Thursday, August 20, 2026
Sunday, August 2, 2026
Tuesday, July 21, 2026
Alphonse Ardoin and the Zydeco Kingz

My clear journal pouch with prairie paintings, iridescent cloud hydrocoloid patches, nail art patches, dried elderflower, found prairie ceramics, holographic cellophane, vintage wall paper, bracelet from the zydeco
Sunday, July 12, 2026
Saturday, July 11, 2026
Thursday, July 9, 2026
Sunday, June 28, 2026
Saturday, June 27, 2026
Tuesday, June 23, 2026
Sunday, June 21, 2026
Black Spear Point- Olivier Site
I'd spent a decade or more walking what used to be a mound, now plowed a few times a year, called the Olivier Site. I am friends with the daughter of the owner of this field, which rotates soybeans and sorghum. I monitor this field. It was a prehistoric stone working place at the very edge of the Teche escarpment. The first artifacts I found there were scores of knapping shards, still very fine and sharp after all these years. They were multicolored, and since rock doesn't exist naturally in this prairie delta the imagination wonders to the origins of the white, blue, black, grey and red stone chips. Finding each one was thrilling for me.
I had been told that the neighbors found many artifacts in that field, but I never found more than the knapping pieces and maybe a small broken point or two. They are concentrated on the north edge of the rise of what used to be a great mound.
One day in 2019 I was walking the field as usual. I had never found a full artifact before. I found a white marble that reminded me of the full moon and some knapping and ceramics when all of a sudden I saw a piece of bone in the soil. I don't know what kind of mound was here before, but its likely it was burial. I picked up the piece of broken bone and just held it, out there in the field. It was leg or arm. In that moment I heard in my head, "You're going to find a point." I walked three steps and there was the black spear point on the dirt.


Tuesday, June 9, 2026
Monday, May 25, 2026
Meche-Wilkes Mound
The Meche-Wilkes Mound, is located near Arnaudville on the periphery of the Atchafalaya Basin on the edge of the Pleistocene terrace. This site has been protected by the landowner and is relatively undisturbed. Gibson conducted excavations at the Meche-Wilkes Mound in 1990. The site contains deposits dating to the Poverty Point, Tchefuncte, Baytown, Plaquemine, and historic periods (Lousiana State Site Form).
The Anthropology department came across an historical discovery in '89, revealing some history of Acadiana. Archaeological excavations at Meche-Wilkes mound near Grand Coteau by USL archaeology students confirmed the earthen mounds were built by the Acadiana's native people during the first pre-Christian millennium. These mounds were used for cooking during the era. Lonnie Utley USL's L'Acadien 1989
Sunday, May 24, 2026
Cultural Resources Survey of Four Disposal Areas Along the Vermilion River Lafayette Parish
Cultural Resources Survey of Four Disposal Areas
Back Field Habitation
This field where we settled over 20 years ago never seemed physically special but there was a presence here. It's a leached sweet potato field out in the center of the open prairie, near the oxbow woods as I called them. It was not on the bayou. There was no important earth works, inclines or mounds as there are in other places in the prairie. The neighbors have found buckets full of artifacts: spear points, grind stones and stone tools. I know of the three prehistoric sites in the prairie including the Meche-Wilkes Mound and the Olivier site, but they are a half mile away from here. For years I have walked looking at the ground and feeling the subtle undulations, but never suspecting that there had ever been anything here besides farmland and pasture.
I had found ceramics. Years ago we surmised they were spread to aerate the soil for farming. Maybe they were spread in a flood event. Either seemed plausible. Maybe more plausible than there being a homestead in the exact spot that we chose, ten acres back off a gravel road, near haphazardly and only because of its proximity to a lone cypress in the tree line.
I found delicate things in the earth though, the curl of a blue and white fleur de lis, doll arms and legs, pieces of plates, bricks, thick crocks and milk glass. Still, with our position back here I could hardly imagine there had been habitation so far off of the dirt road. There were no paths or racourcis that I knew of crossing the prairie. Still I got the message that there was memory back here, both recent and ancient. Then one day in the carrot patch I found a real rock in the shape of a perfect heart.
In the east yard we plowed some rows to plant coton jaune, native brown cotton. After it rained I would inspect the exposed ground along the rows. I found another stone, but this time it seemed to be a hand tool for grinding or hitting. There was a worn tip and slight indentions along the sides that fit my thumb and fingers perfectly. I marveled at its weight and ergonomic feeling in my hand.

Sometimes when I walk the field, or even recently when I turned over a little dirt out there, I still find white ceramics and strange rocks, sometimes blue glass that looks knapped at the edges. The more I let the prairie grow, the more old plants appear that tell of use. The more I dig, the more is unearthed. I tell myself if there was a home place here it would have been in my east back field according to the evidence, but it still doesn't make sense. Not to mention how ironic it would be to have built in the same place. On the other hand, it does makes sense to me, because there is a tangible presence back here that is pleased to be remembered.
Recently I was going through some old topography maps online of the area and something caught my eye: a few black squares denoting domicile on the 1940 topographic map, far back in the prairie. Intrigued, I doubted it was far enough to be my field. But I used the overlay tool to match up the road and other landmarks with satellite maps, and discovered to my surprise that they were located at the end of my driveway, flanking both sides of my house, in the exact place where I find the ceramics in the backfield.

Saturday, May 9, 2026
Things I found in the prairie after the rain

Various white and black glazed ceramic
Knapped blue glass
Blue crawfish claw
Heavy polished black stone
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Flint Shards at the Olivier Site
After I found out about the location, I took every chance to pass by this field, in complete awe, seeing at different times of year how the grain undulated out toward the center. You couldn't see it at certain angles, but there is surely a mound out there, even though it has been plowed hundreds of times. I would idle down the dirt road that skirts the south side, I would even stop sometimes just to look and maybe take a picture when the rise was visible, but I never dared to go out into the site until I talked to a neighbor who encouraged me to go, saying that no one would protest my presence there. So I waited for them to plow, and it's as if I felt it when they did; I had a hunch. Sure enough, it was bare dirt, the mound like a long still wave out there. I went. I was woozy to be out there on that sacred ground. But I was too focused on my children and every crunch of gravel from the road to concentrate. I did feel that place, though. I took the clods of dirt in my hands and let them break to the ground. I looked out across the land, purple in sunset, to watch a lone starling flit around, or, to jump, startled by the wind's song in a surviving stalk, or the buzz of an insect, the call of the killdeer. But the field was dusty and coarsely plowed. I needed a big rain to wash it all down and reveal what was underneath. I took a clod of dirt from the apex and went home, happy. I waited a day, and as if on cue, the first cool front of the season came, hand in hand with the opening of squirrel weekend. The front had woken me up at dawn with the thought of arrowhead hunting. The cool snap had everyone out and feeling good. Harvest and the scent of fires were in the air. The moon waxed past half, and I took the chance to go back to the site. This time, the rain had smoothed things out, but the mud was so sticky it felt like I was hauling ten pound boots across the expanse, and my children were covered. We settled on collecting a bag of the biggest and sweetest pecans I have ever found which were falling from the nearest tree to the mound, and even picked up a few pieces of white ceramic from the mud before going home to hose off.
When I told my neighbor that I'd found no artifacts, just big pecans after the rain he said, well you must be lookin with ya eyes closed! I know for a fact that there are shards all over that north side, right over the hump... that field is full of shards.
Well, novice as I was at all this, I didn't know what a shard was, I was looking for arrowheads! I anxiously went back anyway that evening, after the field had dried a little more. This would be the time, I knew it. I knew where to go, I had appeased (or at least tried to appease) the ancestors. Third time's the charm, I said. I started scanning the northside of the mound. The north wind blew through the good pecan tree so loudly it broke my concentration, and there were squirrel hunters in the woods to both sides of the site, their lone shots ringing every few minutes, also breaking the calm of my mud scanning. I felt like I had been training for this my whole life, though, as I normally scan the ground for things (like rocks and snakes), and have found treasures in the dirt (the first was a tiny, ornate key in the compact dirt of the neighbor's dooryard) since I was young. Still not seeing anything in the mud, I began picking up anything that seemed out of sorts, anything hard, not mud or vegetation, and put it in my pocket. Then I saw a little rock... hmmm, it was flat and white and seemed insignificant, a chip. I felt it between my fingers before hastily dropping it behind my back... just as I was bending over and saw two more in front of me. Shards, I thought. I began picking them up. This is the place. They were not densely scattered, but by the time I left, I had a pocketful of strangely shaped rocks, two smooth white marbles that reminded me of the full moon and a planet, white ceramic pieces, and twenty small, very sharp flint shards from arrowhead making at the site. They are all in pastels, sharp as shark's teeth, like jagged wampum, each one impossibly thin and complex. Their texture is so foreign to me, so unlike what I usually find in Louisiana mud, it is old, old rock, traded and chipped centuries, even millennia ago. I now keep the colorful assortment together in a small ceramic dish, examining their elegant shapes and qualities with my fingertips. I find I like their vibration so much when they are stirred, their dry rasp, it's so quiet it's almost like a whipser.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Prairie des Femmes Origins

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