Good Friday Lore

Good Friday Lore

Silence between noon and 3.

Cover statues in purple or black cloth. 

 No hammering or nailing on Good Friday.

Radios not turned on, except for news - no music; no movies; no dances - of course.

Live stations of the cross, walking down the highway.

Good Friday for us was cooking fish in the woods, on the coals of a fire.

My dad always planted his vegetable garden Holy Week but never dig on Good Friday! As teenagers we were also never allowed to " go out" on good Friday. We always have crawfish stew/étouffée on Easter Sunday.

My dad used to say you did not plant (or dig in the ground) on Good Friday. We did not eat any meat (including fish) on Good Friday - Mom would make egg salad or egg jambalaya (egg fried rice). We went to mass and confession on Good Friday and attended the "Stations of the Cross" procession at the church after mass.
Cover your mirrors, preferably with black cloth, because we are in the likeness of God, who was killed that day. Do nothing where there is a risk of drawing blood--shave, cut something with a knife, etc.

The mirrors were covered Thursday night. No television, radios or work on Good Friday. No crawfish boils or party in any way! Don't even think of digging in the ground.

One year we dug up some wild mint in our grandparents' pasture, it was our last time there after they passed away and we needed to get the plant. It wasn't until later that night that I realized it was Good Friday and though the ground didn't bleed, I can't get that mint plant to grow more than one little sprig, barely two inches high then it dies. 

 My dad was a rice farmer and this was a very busy time for us with planting and everything that goes with it. The old people use to say if you dig into the ground on Good Friday it would bleed. We would try to get the day off from shovel work but my dad said get your butts in the field and if the ground bleeds you can have the day off ! And despite all of our digging the ground never bled. -KR

Avril 2013

La prairie a une mémoire.

Tree Medicine

 Tree medicine.

There was a white pine that volunteered in the western yard. It obstructed my view of the open prairie to the southwest, so he chopped the top for my photography. That cleared the view for a few years but that tree continued to grow. Except now, at the injury, it weeps sap. I’m not sure if it’s a memory of the damage that was done to clear the path, or if sickness or parasite still lives in the tree. No matter, it has become a medicine tree. On walks around the property I stop there and check the ground for chunks. I follow their fall patterns and gather them.  At first I kept this sap and chunks of resin in my journals, not knowing what to do with it except smell it and let it perfume my journal. Sometimes I put the clearest sap on small cuts around my cuticle. 

One wet Louisiana winter day I went out to build a little fire in the wax myrtle bower but everything was damp. I pulled out the pages of my journal with the resin on them and they worked fine, similarly to the bois gras the men collected and used for fire starter. It kept my little fire going and kept me warm that day and others. It became a habit of mine to be able to spot injuries on resin trees and check them no matter where I was. I kept the pieces of resin in a tin can painted with blue and gold stars on the porch. But one day an indigenous friend gave me a balm made of bear grease and five kinds of fir resins from the north, saying that it would heal any wound and not even leave a scar. I knew then what to do with my resin collection. 

I melted the chunks down with sweet almond oil and when they were warm and incorporated, filtered it and mixed it with melted bay wax from the bower to make a balm that my boys called “tree medicine”. They refused Neosporin but would accept the tree medicine on their wounds, only after I showed them the tree itself.

Daily I work atop the Grand Coteau at a school over 200 years old, full of old oak and pine allies. Some of the pines seem to be nearly as old as the school and bare many scars and knots that give sap. I immediately began to survey each tree at recess and the girls would ask, "Madame, what are you doing?" Last year, one of the largest pines was struck by lightning and it created a rip in the bark that began to weep sap. Daily the girls and I go out and check this tree, because it gives the clearest sap that looks like tears. I have taught the girls that only the wounded trees will give the medicine, and in their healing, we can also share in it a little. I explained that the sap is like the tree’s blood and the resin is the scab. They apply it, like me, to their cuts, and know that hand sanitizer will clean it and cut the stickiness. I make a spray with the resin also that I

use daily as a hand cleaner. Sometimes I come to my classroom and there are curious pine sticks on my desk that upon further inspection are tipped with sap. They'll make a resin platter out of a piece of bark, or dig into a knot with sticks often creating more injury and then more sap. One time I found a half pound chunk of resin, who knows how old, on my desk and thought it was a chunk of tasso. This morning as I was out there in my petticoats and cape gathering fresh pine sap tears with a ruler, and curious as it is, none of the girls even asked me what I was doing.