Memories of May 1

 When I was a girl I read in a Susan Branch book about the folkloric belief in the healing and beautifying powers imbued in the dew of May 1st. Since then it's been thirty years,  and I have made a point to celebrate May 1st by touching the dew, gathering flowers, crowning Mary and eventually collecting ounces of dew in bottles and pyrex measuring cups. 

Images from my Instagram Memory entitled "May 1"

Wooden Marian shrine nailed to a flowering tree
Dew drops in blue bottles
May 1st by Beach Fossils
A dark recess in the bamboo provides a vignette for a suspended stick,
wrapped by a dead vine like a snake
Black rubber boots and a white April Cornell nightgown
Three miniature bottles of dew on the windowsill, corked
Recipe for Beltane lemonade
Cottonmouth vertebrae, painted gold, used as a crown
Deer tracks and tufts of hair in the cracked, muddy, entrance to the woods
A sighting of a centaur on the dirt road
Sandals with iridescent straps on the cypress porch
A turreted castle surrounded by lilac flowering bushes
A carpet of purple prairie verbena along the dirt road
Multi faceted crystal bottle of May dew with stopper
Thistle sprite
Giant wisteria bunch in the woods we called "our mistletoe"
An aproned woman disappearing into the darkness of the woods, surrounded by fireflies
A fresh bottle of dew with roses
Touching a drop of dew on the cattle fence
White dress and overlay doublet tied twice at the waist
May crowning and goûter at the Academy atop the Holy Coteau
Singing the Magnificat in rounds
Touching the dew that remained in the pine shadow to our faces 
Self-heal flowering on my path
Procession and bouquet of blue Louisiana irises for Mater
Pink, light blue and white linen, a light blue cameo
Fresh swamp roses, a prairie painting 
Marius plays the Mardi Gras song, adds a minor harmony
Blue pool, a clean journal page
Elderflower tops floating in the water

Vale Rosa Palustris

 Vale Rosa Palustris

Swamp Rose season comes with the arrival of the painted bunting's persistent song, blue cardinal eggs in the blackberry bush, red Mamou flower shoots, mulberry trees in full fruit. Both the male and female cardinals tend the nest. The mama bird is so intelligent. She has made her nest in a little Celeste fig tree overtaken by blackberry vines. Within the protection of the blackberry bush’s thorny cage, all surrounded with red and green fruit, her nest is suspended. It is next to a blue kiddie pool of fresh water and a few feet from a mulberry tree in full ripeness. There was a big storm from the west last night and the sound of the rain on the metal roof woke me up at midnight and just before sunrise. I wondered how the mama cardinal protected her three baby birds, and imagined she did so with her wings. The rain turned the nasturtium yellow. I repotted it. I am tending a small garden edged with unused firewood and filled with compost from the Saint Landry Parish landfill. There is a blue runner who visits the garden. Daily I check the cardinal nest and the swamp rose blossoms. Often I have to balance myself on an old bathtub covered in honeysuckle vines in the side yard to reach some of the roses before they fall. This year they traveled up the bamboo, so some blossoms are 15 feet up. Their scent is like baby powder, water, citrus, rose and pink pepper. The chirp of the cardinals and the song of the painted bunting always accompany my gathering. This morning there was a big swamp rabbit in the white clover I observed as I pulled out a loaf of bread I had risen all night from the oven. I'll have to leave prairie in a few days to go to New Orleans and reveal myself by speaking about Prairie des Femmes at the Jazz Fest folk like village. I'll miss the observation of the cardinals, the painted bunting's song, the gathering of the swamp roses and ceremonial dew on the morning of May first, as well as the ritual procession and May crowning of Mary at the Academy on the coteau. The girls will wear white and silently process to crown Mater with flowers. We present her with a bouquet of blue Louisiana irises at the grotto while we sing the Magnificat in rounds.

Update: When I got home from running errands, I heard the incessant  alarm chirping of the cardinals. I ran to the back yard to see the bluerunner standing up fighting the mother cardinal. I scared it off and ran for the shovel, but it was too late, he had gotten one chick and knocked the others out of the nest. I pushed him a few times, in efforts to scare him, with the shovel and it worked. I returned the babies back to the nest with one swoop of my spade, but it was futile. The snake was incessant and came back over and over until we had to let nature take its course. Afterwards I checked the ground to find three cardinal feathers. I listened to the daddy cardinal at the top of a sweet gum tree, a red spot, singing that lonesome song until dusk. That was the first time I understood what Miss Maryanne meant when she talked about the Cardinal Blues, that lonesome sound. 

Quand ils disent,

"C'est p'us pareil!"

Mais ça me donne les blues

D'attendre les cardinaux 

après chanter

Je suis la Prairie des Femmes

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La pluie tombe sur ma reineaume 

Mes larmes font une prairie tremblante 

La terre ondule en bas de mes pieds 

Je suis la Prairie des Femmes 

Les Blues Cardineux

​Quand ils disent

C'est plus pareille

Ca me donne les blues

D'attendre les cardinaux après chanter

Radio sur la Prairie

Radio on the Prairie Herbology 

Pixelated Maris Stella

 

Medicines I made in the Spring

 Medicine I made since the early spring

Vinéraire oil and balm

Wild orange flower enfleurage oil

Sweet olive flower enfleurage oil

Poke root oil

Pine sap balm and oil

Cleaver infusion

Lizard's tail infusion

Chickweed oil

Plantain oil

Nettle tea

Nettle powder

Violet hydrosol

Violet tea

Clove, nettle and poke hair tonic

Clove spray for face

Cinnamon Florida water

Wax Myrtle infused alcohol

PDF Official

 

Talking Pâque Eggs with K4 and 2eme

​Pock Pock Talk with K4 and 2eme

We watched Monsieur Calvin Rabbelais of Avoyelles Parish paques eggs with his grandson- they all cheered for the petit garçon
You have to be a judicious paqueur! I tell them. 
The difference between the pockee and pockeur: 

The "pockee" gets pocked, the pockeur pocks.
A round of Queen's "We will Pock you"
A warning against the vieux nonc's unfair and aggressive pocking tactics: 
side and under pocking, efforts to gris-gris by encircling the top slowly, 

ruses of soft taps, sneak attacks. They like to do that, the old uncles. 
Hand position provides protection from side paqueurs and sneak attacks. 
Petit bout vs grand bout: K4 knows the difference. 
Kissing the egg for luck.
They don't pock eggs in France, so say. The kids are shocked.  

A stern warning to the second grade girls not to paint the eggs with nail polish, it's their secret.

No use of guinea eggs except in a separate bracket guinea fight, now that's country.

The men would dye their eggs with old felt hats and the eggs would come out black black. Then they would polish them with oil- some scary pock eggs!

In Ville Platte the men carried their egg in their front shirt pocket 

to pock in the churchyard after Easter Sunday mass.

Why do the French eat one egg for breakfast?

Because one egg is "un oeuf". 

Pointe Blue Toile

Cypress washhouse

Sprouts from the spearmint patch

Sharecropper barn with license plates attached

Manche des Prudhomme blue hatchback

Wild onions and the red sassafras

Chicken trees, soco vines

Brick cistern, fig wine

A child's gumbo, balles de foin

Catalpa tree at the coin

Appalousa paint horse

Under the chinaball

Nonc grows the chat-bouillie and lilas parasol

Point Blue rice pump

Barbwire fence

Beyond the cove

The tops of the trees in

Pointe Aux Pins

Song of the Painted Bunting

April 11- 

Heard the first song 

Of the painted bunting 

In the prairie today 

April to August they sing

La Prairie des Femmes

Prairie des Femmes ​

Gold Confederate Buttons in Grand Coteau

Civil War General wrote this in his book published in 1879.

"On an occasion, passing the little hamlet of Grand Coteau, I stopped to get some food for man and horse. A pretty maiden of fifteen springs, whose parents were absent, welcomed me. Her lustrous eyes and long lashes might have excited the envy of " the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz." Finding her alone, I was about to retire and try my fortune in another house ; but she insisted that she could prepare "monsieur un diner dans un tour de main," and she did. Seated by the window, looking modestly on the road, while I was enjoying her repast, she sprang to her feet, clapped her hands joyously, and exclaimed : " Voila le gros Jean Baptiste qui passe sur son mulet avec deux bocals. Ah ! nous aurons grand bal ce soir." It appeared that one jug of claret meant a dance, but two very high jinks indeed. As my hostess declined any remuneration for her trouble, I begged her to accept a pair of plain gold sleeve buttons, my only ornaments. Wonder, delight, and gratitude chased each other across the pleasant face, and the confiding little creature put up her rose-bud mouth. In an instant the homely room be- came as the bower of Titania, and I accepted the chaste salute with all the reverence of a subject for his Queen, then rode away with uncovered head so long as she remained in sight. Hospitable little maiden of Grand Coteau, may you never have graver fault to confess than the innocent caress you be- stowed on the stranger ! It was to this earthly paradise, and upon this simple race,  that the war came, like the tree of the knowledge of evil to our early parents..."

Merci Madeline of Mimosa for passing this information along

 

À l’Académie

Gathering nettles, poke root and  

Clear pearls of pine sap 

In the bois de Sacré Cœur 
Making wild neroli enfleurage oil 
Collecting violets under the oak alley 
Je rentre dans l'arcade, l'aire est lourde 

With osmanthus ​and fog - a springtime aerosol 

Marie Antoinette in the gardens of the Sacred Heart / Marie Antoinette dans le jardin de Sacré Cœur

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Printemps arrvier

J'espère comme j'espère le printemps se montrer

Je ramasse les violettes sur le coteau saint

J’observe les pécanniers

A Grand Coteau les fleurs de catalpa après tomber

Tu peux espérer le printemps comme tu veux

Mais ça vient

A Prairie des Femmes Desire Path

Printemps dans la prairie

Je refuse de couper les zabs

Ca fait plus possible à voir

Mon spring desire path

Dark Acadiana

Dark Acadiana

The night sky over Kaplan

Fleur d'Asiminer

La valse de Balfa

Cucumbers with black peppa and white vinegar

Maw-maw from Pointe Noire

The Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary

A Sidney Brown Accordion 

Daily mass in Scott

Reciting the Divine Mercy 

"Spidawort can grow unda the black walnut tree, yeah."

Rodrigue's oaks

Un cafe noir

Racine de chou gras

Sur le Bord de Vaisseau

Malveaux

Water from Bayou Vermillion

Making a holy hour in the early morning

Ash Wednesday

Moise Robin's Golden Gate

Blood Boudin

Pray Opelousas

Planter dans la lune

X on your last name 

Light Acadiana

 Light Acadiana

Evangeline Maid Bread

Elder Flower Tops

Maw-Maw's from LeBlanc

Nannie's Tatting

White wisteria on Church Road

3 mailles de l'herbe a malo/lizard's Tail root in water

La Danseuse by Blind Uncle Gaspard

Rue des Etoiles

Daily mass in Vatican

A bag of Avery Island salt

A blonde roux

A Job's tear Rosary 

Alligator gar earrings

Un cafe au lait

Cattle egrets

Cherokee Rose 

Catalpa flowers

Holy Water from the rice pump

Vineraire flowers at La Toussaint

The Imaculatta Center

Easter Sunday in Abbeville

Magnalite pots

May crowning by the girls of the Academy of the Sacred Heart in Grand Coteau

A bowl of white rice

Mercredi Saint

​Mercredi Saint 
His voice inside my head 
Strikes a disobedient chord 
All week I wait in vain 
For the coming of the Lord.
The Paschal moon illuminates
I go all in my whites
Les animaux peuvent parler
Good Friday at midnight

Prairie des Femmes Chalk Cave Painting

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Boucanner les Mouches à Miel

 "That man smoked me with cypress shavings just like he did the bees, to calm me down"
Journal Page from August 2022
Tisane de prêle de champ
A calumet of peace
Houma war paint 
Bloodroot bear grease
Au Nom, il touche ma tête,
De la bonne Saint Accroupie!
Burn the cypress shavings en cachette
To smoke the bees 

O Malheureuse

 

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In Veneration of Life Everlasting

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Odile Falcon Journal

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Équand Bocephus était au Purple Peacock. »

Le grand musicien et garçon de Hank Williams Sr. aussi connu comme Bocephus va être après jouer la musique au bal à Eunice!  Ouais mes amis, c’est Hank Williams Jr. qui va jouer au Purple Peacock a grand Eunice ce vendredi soir à sept heures du soir, Portes ouvertes à six heures! Comment tu crois, hein? Mais monde, il faut se fionner pour y aller! Etre faquin! Hot Dog! Bocephus au Purple Peacock.

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Joan of Arc

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Joan, it’s true. I only wanna know you.

​Joan of Arc week with the girls of the Sacred Heart 

Bonfire Chez Olivier January 3

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Entrer la Prairie des Femmes

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Madame Grands Doigts

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A Zydeco Fairytale

Une Serpente dans mon Lit la Nuit

C'était tard la fête de la Saint-Jean. C'était un dimanche. J'avais passé la journée en bas du sureau sur la galerie, les ombrelles de fleur de sureau comme de la dentelle parfumaient l'air lourdement. J'ai baigné, ramassé les merises au bayou, et aussi les petites fleurs de sureau qui tombent sur la galerie. J'aime manger ces fleurs, faire les boissons et de l'eau pour me laver le visage. Les garçons avaient coupé le bois et le bambou alentour de la maison pendant la journée, et ils ont quitté la porte en haut ouverte pour un bout de temps.

Après une heure du matin, j'ai montée les escaliers pour aller dormir.  Je m'ai couchée dans mon lit. J’ai resté dans le lit à regarder mon phone, peut-être j'avais vu quelquechose là dessus qui m'a choqué, m'a beaucoup chagriné. Peut-être j'avais vu une forme en bas des couverts, peut-être pas. Peut-être je me rappelais, j'ai compris. Je ignorais mes sentiments à force que j'étais si contente dans mon lit, et qui donc jongle à chercher en bas des couverts pour une serpente? Meme avec plus que vingt ans ici dans ma compagne, j'ai jamais jonglé de faire ça. Mais les affaires changent.

Dans mon lit, assez fatiguée j'ai éteint la lampe et tout d'un coup j'ai senti un glissment étrange surgit sur mon bras, mon estomac, et j'ai vu la lumière de son oeil, le scintillement des écailles du serpent, le blanc de son cou. Ma cervelle disait "lézard!" mais c'était trop grand pour être un lézard. J'ai volé du lit en jetant les couverts, et j'ai vu la longue queue de la serpente glisser au coin. J'ai marché en rond dans ma chambre pendant quelques secondes à jongler quoi faire. J'ai cherché une boîte en plastique du placard et j'ai commencé à fouilliler pour la serpent. Elle était dans le coin, en arrière de mon armoire. Elle grimpait l'entourage au coin verticalement. J'étais dehors de mon corps . J'ai lutté pour mettre la boite sur la serpente, et j'ai reussi à faire ça, mais sa tête s'échappée en gagnant vers moi, j'ai essayé de la couvrir plusieurs fois mais sa tête ne voulait pas entrer dans la boîte. La serpente vibrait. Sa tête poussait vers mes pieds nus. Je pouvais la sentir. Ca fait je me suis dit: Ashlee, faut pas que tu laisse cette serpente sortir de cette boîte! Faut l'attraper. Faut la tuer. Aies la confiance en toi-même! Et c'est ça j'ai fait. J’avais le trust dans moi-même.  Je voulais pas la tuer, mais il le fallait, c’était dans mon lit. J'ai mis un amp de guitare sur la boîte pour tenir la serpente en place pendant que j’ai cherché un haltère de dix poids. C'était avec l' haltère que j'ai tué la serpente par écraser sa tête. Enfin c'était fini, et j'ai tombé back sur le lit. J'ai commencé à brailler et respirer en hystérie. J'étais seule, c'était le milieu de nuit. Je tremblais comme le temps j’avais commencé à accoucher mon bébé dans la nuit, toute seule. Le sang du serpent faisait un flacon alentour de sa tête. J'ai halluciné, en descendant en bas pour passer la balance de la nuit. 

C'était une réalité horrible, et ça m'a arrivé. Un couche-mal en vrai. C'est comme ça et avec cette connaissance terrible que reconnaitre que je suis une femme de cette prairie, et je peut faire. Je connais que j'ai appris comment attrapper, comment soigner, et des fois, comment tuer des choses pendant tout ces années je passais ici.

Cherry Bounce Update

 In 2013 I transcribed a recipe from La Tasse Cafe radio program about a curious drink called cherry bounce:

"Cherry Bounce is a thick sweet strong liqueur that people in south Louisiana make around the holidays.  You shake the wild cherry trees (merisiers) so that the berries, called merises or choke cherries, fall onto a sheet."

From that time on I began spotting wild cherry trees in our tree lines and around town or at the camp. This was my process with many plants. Every year we would check for the cherry trees and gather from the most reliable ones considering access, height, severity of bird strike, yearly production changes or other challenges. Over the years, my knowledge of where the best producing trees are has grown. This year I have become especially good at spotting the trees and the season is long and plentiful, possibly because of the snows. I have spent the entire month of May and half of June daily checking my cherry trees and it is a fulfilling activity for me. I go to my little tree, gather enough for the day, then gauge if I have enough for another fifth, and should I stop in at Russel's for it. As I pick along the Teche, I can hear the bells of the church ring on the half hour. It's just me and the birds. My cousin Paula told me that my great grandfather also made cherry bounce. I've been making it for about ten years and never knew that, but my yearly focus on this process feels like it must be hereditary.

I have a list that I wrote of where to find the cherry trees but I may have augmented it for my own bounce security. 

Les merisiers:

2 in the garden at the house with swamp rose, pomegranate, muscadine and grape vines 1 in the eastern tree line in the front (could not locate 2025) 1 Prairie Laurent Dolla Store (big daddy) 2 on the Bayou Teche, pas loin de l'eglise 4 au moins à l’Academie de Sacré Cœur treeline Grand Coteau 1 at the mound site Bayou Bourbeux Road 2 on the Main Drag à Carencro (did not access) 2 on I-49 at exit 11 near the cypress place (trop haut, trop traffic, et dans les herbes) 2 Chicot woods island à Nonc Den

Here is the recipe I transcribed from the Mercedes Vidrine cookbook via la Tasse de Café radio Program. 

I should note that I go heavy on the cherries, lighter on the sugar, and I do not do the aging process with just cherries and sugar. I prefer to wash and dry the cherries, admire them, fill a bottle up 1/3 with them, cover with 1/3 sugar and fill to the top with whisky. I let that age for a month or two, shaking every week and quality control testing every few days.