From Creek Bank 2 Cajun Swank....

From Creek Bank…



I grew up on a creek bank in Mississippi. I spent hours swimming, making trails, riding 4wheelers and just plain being a kid in the creek. I drove my daddy’s truck in the pasture while sitting on his lap. I held my momma’s hand while she planted and picked flowers. I picked up limbs and mowed grass. I caught lightning bugs. I made necklaces from the flowers in clover patches. I ate onion grass. I rode horses. I said y’all. I sold candy at the end of the driveway. I said usta could. I made clubhouses out of nothing but sticks and leaves. I had a tire swing. I fished in Granny’s pond with a cane pole. I drank Slush Puppies with my Pawpee. I put peanuts in my bottle of Sunkist. I went to town to get groceries. I sat on the counter and ate biscuit dough while my Granny made homemade biscuits. I ate my momma’s home cooking every night. I said over yonder. I hunted with my daddy. I ate deer, squirrel, rabbit. I said britches. I shopped with my Granny. I rode my bike in the street. I went jugging with my daddy. I played board games with my momma and daddy. I went to craft fairs with Mamaw and Papaw. I had a party line on my telephone. I loved LSU. I anxiously awaited the arrival of the big family across the street for holidays. I was Baptist. I camped out. I said swanky. I ate rice and brown gravy. I shot a slingshot. I loved getting mail. I hunted Easter eggs. I field dressed a deer I had run into. I always had a pet, be it a squirrel, duck, cow, hermit crab, fish, horse, cat, dog or parakeet. I loved roly poly’s. I had the most amazing parents in the world who loved me. I had parents who were still married. I had parents who always knew where I was and who was going to be there. I said please, thank you, yes ma’am and no sir. I said everything with a Mississippi twang.


2 Cajun Swank…


I left the creek bank for the ‘real world’. Twists and turns over the years landed me in the big city of Baton Rouge. It was here that I met a little Cajun on a blind date. Four years, a wedding and a baby later, I’ve landed in the heart of Cajun country – Ville Platte, Louisiana. My Mississippi twang sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the Cajun accent. I hear “where are you from?” at least once a week. Their sentences end with a yes or no confirmation, i.e. “I’m going to the store, yeah.” “She’s not coming to the party, no.” Squirrel season is a local holiday, schools are closed. Seriously. They hang squirrel tails from their truck antennas. They speak a mixture of English and Cajun French. They eat cracklins and boudin for breakfast. They’re mostly Catholic. They eat rice and gravy with nearly every meal. Their gravy is nothing like Mississippi gravy. They pock Easter eggs, they don’t hunt them. Everyone has a nanny and paran. Their “th” is pronounced as a “d”, i.e. dat – that, der – there, de - the. They save the dishes. They put Slap Ya Mama on everything. They call everybody “cher”, pronounced “sha”. They drink beer, lots of beer. Everybody has a nickname. They have drive through daiquiri shops. Their gas stations are also meat markets. They like to talk. Everybody knows everybody. Their Mardi Gras is wearing costumes, riding on horses and chasing chickens. They eat rice dressing. They say ax instead of ask. Their grammar is all out of whack, i.e. “What time it is?” instead of what time is it. They wear rubber knee boots. They’re down to earth.






From my Mississippi roots to Cajun knee boots, there isn’t much common ground. The one thing we have in common - absolutely nothing about me or the Cajun culture could be defined as swank! And that’s just the way I like it cher! C’est bon y’all!