When it rains in New Orleans, it pours in New Orleans

It was a warm November day at Tulane University. I stepped out of my home at Warren House and I had a spring in my step as I walked to my 9:00 am class. The ‘spring’ could be primarily attributed to my new shoes, but I was also happy to enjoy another flawless day in the sun. I had to enjoy the rays while they lasted; my trusty weather app said partly cloudy skies would be moving in around noon.

Back when I was young and foolish (I still am, but I was more so last year) I could accept the forecast. Realistically, I should have recalled Homecoming day during my freshmen year. It was truly epic weather. The floods came without warning and the rain would not relent. I swear I saw Tulane’s crew team rowing down McAlister.

Everything was fine and dandy until I got out of class at Dinwiddie. My dreamy skies had twisted into dark clouds. My face fell as I watched helpless Tulanians bolt across the quad using sweatshirts, backpacks, and even a binder (I kid you not), to shield from the monsoon rains. I made eye contact with a few of them and we conveyed a mutual sense of empathy and compassion for one another. The eyes always say it all: I feel you. I see you. I will follow you if it looks like I’ll get less wet.

The flood is coming.

I opened the weather app to see when the rain would stop. I quickly closed it out of spite, remembering how it had failed me beyond redemption just hours before. I guess New Orleans is just too unpredictable. I know plenty of people who can attest to this. It’s not uncommon for people to change outfits three or four times in a day to deal with the temperature and humidity fluctuation. And don’t forget sweaters for lectures because classrooms can cut close to subzero. I wonder what this place was like before A/C was invented. To be honest, there is a zero percent chance I would be at Tulane without it. Enough about the unofficial dress code, the rain is still falling.

Oh boy, did I run. I skipped, I jumped, and I crisscrossed the quad. This was the Tulane Olympics! I was not about to let my new shoes soak through. I did my very best folks. I reached Freret and saw the semi-annual Freret Street River separating me from my home. It was fascinating to watch people try and cross the street, all trying to get the least waterlogged that they could manage. We would watch each other, smiling because it was all so ridiculous. There were the occasional off-hand comments: “Oh helllll, no.” “Only at Tulane, only in New Orleans.” “This is what we get for being below sea level.” Y’all: I feel you.

I hope they had flood insurance…

After standing around texting my complaints to everyone, I decided I had to make my move. There was no hope of ferries or fan boats coming to my rescue. I would have to walk through the river. I wasn’t the first – five or so people went before me without shame or regret. I pulled off my shoes and socks and walked barefoot all the way back to Warren. It was days like this that I truly questioned why I picked a school in a place where flooding was more of a when than an if. I made sure to send plenty of snapchats of myself promising to everyone that I would be transferring to a school without a penchant for sudden floods. Alas, a little rain wasn’t about to make me a wash out. All jokes aside, I did take a few extra minutes to wade through the water. It was kind of fun once I stopped caring.

The next day the Tulane I knew and loved returned as the water retreated. Now I was smart enough to bring my umbrella (and a pair of sandals). Hey, maybe I needed a little rain to appreciate the perpetual summer and dash of fall that New Orleans provides. Yes, my shoes were still soggy, but I could almost forget it between conversations with friends as we walked around campus, and the moments of admiration I had looking at the transformation of the post-flood Tulane.

Every time I walk onto the academic campus I fall in love with Tulane all over again. The sturdy oaks that have graced the campus for decades – if not centuries – scatter the sunlight across the grass like a stained glass window. I can’t help but smile.

Despite the mud, muck, floods, and frenzy, I am here to stay. Tulane is my home for every day that I am here. I’ve learned to love the rain as much as I love the 180 days of sunshine. I’ll still have a skip in my step, even if my shoes are a little wet.

One of many favorite trees on campus.