The humidity in Louisiana never stops, minute by minute, day by day, season by season. In the summer one bathes in it, never forgetting that it is there as it weighs heavily on the mind. It is heavy enough to cut, and breath by breath it fills the lungs. In the winter it lingers in the air and cuts bone deep making a mild day into a bitter cold one with no escape from its penetrating fingers. On such a bitter day I made my first trip into another era. I traveled through time as the two lane macadam road disappeared under the cars wheels. Decades passed like the many miles I traveled. I came to a stop in front of a rundown school in the middle of Cane River Country outside Natchitoches, Louisiana. This area is home to massive cotton and pecan tree plantations in which slaves were used for labor and to maintain the economics during the antebellum period. Little has changed, except slavery is now illegal. Imagine if you will a land that is rich in beauty, heritage and history. As spectacular as all of this seems, the children of Cane River are poor. In many regards