her stop, she wished me a good afternoon and then stood up and walked to the exit door. As she did, she briefly stopped next to where the elderly man was seated and paused for a moment as if she was confused. She stood still and looked around, and on this very warm day, she shivered. Clutching her purse tightly to her chest, she looked around once again and then quickly departed the car. I waved to her from the window, but she didn’t look back and was walking very quickly away from the car. I turned my attention back inside to see what might have frightened her and why she paused so suddenly. The car was almost empty now, with only a few people still on the car with me. The elderly gentleman was still sitting in the same seat up ahead, and as I looked in his direction, I saw him momentarily disappear and then appear again. I then realized that I had missed this earlier. Because he was a ghost, the lady I had been chatting with couldn’t see him, but she felt his energy as she passed by the seat, which gave her a fright. While it sounds astonishing that I wouldn’t immediately notice a ghost on the streetcar, it’s not as surprising as it sounds in New Orleans. Ghosts are literally everywhere in the city, on the streets, in the bars and restaurants, at the hotels, and attending the parades. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a place without some type of haunting in the area. Also, the streetcar had been packed with people throughout the ride, and I had been more interested in the conversation I was having with the woman (along with taking in the sights of the homes, as I swoon