If you listen hard, you can hear them talking, and then Nonc talking about paneling.
I was standing in the sunlit doorway of the old Lagrange House on a warm Sunday afternoon, the second one of the New Year, 2014. I had come to the oldest standing homestead in the Prairie des Femmes again to record her and show her to my friend Nonc, who studies these things and was reporting to me about the bousillage fibers he was finding behind the paneling.
I was listening for trouble. I have permission to be there, but it's not my place. That place belongs to another realm. On the road I was hearing voices and dogs and a 4-wheeler. Then, like a dream, I heard the gallop of a bande of horses and the sharp Creole yelps of the men. I wanted to take cover, but realized they couldn't see me, or could they? Then I thought one of the men was yelling at the others to come and see the house. I got nervous and jumped down into the overgrowth. I heard the neighbors' dogs across the field bark loudly as a dozen riders galloped by, men, women and children, at full speed. I could see the riders through the thin winter woods and started moving toward the road. I got some pretty bad blackberry bush scratches on my arms, but I made my way out of the woods to the road where I could see them making the 3rd turn. Me and Nonc jumped in the truck and followed them to the bayou, where I knew they would corral at the new vine fence. On the ride we watched them, the Creole men and Indian boys, gallop around curves along the Bayou Bourbeux I watched the brothers I know cut across orange winter fields on horseback and carefully through tree lines, the boys, and this time, their sister on a cream colored horse, real Prairie des Femmes.
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| "Love Y'All" |
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