Mozelle's Grotto

 We were riding Sunday morning between Cecilia and Arnaudville when I saw a grotto I had been meaning to get a picture of. It was among ruins of a house that used to be there. The smell of the pink roses around the white brick grotto was tropical on this November day. We stopped and talked to a family member, a steward of the property who was working across the road. She said she was glad that we stopped. It was the land of her family, an old plantation, and the grotto was for her grandmother, Mozelle. A truly gifted woman, she said, and I could sense that by her long abandoned grotto, still producing large fragrant coral-colored blossoms in grey autumn. I mentioned the roses. Funny you mention them, the steward told me, clippers in hand.  That's what I'm doin, she said. She explained that the house had been moved, and she was working to clip the roses to propagate them, so that they would fill up the land right there and that smell would permeate. She said back in the day, everyone used to have grottos to Mary, but now you don't see them as much. She pointed out how special the white bricks were. She said maybe, now that the house was not there, that she would move Mozelle's grotto across the road, too. I'll help ya, I told her. When we left, she gave us armfuls of pretty lemons off the old lemon tree.

 

 

Traditional Ecards of Coastal Louisiana

Lomax Fellow and friend Dr. Joshua Caffery released his fascinating book, Traditional Music in Coastal Louisiana recently. There were so many amazing songs and one-liners that Dr. Caff includes in this book. Here are a few of my favorites, done in Ecard, Prairie des Femmes fashion. Thank you Dr. Caff!! 

Buy this book:

http://lsupress.org/books/detail/traditional-music-in-coastal-louisiana/

Louisiana French ECards from Traditional Music in Coastal Louisiana by Joshua Caffery

The next morning, after the wedding, the beauty looks at the door. The beautiful girl looks at the door, with a big regret.

I am going to the big woods with my jug of moonshine, brass knuckles in my pocket, cards in my hand, and I am looking for nothin but trouble.

Criminal Criminal! The Cajuns of L'anse la Butte have torn up underpants.

Go away sadness! Go throw yourself in the coulee and go so far, never come back to me again!

The beautifyl girl gave me a beautiful bouquet, all garnished with beautiful white jasmine. It's to heal, heal, heal sadness.

Oh wild nightingale! Oh nightingale of the forest!

Let's drink, dear comrades, Let's abandon amour. Let's abandon girls, we'll court them no more.

Oh, he fell in the road, like an unlucky one.

A bouquet of thoughts, at the four corners of the bed. A bouquet of worry.

He said that he wanted to play until he didn't have any more shoes.

Click here to see a few more memes I did from the book.

CajunNet

THE CAJUNNET

The CajunNet is the information source by which South Louisianians communicate and share all information. It is a familial, wireless, omnipresent, omnipotent and sometimes telepathic communication network used for the transfer of a wide range of information concerning South Louisiana gossip, politics and scandal. It is made up of interconnected networks, like spiderwebs in the Basin, the signal of which is most strong in South Louisiana, but the CajunNet boasts thousands of satellite servers worldwide. The CajunNet is the only entity yet found that exceeds 186,000 miles per second. Not only is it fast, unlike its younger cousin the Internet, information gleaned from the CajunNet is checked and cross-checked by many within the web, so it's usually correct. Also unlike the Internet, the CajunNet is run by grandmas.  Similarly to the Internet, sometimes on the CajunNet, you don't know who you are really talking to, everyone is so connected, you could really get in trouble out there.

I am part of the CajunNet, so are you if you have ever gotten gossip from your Nannie, Ti-Tante, classmate, ya friend's mama or your second cousin once removed about a local event before the Main Stream Media covered it, and it turned out true. CajunNet is hotter than the MSM.

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"Dans la Ville Platte, tu peux pas jongler à quelquechose autrement quelq'un d'autre connait." 

(In Ville Platte, you can't even think something before someone else knows.)  

 

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You sneeze in Evangeline Parish, the people in Saint Landry Parish are already saying "God Bless You."

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Some origins of the CajunNet

The CajunNet is the network by which we are all connected, and it seems that we South Louisianians have kept our connections quite a long time. Our ancestors have lived and intermarried for centuries upon centuries, and in many cases were, in fact, the same people. Our interconnection is the base for the strength, reliability and utility of the CajunNet. In a word, cousins.

After the Grand Derangement of 1755, the Acadians found their way back to each other, and to la Louisiane, by an earlier form of the CajunNet phenomena- letters. After the chaotic deportation that split families and sent them across the globe, the network of letters and family connections were unable to be broken, even by genocide, and indeed were used to pull the scattered Acadians back together in Louisiana. 

Before electricity arrived to the far-flung prairies and swamps of Louisiana, people would go to their neighbor's houses to pass the veille, visit and play music. Here is what Jenee Naquin's grandmother said about the origins of the CajunNet:

Jenee: I once asked her (g-maw) if it was true that they had no electricity. She said yes. I said so how did you get the news, no tv, no radio. Did you get the paper? She said,

Oh no, Cher, we would go visit. That is how we got the news. Passe the veille.

I thought it was so funny that that was their method for news - the original gossip circle!

And a precursor to the modern CajunNet!

The prevalence of small towns where people's orbits are in close proximity contributes to the CajunNet. There isn't much going on, and Cajuns like to talk. No matter if its your uncle telling long lies about hunting or fishing trips, the small town Topix Forums, Facebook confessions pages, or that nosy friend that will follow police cars to the scenes of accidents just to report to the servers of the CajunNet...people like to talk, and be in the know.

And so, next time your mama gives you some hometown gossip about people she identifies by their nickname (You know Hog Jaw?), their lineage (You know, Bee à Tante Lou?) or how they are related to you (You know T-Nonc's Daddy, Mister Earl's, brother? Well, his lil sister! She was married to you friend Monette's brother.) When you hear these things and the juicy tidbits that follow, know that you are not just listening to small town talk, but you are taking part in a communion of the vernacular, you are receiving information about your people, you are part of something bigger than all of us: the CajunNet!

Stay Tuned to the PDF for Stories from the CajunNet...

MORE stories from the Cajun Net:

Click here for the story in which Nananne and the Sheriff's wife's CajunNet secret weapon is a quilt.

Click here for a story about MJ's death and the CN. 

Click here to see how the CajunNet helped catch a killa. 

The CajunNet and the Beatle 

CajunNet in Amsterdam

Gifts and the Other Side of Town

I got the chance to visit with the sister of an old deceased friend, a man who I learned much French from, and I wanted to pass on a few recordings of his stories in French to the family. I went first to pick up a few boxes of Lost Bayou Ramblers CDs for my husband from Flat Town Music, and with them in the back of the truck, went to a side of my own hometown that I had never been to.

It was the broad daylight in the projects. There were people in the yard detailing the car under a young oak tree, doors open, music playing. Children and cats were at their feet. 

As I came around the corner, I passed a young creole woman with a turquoise shirt and matching tignon, she looked me right in the eye. There was a large gardenia bush in fresh spring bloom with the biggest blossoms I had ever seen. To my back the inner yard was as sparse as the central courtyard of a monastery. There Mrs. Viola was at her door, an elderly woman, large, light skinned. She invited me in. We sat in her comfortable little living room and I gave her the discs and we talked about her brother and family and people. She was one of fourteen children! Her brother came to visit her twice a day, and also when he needed advice.

Mrs. Viola's door

She said her brother was lonely after the death of his wife, and now he was at peace. He had just bought a new truck. He had been through a lot. I said I sensed that. She goes Yeah, you can pick that up. That's like they call that the Saint Esprit. So you pick that up through the Holy Spirit. 

That's a gift you got, she told me. I got a gift too. She said.  

I'd prophsy and all dat, yeah. I didn't know about that because when I was younger they'd say I was crazy, when I would tell them something like that, but I knew what I was saying, but it wasn't of me...because that would come in my mind, in my spirit and I'd speak it out. You born with that, that's a gift, the gift of anointed.

It's not everybody that's gifted, you were given that in your mother's womb, la mère de ta mère. God created you with a gift in your mother's womb, and when you were born, you were ready to face the world with ya gift.

She went on to say that our gifts aren't always evident at first, everything has a time. Sometimes people are bad bad, and then they change.

Everything got a time and a season, like the Bible says. Everything. The winter, les arbres commence à jeter leur feuilles. Fruit tree don't bear year round! Every thing got a time and an appointment.

I believe in that. I told her. I got up to leave, sensing that it was the time.


Viens back. I enjoy your company, she said.

J'vas.

I took a picture of her door, and she offered me a cold cup, which I saw she advertised there.

 

 Thank you for coming, she said. Halleluiah! That is a blessin' to me!

I got the frissons.

As I turned the corner into the cloud of gardenia scented air, I saw the group of people were still around the car with different music. There were a few boys on bikes circling on the road, and the woman in the turquoise tignon was standing "guard" behind my truck full of brown boxes. When she saw me approach under the trees, she turned quick and started walking fast down Jackson street. 

In which the PDF gives me the old cold shoulder.

I had been in quite a deep groove out here in my home in the prairie the last eight years.  I don't like to leave home. So when we were asked by Nunu's to represent Arnaudville at a festival in France and would be gone for TWO WEEKS, it was almost too much to imagine. What a great experience, but two weeks away from la Prairie des Femmes? What would happen to the chickens!? Luckily, we had good friends and neighbors who came to visit and feed the dog, chickens and dove. They all survived, save for one chicken.

Now, Prairie des Femmes, she's a fickle one, and she wasn't too happy with me when I got home. Now it's my third day back and we're still gettin' reacquainted, me and her. For one thing, she turned her shoulders and the season changed. We left in the mild October Indian Summer and returned to near-winter November. The golden rod in the field has faded to splotchy browns and tans, and the tops of the mangliers have exploded in tuffs of pure white. The new cold front air is so pure out on the prairie. I had almost gotten used to the slant of the light, the headiness of the air in France, which at first disoriented me for days. There, it seemed the clouds were always back-lit from strange angles with pinks and oranges, there was a difference in elevation and pressure and light. Back in the Prairie des Femmes, the elevation is just 15 feet above sea level, one moves so easily through the atmosphere. It is the air I am accustomed to, the light is straightforward and crisp and blue, especially on these first cool days of Louisiana November. I hear it'll be back in the 70's next week. I hope by that time the old PFD will have warmed back up to me, too.

Update: November 10, She loves me again.

French Gifts

Gifts from France

Tins of Galettes Le Mont Saint-Michel and La Mère Poulard

Haribo Dragolo Candies 

Two pots of Crème de Caramel au Beurre Salé

Miel de Lavande de Provence and Miel de Tilleuil 

Jet Gum en Chlorophylle Fort, Cassis Fort, Eucalyptus Menthol Fort 

Half a baguette, smashed in my purse

French prayer cards

Three small A l'Olivier olive oils

Côte d'Or Chocolat au Lait for Tante Mand

Livre des Huiles Essentielles Chémotypées

Lavender, dragon, camphor, citronella, tea tree and rosemary oils

Castle and knight sticker and book set

Four sticks of bois de reglisse from the pharmacy 

Plant candies

Numerous homeopathic medicines, L-52, and various powders and tablets that you gotta "laisse fondre sous la langue."

Bellarom Chocolat au Lait et au Lait extra fin éclats de noisettes

Chestnuts and a spiny bogue

Rocks from Charité sur Loire

A square piece of pink marble from a field in Bretagne 

Dried thyme, lemon thyme, dragon, and laurier (never to serve raw!) from Impasse Gerbole and Fred and Stagef 

Miniature Catholic prayer book with prayers in French and Latin

Encre Or, golden ink, in a tiny bottle from the castle at Angers 

A dragon wing from a Breton Happy Meal

Kinder surprise eggs

Three snail shells from the ramparts at la Charité

Rose hips from the town square at Loudun 

A Bretagne rose from Megan Brown 

a handfull of fragrant dried grass from the hillside at Gerbole

Wooden sword and dagger

French chevalier and cheval figurines 

Children's books, Le Petit Breton, Breton music CDS and CDs of French comptines for children from Lisette 

Antique book, Napoleon Intime 

F. Jeantet Chateauneuf-du-Pape 2011(ohh oui, ça se garde...tu peux garder ça dans la cave!) 

book of Breton names

Le Peuple de L'Herbe record

two children's Breton coffeemilk bowls 

La Bamble cup set
one yellow plastic cup from La Bogue d'Or, complete with pants clip for drinking while gesturing, and diagram of the brain's creative centers

An entire Swiss raclette set-up that melts cheese to serve on boiled potatos and stuff, then you eat a bunch of melted cheese on potatos with patte negra jambon on the side and then an obligatoire sieste after that  

Two Laguiole knives traded for a coin on La Toussaint

Blue #2 race car given to the baby by Lisette "fait dans le Jura!"

Paris pillowcase from Viviane

Sacré Cœur dish towel from Viviane

La Louisiane par Example, un Film de Robin Marck et Marie Lafon, pretty awesome!!!

We bought and received all of these gifts, most to give, some to keep, but really, the most valuable gifts I received while in France were the words, expressions and songs... 

A few expressions that people used that piqued my ear:

Merlin l'Enchanteur -Merlin the Wizard

Aire de... A rest area! Ex. Aire de Chante de Perdrix, Aire de Bois de Chinon, Aire de Plaisance...

Blanche sur rouge, rien bouge.

Rouge sur blanche tout fout le camp!
A saying about French red and white wine order. White on red, nothing moves. Red on white, everything's coming out!

Je vous laisse, avec la jeunesse! Lisette upon her leaving the party. I leave you with your youth!

T'as vu la vièrge! You have seen the virgin. You are mistaken, are seeing things, are crazy. (a personal favorite)

T'as une main dans la terre, une main dans le ciel. Something Fred said on Halloween night.

Faire la fricassée de museau. When two people are making out with their big noses all smashed together. It makes a nose fricassée.

Y'a anguille sous roche! There is an eel under the rock. Something's hidden.

Le chien aboye, la caravan passe. -Jean's wisdom. The dog barks, the caravan passes.

La nuit, tous les chats sont gris. Lisette's "at night, all cats are grey."

Il pleut comme une vache qui pisse. Interesting! In Ville Platte we say, "Like a cow pissing on a flat rock."

C'est comme pisser dans le violin. It's like pissing in the violin. That is to say, it's like doing nothing of any use.

Arêtte de chercher midi à quarorze heures. Quit trying to find noon at two pm.

Kerzee- très noir- a Breton for December, this was interesting to me because Mr. J.D. Soileau said that his grandmother called January le mois noir, the black month, because it was so dark.

And the songs...

The second song from Tours, that is a

chanson du répertoire traditionnel de haute Bretagne, that made me cry when I heard it:

C'est à 10 h dans la plaine

où l'herbe est courte et on l'emmène.

Où l'herbe est courte, courte

et on la coupe, coupe

on la feune et on l'emmène...

 

This one, Trois Petits Tambours, was the theme song of the trip. Here it is sung by our group, Plume Farouche and led by the incredible Megan Brown. This was the song that helped calm my boys down when they were homesick and the song that George, Miche, Casey and Morgan sang while tromping down the streets of Paris (right!?) Thank you so much, Megan, for bringing it!



A kid's song that Lisette gave to Julien, which he loves: Jean Petit Qui Danse

Fred and Lisette sang La Famille Tortue one to the boys when they were fussy, and it worked like a charm!

Fred sang me this song La Morvandelle from La Bourgogne:

(not the best version, but you get the idea!)

And finally, a video Fred showed me that it really beautiful and interesting. She called the singer, Camille, "dingue"  which I recognized as a word I grew up saying to describe a silly or aloof girl. She's so dingy, we'd say! In short, I came home from France with many treasures in my hands, but infinitely more in my head and heart.

La Toussaint in France

basically my first gumbo roux

Hearth Chez Lisette et Jean

Grotte of Jeanne d'Arc in Bretagne

When the very croyant locals heard that I was in search of grottos to the Virgin Mary, I was invited to a old manor house  called the Maison de Saint Joseph. The owner excused the grotto because it was not to the Virgin, but to Joan of Arc. Even better, I told her! Jeanne d'Arc is the patron saint of our dear cousin Aubrey Joan, who was named also after my grandmother, Barbara Joan. The grotto was actually a double grotto, with statues to the Virgin, Saint Joseph, and Ste Thérèse, and was maybe two hundred years old...

         La Maison de Saint Joseph 

The Grottos

I love a headless Mary (and Joseph...)

Saint Therese, The Child of Prague, Sacred Heart of Jesus, Maybe Saint Peter, Joan of Arc and a few more...

Joan of Arc!

The Bois of France are Enchanted

lutin et champignon!

In France, you understand why this is a kingdom where fairy tales come from...  there are castles from afar and every tree in the woods takes a form: a woman, or a dragon or a wizard. They grow eyes and ears and hands that reach over to snatch you up by the head. The evidence of lutins, gnomes, fairys, and trolls are quite evident, also, in the woods of France.

Bois de Bretagne

The Troll who guards Impasse Gerbole

Fairy castle in the bois

Merlin l'Enchanteur!

Some lutin lost his shoes among the glans

The Indian Women Looked Good

When I ask locals about the origins of the name La Prairie des Femmes, the ones who aren't sure usually say something like, well, they got a lot of femmes là bas!" While talking with the good doctor, who is quite informed on the subject, at Camp Evangeline this summer, he sure surprised me with his origin theory... 

 

The Chief had a Beautiful Daughter.

Locked Tight at Festival

This biker guy was sitting behind the heritage stage at Festivals Acadiens et Créoles. He was laughing at my little boy who was gettin so muddy, even sucking mud up with his mouth. The biker called to me, C'est un bon ti bougre! When I responded in French, he asked if I was from Canada or France, I said, no, Ville Platte, he started going off. He said il était né et élèvè à Lafayette and that he is a bon créole de Lafayette, il parlait créole. We had a good little talk. He was part of a Gypsy biker group out of Jennings, and his name was Barré Serré "ba-day-say-day", or Locked Tight. His French was Creole for sure, so beautiful. The man next to us was Belgian, and when he spoke up too, we all understood each other just fine.

Everyone in this picture speaks French.

My Boy Cormier, aka By Da Sa Da

Barre' Serre'- Locked Tight

It's Okay We're Country

Usually when I see an amazing car decal, it's a guy's truck. Not so here! The girl who owns this truck was on break behind a restaurant on Main Street in Ville Platte. She showed me the fresh squirrel tail tied to her antenna, from her very first squirrel kill, she said. She then directed me to the back glass, which she said she designed and drew herself. I don't know who she was, but she just might be the coolest gal in Evangeline Parish.

Let it Slide, Love Country Life, Erin Loves Yoon:)

The things that are important to an Evangeline Parish Country Girl

Journals from 2002-2004