By CAY SONNIER GIBSON

Packing Up Louisiana

Posted November 18, 2009 at 12:26 am
Filed Under Family Fun | Leave a Comment

My Louisiana History class enjoyed taking a trip through Louisiana the other day … without leaving the classroom. They voted to go to the Myrtles Plantation but we had to shop and pack first. So we went around the room verbally packing what we would take with us on our trip.

The trick to packing for this type trip (and for so many in a classroom) was that each student had to to name something that began with a letter of the alphabet until all letters had been accounted for and everything “packed” was made, bought and/or found here in Louisiana. Great memorization game. Try it with your kids. Try it on a road-trip this Thanksgiving holiday.

Ours went something like this:

“We’re going to the Myrtles Plantation and I’m bringing:

A—an alligator (another good one would have been an accordian)

B—boudin (more good ones would have been beignets and beads)

C—crawfish (more good ones would have been cracklins and coffee)

D—ducks (another good one would have been doubloons)

E—egret (another good one would have been an etoufee)

F—frog legs (more good ones would have been fish, file’, and FEMA trailors)

G—gumbo

H—hush puppies

I—ice cream

J—jambalaya

K—Kleinpeter ice cream

L—lake water

M—mud painting (more good ones would have been magnolias, meat pies, mustard greens, and mosquitoes)

N—New Orleans’ Saints (another good one would have been nutria)

O—okra (another good one would have been oysters)

P—pirogue (more good ones would have been pecans, Pig Stand BBQ sauce and a pelican)

Q—quails

R—rice

S—sausage (more good ones would have been shrimp, sweet potatoes, sugar cane, and syrup pies)

T—turtle stew

U—?

V—?

W—watermelon

X—?

Y—?

Z—Zowelle tamales”

October Farewell

Posted October 30, 2009 at 9:03 pm
Filed Under General, Months | 1 Comment

It has been said that October is the most perfect month of the year. Someone corrected me the other day by saying, “Evidently whoever said that doesn’t live in Louisiana.”

Like most of you I’m sick of the rain. Tonight, along with most of my Louisiana neighbors, I am hearing the drip-drop of rain on the rooftop and the sluggish yawn of a late October wind wrap itself into a black shawl. It has rained on my harvest long enough. It even tricked us out of our annual pumpkin farm visit. We planned to go with friends to Anderson Farms in Leesville . I was so eager to write about it and share pictures with all of you, but the trip was canceled due to soaked fields and soggy hay. Some friends trekked later in the week to the Corn Maze at CM Farms in Reeves on the only dry day this month. They had a great time and promised me it was worth the trip. I was glad to hear that. I wiped raindrops off my planner and made notation of this. It’s nice to have my plans already laid-out for next October.

Still, despite the dreariness and drab of the weather, there are measures of autumn bliss in the air if we only reach up and catch it. I have a pumpkin-spice scented candle on my kitchen table and a pot of taco soup warming on the stove. My youngest daughter Annie and I just finished decorating jack-o-lantern faces on our peanut butter cookies for tomorrow’s Halloween gathering with cousins. These are the nice things about autumn. These are the redeeming things about rainy days. cookies

We are also spending this chilly, wet, Louisiana evening waiting for my son to get home with a couple of pumpkins so we can do our traditional pumpkin moonshine. Generally we would never just lob a pumpkin home from the store. We usually go to the pumpkin farm at the beginning of October, carefully select our orange lanterns, and arrange our harvest decor near the front door. We cut our pumpkin moonshines about a week or two before Halloween night and they are nice and moldly and grinning a receding toothline. We have never done the carving the night before All Hallow’s Eve. Horrors! Banish the thought! But busy schedules and abundant rainfall calls for flexibility and being able to constantly alter plans in much the way an insect travels the path of the pumpkin vine. Sometimes it looks as though you’ll never get there.

But it’s all good … really it is. And the jack-o-lanterns are just as mean-ingful. So, let’s dance in the rain and applaud this perfect month of October as it waltzes out into the night … Louisiana-style.

And if you know of any more great pumpkin farms here in Louisiana, please let us all know about them, because next October is only a half-moon away.

pumpkins

Madame Poulet (and Dianne de Las Casas) to the Rescue

Posted October 5, 2009 at 11:02 pm
Filed Under Louisiana Authors, Louisiana Literature | Leave a Comment

We’ve had a problem with cockroaches over here. What about the rest of you? Not that I would blame you if you didn’t want to admit that nasty little secret to the rest of the reading public. It’s a dirty little secret none of us care to share. It’s as bad as admitting you have a mouse in your house!

But, strangely enough, in Louisiana admitting you have cockroaches does not sequester yourself away from society. Rather, it invites all sorts of invitations from other hostesses who toss their Southern graces aside to assure you that you are not the only one with uninvited guests in your home and, in doing so, their hospitality welcomes you into their confidence.

After weeks of chasing these brown-skirted housewives under chairs, kitchen appliances, and bathroom cabinets; I brought in the big guns—the man of the house—and told him something had to be done. We pay $350 annually for regular termite inspection and treatment of the stations around our house. We’re scared to drop it. Regular pest control did get dropped when we realized the cost of groceries didn’t include the expense of being generous with our uninvited house guests. Like so many Americans, we had to cut back somewheres. Children have to be fed and, as far as the guests, heaven knows there are enough oak trees around our house for them operate their own campground. Why do they have to take up residence under my kitchen sink? For some strange reason, despite the censored grocery budget, our guests came and everytime I saw one I imagined the 300-400 offspring she was capable of producing, and feeding, on our budget. If our party guests pests thought we looked like a home worth feasting upon … well … .they were knocking on the wrong door.

I wish someone had told me a long time ago to just get a chicken! That would have solved my problem and been cheaper than the three pest control jobs my husband had to do around the house, not to mention the eggs we could have gathered. According to Louisiana author Dianne de Las Casas and artist Marita Gentry, chickens (poulet in French) have a colorful history with cockroaches. They used to be friends, ya know? At least legend has it that Madame Poulet and Monsieur Roach were best buds long ago. Then something happened that I don’t think will surprise any adults but it’s sure to send a creepy-crawly thrill along the ticklebone of little listeners. I didn’t know that chickens could hold a grudge for so long but that’s the tale. My little reader was quite fooled, delightfully so. When Annie claps her hands, the book automatically earns five stars. Based on an authentic Louisiana folktale, Madame Poulet and Monsieur Roach (Pelican Publishing, 2009, ISBN #:1589806867) is a new storybook by Dianne de Las Casas and Marita Gentry. It’s about a hard-working chicken, a lazy, conniving roach, and a houseful of pesty guests. It’s a lesson of honesty, deception, and friendship as only children can understand it. Las Casas brings the party and fun; Marita Gentry brings the decorations and color.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Dianne not long ago. She is a delightful Louisiana personality full of energy and enthusiasm for anything that clucks Louisiana. She’s a natural! I’ve seen Dianne share her stories with children. She’s a wonder! You can check her calendar for book signings, presentations, and appearances and see what I’m talking about: Dianne’s Calendar

Dianne is an artist with a true heart for Louisiana and its children. I can’t wait to share with you some of her thoughts concerning the culture, diversity, and beauty which she sees in the eyes of Louisiana’s children.

pouletroach

MawMaw Miller’s Pecan Pie

Posted September 23, 2009 at 11:53 am
Filed Under Recipes | 1 Comment

pecanbucket

We’re getting more pecans than I originally though we’d have. For the most part my children and the neighborhood children are gathering them and collecting them. I have discovered pecans on top of my kitchen table, side tables, bedroom dressers, in pockets, in candleholders, and in purses. It’s a shame we can’t trade them like the Indians once did. Ah, well …

pecanharvesting

They are food sent from heaven, so we’ll work with that. As the Gosselin children are known to chant:

“Jesus made it. Henry Daddy grows it. Mommy cooks it and we eat it.”

I’ve been asked by some of you for a good pecan pie recipe. The one good pecan pie recipe I’m familiar with is … quite naturally … my mawmaw’s recipe. It’s also easy to follow. That’s the lagniappe in the dough. Note: You can use light Karo syrup when making this but my Mawmaw always used dark Karo syrup because she thought it blended with the pecans and “looked better.” So it comes down to visual preference and table presentation.

MawMaw Miller’s Pecan Pie

Photo credit: Stu Spivack (Flickr account)

• 3 eggs
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup corn syrup (red Karo syrup)
• 1/4 cup melted butter or margarine
• 1 teaspoon vanilla flavor
• 1 Tablespoon flour
• 1 cup pecans
• 1 pie crust shell

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Beat eggs slightly in a 2-quart bowl; stir in sugar, corn syrup, butter and pecans. Pour mixture into unbaked pie shell; bake in center of oven for 35-40 minutes. Bake until filling is slightly firm. Filling may look soft when pie is gently shaken, but it will become firm as it cools.

Pecans in Louisiana

Posted September 7, 2009 at 1:16 pm
Filed Under Botany | 2 Comments

pecans3

Botany: the branch of biology that studies plants

Pecan: smooth brown oval nut of south central United States

Latin Name: Carya illinoinensis

Species: Hickory

This site informs us that pecans are native to Louisiana and were one of the mainstays to the Native American’s protein diet. Pecan wood is a favorite source for smoking and barbecuing meats. So, as today is Labor Day, you might want to keep that in mind.

Let’s take a trip out to our yard, preferably during the early morning or afternoon, before the lightning dancers do their evening laser show across the skies. I don’t know about your front (or back) yard but mine is pelted with green stones. Tons of unripe pecans. I’ve shaken the grassy mat under my pecan trees and have found a few ripe ones. I’m afraid the squirrels found them first.

This time last year, Mr. Ike visited our house. No trees went down in our yard like they did with Miss Rita, what trees were left that is. But at 11:00 that Friday night, as we hunkered down and waited for Ike to make his grand entrance, my oldest son came into the house and said, “Mom, I just don’t know what’s holding those pecan trees to the ground.” Contemplate a pecan tree being used as a slingshot to dart green-encased pecans through the air. The next morning Corey brought me outside to look at the scattered leaves in our yard. Countless leaves. All pelted and looking as though they had been put through a shredding machine. Raindrops did that?! Yes, indeed; Ike’s spit.

We lost our whole pecan crop to Ike last year.

This year, we’re loosing our crop to the squirrels. A few months ago my oldest son called to tell me, “Mom, I’m sitting here by the fire ring watching five squirrels eat all your pears.”

And eat them they did. Every single one.

A pause. “Can I get my shotgun on ‘em?”

Only in Louisiana does a young man still sit by a fire and see the promise of a meal in this.

So this year we have a pecan crop, and a hurricane has yet to come along and use them as spitballs. But … there’s always a “but”, isn’t there?

pecans2

But, the yard is littered with half-eaten pecans. Most of them are green, worm-riddled, rejected, wasted. There are more pecans on the ground than on the trees. My shell driveway is a graveyard of rotting life, mercilessly crushed beneath tires and crumbled into dust.

pecans1

Growing up I clearly remember the pecan worms being the culprit of a diminished crop, never the squirrels, never a hurricane. As a child, my hands were too weak to crack two nuts in the palm of my hand. It was neat to watch Dad and PawPaw do it. I remember relying on the heel of my shoes to crack them open. There was a firm gentleness a little person had (has) to use to crack a tough nut with their shoe … firm enough to break it, gentle enough not to smash it.

I’m pretty certain pecan prices will go up this fall … along with everything else. Might want to take that into consideration when planning your Christmas truffles.

Related Sites:

Louisiana Pecans (site of Little Eva’s Plantation which is portrayed in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s famous novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin

Natchitoches Pecans

And, Virgie, there is a Pecan Festival in Louisiana. Anyone going to Colfax? I want to hear about it.

I Love Pecans—wonderful, not-to-be-missed site full of: History of Pecans, Pecans 101, Nutrition Facts, Pecan Recipe

For Pecan Geeks

Texas State Tree

Louisiana Lure

Posted August 30, 2009 at 4:54 pm
Filed Under Entertainment, Family Fun | 4 Comments

My husband said I need to wrap up the crabbing posts and I agree. There’s just so much going on. I’m glad we took that morning excursion when it presented itself. We haven’t been crabbing since. The sultry days of summer are getting away from us quicker than a starfish on a fishing pole. Time for writing proves to be an even faster delicacy. But I must move on. The pecan trees are moneyed with dollar-green coins, autumn will prove too brisk for the beach, and we’re missing the Duck Festival this weekend in Gueydan. I’m really wanting to take a tour of all these festivals which Louisiana is so well known for, all these festivals that feed our laissez faire spirits.

But let’s tie up those crabs, shall we? I know I left you hanging from a turkey neck regarding the “eager crabber invading our crabbing spot” and I’m sure most of you (especially if you live in Louisiana) have an idea of who that “eager crabber” was. No, it wasn’t a pirate … for those of you thinking, wishing, hoping I had such an exciting story to tell. My life is just not that exciting. Sorry.

It was, of course, an alligator which I wouldn’t have known existed in our sporting paradise had it not been for the expletive uttered by my teenaged son. A festoon of swamp grasses divided us. I was on the south side with my youngest daughter while he assisted his other sister on the north side. The alligator had, no doubt, ventured away from the Piccadilly buffet line at Blue Crab Recreation piers and, like us, chosen a less crowded setting in which to dine. Beneath the murky waters, he was counting his pennies and nibbling the appetizers which my husband diligently cut and tied on the truck’s tailgate and which we, unknowingly, tossed out to him.

Of course, in the presence of little girls, I turned abruptly to correct my son’s bayou mouth only to see him launch himself backwards, limp string in hand, net pole defensively jutting out, and his sister in the mud, a spout of water betraying the evidence of something sinister. More threatening, at that moment, than a hurricane.

“What, in the name of Neptune!” I could hardly know from my position what had caused the rush of excitement until I heard a disbelieving sob from my daughter, “An alligator!” fed by a screaming realization, “It’s an ALLIGATOR!”

gator

For a moment I stood in denial. I actually argued with the two of them. My daughter’s rush to my side, shaking hands, and great crocodile tears on her checks brought me back to reality. I granted my son pardon for his choice in words, because there are times when words are irrelevant, and hurried the girls up the embankment to the truck.

My son, being a young man of sixteen, daringly continued to lure the alligator back to the shore to prove a futile point. Raw jokes were made to put the family dog on her leash and lure the beast that way.

Sure enough, there he was. I could not have known what lurked in the dark water but sometimes we are shown.

gator2

By now, my daughter had bit back her fear and was taking an interest in the stupidity bravery of her brother. Within a matter of castings and for one brief shining moment, my children became amateur stars in their own home version of Animal Planet. It was insane. My husband directed. Garrett casted. Chelsea filmed. Annie and I were the audience. The alligator did come back … provoked and hungry. My husband, no longer sixteen and stupidly brave, suggested we pack up and go home. We had enough for our family. No sense in being greedy. No sense in being heroic when we didn’t have to be.

I was ready. And shaken. The thought of how quickly the beast had pulled and my daughter had tugged and the audacity with which the string broke in her hands filled me with an unimaginable morbidity of how close the dark water whispered her name, the muck and slime fooled her footing, and fate gripped her young life.

It’s crazy, our fascination with nature and the dangers that lurk beneath our knowing. We all have this primitive desire to conquer, defeat, and capture those powers that stand outside our comfort zone. Our survival instinct prevails when something threatens that comfort zone, that haven. We have a curiosity to possess the cat before he gets killed.

It’s the same fear of nature which, four years ago this time, sent hundreds of thousands of people fleeing the Gulf coast. It’s the same threat which, in August and September 2005, gnashed its jaws of death at our livelihood and existence. It’s also the same presence which called us to rise up together, work together, and reclaim the place we call home, the place we wish to raise our families because there is something magically vibrant lurking beneath the waters, something magically sweet that lisps through the sugar cane fields, something magically special that filters through those shrimp/crab nets and sautes itself right into the fabric of our lives.

What is it? What holds us here? What makes us stay in Louisiana while the gator roars and lashes its tail at our human weakness and curiosity? It’s our job to find out and my job to share those turkey necks with you.

Perhaps we aren’t as different from that gator as we look.

ally

Let’s keep casting our nets into the water to discover what makes Louisiana so magically, dangerously special.

Let’s Go Crabbing

Posted August 23, 2009 at 1:13 am
Filed Under Entertainment, Family Fun | Leave a Comment

So we continued our search for the perfect crabbing causeway. And we found it. It was right past Blue Crab Recreation Area on the right. A tranquil grassy nook where cattails flagged us down, a white-shell half-moon shuttled our truck, three tiny dirt paths bid us entry, and marsh grass provided us a small curtain. pathway

We parked the truck on the shell and got down to business…unwrapping and cutting turkey necks.

necks

They’re slimy and even slimier once they go into the water. Our children learn this early. It is important to wrap and tie the string tightly in the middle of the turkey (or chicken) neck because you never know what is at the bottom of the waterway ready and hungry to eat your bait. From there it’s a simple lesson in biblical “by-the-sweat-of-your-brow” work and old-fashion patience. You sit and wait.

patience

It certainly gives you a taste of how Cajuns use to live off the land. It isn’t simple. Simple would be pulling out a chair at Prejean’s in Lafayette and eating Crab Cake Covington. No, siree, it isn’t simple but it is simple. It’s basic dirt on the seat of your pants, deer flies and mosquitoes humming off the minutes, and the Louisiana sun stroking the back of your neck. Your net pay is literally in your net. Nothing less and nothing more, but no taxes either. It’s simple. crab

There were no mosquitoes the day we went and the deer flies were more interested in the roadside crustacean than they were in us. My youngest quickly caught onto the rhythm of this toss and pull game. It was a game of “fetch,” but with crabs instead of the dog. She was a little too anxious to pull her bone out of the water and across the sun-bleached shell to inspect it. We slowed her down a bit and she began gathering little pulls and tugs on her string like beaded necklaces at a Mardi Gras parade. When the marsh tossed a doubloon-shaped crab at her feet, we scooped it into the net. She was sure she had caught the prettiest little crab in all of Louisiana. It was sweet victory with a pinch of attitude.

And so we tossed and reeled and caught and laughed and talked. Our little rat terrier, fifteen years and two months, became a puppy again. Her slender feet danced in the water. She zipped between our three spots, sniffed at the nets, and jumped at the nipping-Eskimo kisses to her nose.

crabbing

Our armies were smaller than the battalion our son had brought home only weeks before but it didn’t matter. Each crab added his own hollow-shelled cymbals to the symphony of noises erupting from the plastic bucket. Flailing claws waved revengeful picket signs of protest. Slowly the bucket revealed its increase. We had a surplus; so it should not have surprised me when another eager crabber invaded our crabbing spot.

To be continued …

Crabbing in Louisiana

Posted August 16, 2009 at 10:51 pm
Filed Under Entertainment, Family Fun | 8 Comments

The hardest part of crabbing is getting everyone up in the morning. My husband is forever the morning person. Forget the birds. He’s up with the worms. “Come on, Everybody! You’re from Louisiana! Let’s go get some krabby patties.”

waiting

We had a full tank of gas in the truck, cold drinks in the ice chest, and a free day. All we had to purchase was a $3.00 pack of turkey necks, a $3.00 roll of string, and donuts and chocolate milk for the kids at Cajun Fast Mart. The gulf breeze blew through the open windows and tousled Annie’s ringlets into her sister’s eyes but there were no crabby attitudes today. No cries of “She’s touching me!” Life was good! Except…

Except that the hardest part of crabbing is getting everyone up in the morning. We had a teenager, a pre-teen, and a seven-year-old with us. The crabs had nothing on them. The pre-teen sat with her new sunglasses covering her eyes but I could tell from her lips that she was not a happy sailor. The seven-year-old yawned and buried her face in her pillow. Would she even get out of the truck to earn her supper? And we were thirty minutes late towards morning. The fog still harbored the ground but those thirty minutes turned my otherwise jovial husband into a clock watcher. It was going to be hot. The crowds would have beaten us there. There would be no good spots.

Ellendar Bridge

The Singing Bridge (ie: Ellender Bridge) serenaded us into Cameron Parish. It really sings, if you listen closely. We passed a cattle drive, complete with five cowboys on horses and lots of baby cattle. Probably going to Miller’s Livestock in DeQuincy for auction, husband told us. We passed shrimp boats swaying in a backdrop of swamp grass. We passed mobile homes placed ridiculously high on totem pilings, yet not ridiculously high enough.

We were in search of the perfect crabbing spot but no one is allowed to park or crab on the roadside and, due to Rita’s punch and Ike’s GERD projectile, the pickings are slim to none.

Northline Recreation Area is collapsed. The bridge where so many of us have stood and cast our turkey-strung strings into the water is twisted and sunk in the murk.

Hog Island Gully Recreation Area is stilled closed due to damages sustained from Hurricane Ike.

We kept heading southward to Bikini Bottom in search of those krabby patties.

Blue Crab Recreation Area is open and we surveyed the clusters of hopeful crabbers. The kids and I inspected the line-up of the vehicles: Arizona, Arkansas, Texas, Oklahoma. Ah, nothing says ‘Welcome to Louisiana’ like the smell of dead shrimp, ripe bait, and Louisiana mud.

“That bird sounds like somebody laughing too hard,” My seven-year-old scolded. Seagulls dipped overhead and swayed on posts.

seagulls

Cast nets spun, fishing poles hissed, deer flies buzzed, and lawn chairs scrapped the pier. Yet, even with so many people, it was strange how quiet it all was. Serious crabbing is a sport to be respected in Louisiana. You can bring your ice chest of beer but you better sit down and behave yourself.

Despite the crowd, no one looked especially busy and we heard no cha-ching, cha-ching coming from the ice chests. Krusty Krab must have been closed. So we drove on.

(To be continued…)

crabnet

You can go to Creole Nature Trail News for updates on closures and openings of recreational areas (http://www.creolenaturetrail.org/trailnews/ ).

13th Annual Ecology Festival

Posted August 13, 2009 at 5:28 pm
Filed Under Festivals, Travel | 2 Comments

This year’s ecology festival will be the 13th annual festival celebrating the ecology, people, culture and history of the Barataria-Terrebonne National Estuary Program (BTNEP) and its Foundation for La Fête d’Ecologie 2009 in which we live, work and play.

The festival will be held at the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and Preserve’s Wetlands Acadian Cultural Center Saturday, September 26, 2009 from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. This National Park, located at 314 St. Mary Street/LA 1 in Thibodaux, offers an opportunity to host this environmentally themed festival on the banks of historic Bayou Lafourche.

For more information, contact:

Shelley Sparks

Media Coordinator

e-mail: shelley@btnep.org;

snail mail to P.O. Box 2663, NSU, Thibodaux, LA 70310;

or fax: 985-447-0870