LAKE ARTHUR SOCIAL LIFE.

We are parked next to the American Legion in Lake Arthur, Louisiana, waiting for good weather. The patrons here told us we have to stay through Thursday, because they cook jambalaya for everyone for lunch.  The cooks arrived about nine. Flys was cutting cabbage for the coleslaw.

Norman was taking a break while Mark cut up the pork meat.

Most of the fat comes off, but not all of it. Then it is set to brown.

When it is almost browned, the sausage is added and it gets stirred some more.

In another pot, fresh crowder peas cook. And still another pot holds rice.

Sally added water and seasoning and took her turn stirring.

Norman gave it his approval and Sally began loading styrofoam trays with the free  lunch for everyone in the bar.

We bought a round of beers for the cooks and others did the same. Julia, the bartender is  very able and practically runs, she is so busy.

We finally met the Commander of Post 403, his name’s Don. He says he doesn’t like crawfish which is a sin in this part of the world. His father told him he wasn’t a true cajun. We laughed.
The patrons here depend on the friendships they’ve developed. It is their social life and joy to get together, drink and eat. The bar always has peanuts, pork  rinds, or something to nibble on. Beer here is lite and only comes in 10 oz cans.  The man standing closest to Jim, is Shannoo. He owns the LA Bar downtown. Everyone has dictated that we HAVE to go to the LA Bar and after we had lunch and a beer, we did.

It is in an old historic building and according to some of the pipeliners, it is well-known outside Louisiana.

It is one of those places that has jokes and stuff and a big horned deer head hanging on the walls; dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, and 75-year-old whiskey. Shannon, doing bartender duty,  is the owner’s wife. Her husband is also named Shannon, so he removed the n, added an o, and goes by Shannoo.

We were told the LA Bar serves the very best bloody mary money can buy. It was different, spicy and delicious with a green bean, carrot stick and okra pickle, an olive and lemon slice.

When the previous owner died, the bar was closed for four years. The locals are appreciative that this young couple in their thirties rescued their famous icon. Shannon told me some of these bottles are 75 years old and have never been opened. They are no longer for sale.

I enjoyed taking pictures of  humorous signs.

Some are as old as that whiskey.

Wry humor.

This one is barely readable. It looks like politicians were just as popular 75 years ago as they are today.  Politicians and drunks not permitted on premises.

We walked toward the boardwalk at the lake. A beautiful oak greeted us at the end of Main St. Then the winds and rain suddenly started up again, and we had to abandon our walk.

We read for most of the day. Then back in the American Legion bar for a nightcap. Mark and Marlene were back as well. Mark will take us out to net catfish in his boat this morning if the weather isn’t too wet and too windy. Everyone seems to like everyone in this community. You never hear them grumble and complain about their neighbors. Fine salt of the earth people who know how to have fun. Tonight there will be a dance with a DJ.

GREG GUIRARD, A CAJUN ACTIVIST

All of us would undo the damage past generations have done to the environment if we could. Greg Guirard, teacher, writer, speaker, fisherman, woodsman, historian, activist skips the "if" and is doing something about it, one tree at a time. That is, 40,000 of them in his own sphere of control. He planted them himself, over a 30 year span, converting cane fields to trees.

He was working on this crawfish trap when we drove up to his house. Its made from plastic coated chicken wire. "Not good this year," he said. He is working with the Atchafalaya BASINKEEPER, an organization dedicated to saving the River Of Trees, and saving a way of swamp life for man, fish and birds. They have a website: www.basinkeeper.org.

While  building a new house out of  replaned cypress wood, he remembered seeing some discarded cypress full of holes from a fungus. Replaned, it made a beautiful cover for this wall. His cupboards, walls, ceilings and some furniture are made of cypress. Only the floors are oak.

 Next to a cypress plank,  framing stained glass, stands a broom, unsupported by the wall. It stands by itself. Greg is hoping to reach a record time. This one has been standing in the corner for five months now. 
Cypress wood deteriorates slowly. Years ago, the cypress was completely logged off. Logs sunk into the muddy waters. When the water gets low, woodworkers remove the "sinkers", replane them and find new uses for this beautiful wood. A form of recycling and preservation.
 Greg not only preserves wood, he has preserved the stories of old time Cajun Fishermen and women in his books, Cajun Families of the Atchafalaya.   Psycho Therapy For Cajuns is a humorous take on Cajun Culture surviving in a crazy world. He wrote the fiction story, taken from real life, The Land of Dead Giants. His latest book, in conjunction with C.Ray Brassieur is a broader look at the past and future of the Atchafalaya Basin, and the folklife of the people who lived there, entitled Inherit The Atchafalaya.
Unique views of a way of living fading into obscurity and which few could write about with the insight and clarity as the Cajun, Greg Guirard.
Meet Wilmer Blanchard who typifies Cajun fishermen: "I have eleven children, three boys. I would take my boys in the woods as soon as they could walk enough..."
 Women fished to, and when Yolande Bonin had a stroke, her husband, Cezaire, carried her into the boat each day. Her contribution to fishing was limited to opening the right can as she saw a gar, a catfish, or whatever come out of the net. Cezaire says, "When I raise them nets, you ought to see her smile when they got fish in 'em."
Myrtle Bigler claimed, "All kind of work gets me tired. But I'm not sick..." This when she was in her eighties. She and her husband, Harold,  lived off the swamp all their married lives. He died at age 90, and she died at 95.
Alcee Seritte went blind in his seventies. He continued to take his boat from Atchafalaya Station to Catahoula and back, a distance of 8 miles one way. He'd run into the bank and just turn away and keep going.
The lessons of simplicity are there for all of us to learn from, as are Greg's books.
To contact Greg Guirard: Paroona9@yahoo.com or phone him at 337-394-4631. ATT is supposed to fix his website which is not currently working at www.gregguirard.com.

A sure sign of a real Cajun is this outboard motor hanging from an oak tree in Greg's driveway. He gave a slide show for Elder Hostel and his photographs of the basin and people are superb.

We spent the rest of the day with Michele, our erstwhile "guide."  She took us to see the legendary wedding bower of the Pre-Civil War sugar plantation Durand. Durand imported spiders into a young planting of pine, magnolia and oak trees lining his quarter mile driveway. The day of the wedding, the spider webs were sprinkled with the glitter of gold and silver dust. The bower is now know as Pine Alley and is all that remains of the once successful plantation.

Evening closed with friends and family "hanging out" around the bonfire and eating Michele's great jambalaya washed down with good beer. Life is good.

MARDI GRAS RETROSPECTIVE

This is my second visit to New Orleans, but my first Mardi Gras. What a difference a date makes! In 2007 the city's struggles in the aftermath of Katrina were still raw and sore. What joy to be here during the Saints big win and the crowning glory of a great Mardi Gras.

Unforgettable memories forged, to take on the road with us. But, we aren't ready to leave yet. Will the City seem drab after "the ball" is over? Will it somehow lose its luster?

Sifting through my pictures, I found gorgeous wrought iron work all over town. Beautiful buildings from the 1800's preserved for posterity.

I can think of only one other city where music is like food, Vienna. But New Orleans has a unique sound and rhythm, the berceau of hundreds of great blues musicians. Not everyone can be a great musician. It tickled me to see guys on the street drumming on five gallon plastic buckets.

And the beads. I had such fun hanging them in the windows of the motor home. I figure they will lose their luster like Christmas trimmings do after Christmas and I'll take them down eventually.

And then, there is the food for which New Orleans is famous. What bounty, the Mississippi River and the ocean at your feet. Fresh fish on every corner. Alligator sausage. Muffaleto Sandwiches, gumbo, crawfish ettoufe, jambalaya. We hope to eat our way across the city.

The home cooked variety was pretty good too!

No, New Orleans is a World Class City, and she will never lose her luster, but shine on for succeeding generations. I only hope I get to return to one of my favorite cities.