As I entered the street for my short walk to work, I was trying to remember the location of the nearest florist.

I left work early, around 4:30pm, and made my way to Mama Vermillion’s, a florist on the Rue de Chartres.

I like going there because the owner, Carol, always helps me choose the perfect flowers, and also, more importantly, because Maggie loves Carol.

Carol is somewhat of an institution in New Orleans. Half florist, half saint, she is beloved by all the locals in the French Quarter.

Her full name is Carol Lorraine Vermillion, a descendant of one of the oldest African American families in New Orleans. A tiny woman in her eighties, she has owned the flower shop La Fleur de l’Âge for fifty years.

No one calls it La Fleur de l’Âge unless they are tourists. On the street it is known as Mama Vermillion’s.

She is a master florist, but I like going there mainly because she is kind and she gives me great advice.

As I entered the store, the familiar clanging sound of the old bell at the top of the door threshold announced my arrival.