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Writing, writing, writing. Yesterday morning I managed to squeeze in a two and a half hour writing session before heading over to Messiah College to preside over the History Department's first department meeting of the year.
It was a productive session in which I was able to churn out 2033 half-baked words. I am still writing Chapter Three. This is becoming one of those "catch-all" chapters in which I try to cram a bunch of themes that don't naturally fit together, but still need to be covered, into something coherent.
One of the figures I wrote about yesterday was P.M. Ozanne, an agent for the South-Western Bible Society in New Orleans working in the Gulf Coast parish of Lafourche. He would regularly paddle several miles a day in a small canoe up the narrow bayou waterways in the hot summer sun in order to bring Bibles to Indian and white families in French speaking settlements. It was not unusual for him to leave his canoe, hide it in the woods for safekeeping, and walk three miles along a narrow cow trail with weeds growing as high as five or six feet. Ozanne must have been a sight to see as he moved through the bayou wilderness with a bundle of books under one arm and the other arm clearing weeds and driving off mosquitoes and flies.