A long time ago but not too far from here, dey was a jeune fille français [2]named Clotile. She was a leetle poteet but jes’ in height, so ever’body dey call her “L’il Clotile”. [3]Well, (dat’s a deep subject, ain’t it) L’il Clotile was jes awash in scrubbed crinolines and scarlet waistcoat trimmed in hunter green as she gone step out a de pirogue[4] in the poteet village of Poitrevent, Miss’ippi.[5]
Ta say da leas’, it had been a arduous ocean voyage in de steerage and den a ride on de train dey call de “City of New Orleans” for her and her Mama, Mama Aimee,[6] and den a ride in a canoe she learnt dat dey called a “pirogue” – all the way from Vaux, near Verdun – France, her belov France, dat had been gassed and burned trench to trench from the “waw to end all waws.”[7] Yeah, L’il Clotile and her Mama Aimee – but not Papa. Papa he done fought wid de General Robert Nivelle at Verdun and, well he don’ come home[8] – but a lot of his comrades de arms don’ either. (Dis worl jes ain’t a peaceful place is it, Mon Cher.)[9]Now, Li'l Clotile she miss her Papa ever so whom she love dearly as she was always his Petite Mon-Cher. He done dote on her and always had chocolat truffles to give her – all she wanted, but now, dey was no mo’ chocolat truffles - and no mo’ Papa. She miss’ him ever so and her couer-heart she hurt.
Now to make tings worseer for L’il Clotile an’ her Mama Aimee, Mama jes’ foun’ it too blessed hard to raise a little girl in de village in post-war France, especially after havin’ been occupied by de Germans. It was no place for a belle-perky,[10] head-strong nine year old jeune fille. Mama Aimee’s solution was to do what many a her amis[11] had done and bring de jeune fille to dey “relations” in South America – South Miss’ippi – to make a new life for demselves in de “New worl’.”
Ta be speecific, dey fount demselves in the tiny village of Poitrevent, just over the state line from Louisiana, (God’s Country, don’t cha know) ‘way up a little bayou off the Hobolochitto Creek, dat feed into the mighty Pearl River dat empty into the Great Pontchartrain.
Well, her relations consisted of a eccentric fambly of unabashed Cajuns transplanted from Louisiana who had come up de Pearl in dey Pirogues years ago from Lafitte in Jefferson Parish, settling dere ta work de tung oil trees.[12] The fambly had done been dere for years and years and instead of losin’ dey Cajun ways, dey only magnified dem, or “got worser” as some might say, “cajunizing” many a dey friends and neighbors (‘specially “Uncle” Caimon.). You see, dey had done learnt well to live the “joie de vivre”[13] and dey would never give it up.
Dare was Grandgam and Poppi T, [14]her great aunt and uncle; None Podna and Nona Michele[15] and dey children, Little Pistache and his big sister, Babelle. [16]Dey next door neighbors was likable folks, too “Uncle” Caimon and “Aunt” Boo. [17]Of course, dey was de two cats, Boudreaux and Thibodaux which belong’ to – well de whol’ community.[18]Stepping out of de pirogue, L’il Clotile foun’ herself in not only de New Worl’, America, but a whole new worl’, Cajun Country. A Country where ever’body had de “joie do vivre,” loved to pomee (laugh out loud,) loved to dance de fais-do-do and sing de Jolie Blonde. O yes, and eat. My what dey could do with shrimp, crawfish, andouille, okra, tooloulou[19] and ouaouaran.[20] All dey needed was little red wine and a roux[21] and dey had demselves a partie.[22]
Yes, into this whole new worl’, L’il Clotile was thrust with only her steamer trunk and a Magical box made for her by her dear Papa – her one prized possession, containing what her Mama always call de “Roux du Paree.” “Magical,” yes, at leas’ Mama said it was magical. “It can only be opened once,” she would say, “and once you open it, you gotta use de “Roux du Paree” and only for one time – you can’t keep it.” But, what was de “Roux du Paree,” L’il Clotile always wondered?
But, cha know, de box, itself, was a treasure. It was about 6 ½ inches long and four inches high and deep. Papa always say it was made of acacia wood imported from Asia[23] and it was covered wid pure gold. It had a gold ring attached to each corner and had little gold feet. Cou, [24]it was unique and a real treasure. (But I digress.)All de fambly come out for to meet de little French cousin and her Mama Aimee and L’il Clotile didn’ really know what to make a dem all. Dey was all so happy and gay in spite a de fac’ that dey was all as “pore as Job’s turkey.” But, Grandgam welcomed dem with a big “Bon Jour, Mon Cher” and said, “you both gotta be hongry wid all dat travellin’. Let’s eat. - And dey did.
Well, time pass’ on for L’il Clotile, de transplanted fille français in de Cajun colony and she grew to know and love each of her fambly. She learnt to enjoy giggin’ de ouaouaron and gator baitin’. Soon her classic country French began to take on a decidedly Cajun twist, especially when she yelled out “yea-eee!”
As I done say, de tung oil, she was playin’ out and times were a gettin’ hard –but dere was always gators and poke salad to eat.
L’il Clotile enjoyed de times de fambly and friends got together to celebrate t’ings like Mardi Gras, but de biggest and best time of de year was de partie de la veille de Noël (Christmas Eve party), always helt at Poppi T and Grandgam’s.Howsomeever, dis year was a hard year and food was scarce. How would dey be able to have de big feas’ at Grandgam’s on Christmas Eve when dere just wasn’t enough food to go aroun’? It wouldn’t be Christmas widout dis feas’ and it certainly was not a celebration. Dey had a little okra, some onion, some bay leafs, an andouille or two and some green and red pepper, but that was about all. De cupboard was basically bare. Dey didn’t really have even a start on a partie.
Nevertheless, Mama Aimee took L’il Clotile aside and said, “L’il Clotile, I think it’s time for you to learn a lesson about life. Sometimes de tings we treasure de mos’ we have ta give up for de greater good. I’m talkin’ about your box, your most treasured possession. We need what’s in it. Now L’il Clotile has saved that box and its contents for a long time and she would give up anything before she would give it up. It was de last ting she had of her old life in France and de las’ ting she had of her belov Papa. But she tought about it and Mama Aimee was right. It was time to let go of her old life and share her new one wid others.
In de meantime, Mama Aimee tol’ Grandgam what was up and Grandgam got Caimon and Boo, Podna and Michele and Little Pistache and Babelle to decorating de house for a Joyeux Noël. And, cou, what a time de had decoratin.’ But what would dey eat? It ain’t no partie widout food.Carefully Li’l Clotile took de beautiful box down from de shelf in her room (de one she done share with Babelle,) and she an’ Mama Aimee brought it to Grandgam. “Grandgam,” she say, “I have somethin’ to give you, it’s Christmas and it’s in dis box. Dis box has magic in it – Christmas magic. Let’s open it and see.” - And so dey did.
She carefully laid de beautiful box on Grandgam’s big kitchen table and looked for a way to open it. She finally figured out dat de only way to open it was to break it. She hesitated for a minute and den with a las’ hug for de box, she slammed it down on de cutting board in de middle a de big table with a huge whack! Suddenly, de room was filled with a flash of light, like a million fireflies, and with de wonderful smell of the streets of New Orleans after an afternoon thunderstorm when everyone is cooking somethin’ in the kitchen.De box shattered into a myriad of pieces, but in de bottom of what was left de was a reddish lump. “What is dat,” Li’l Clotile ask?” “It’s de Roux du Paree,” say Mama Aimee. “And what do we do wid it,” asked Li’l Clotile? “I’ll show you,” said Mama Aimee. “Tell Little Pistache to run down to de bayou and start bringin’ water.” - So dey did.
Pistache brought water and Mama Aimee poured it into de hugest big black wash pot Li’l Clotile ever saw, den she drop in de Roux du Paree. “Mo’ water,” she tol’ Pistache and dey kept on adding water and kept on adding water to de pot. Dey fired it up under de big ol’ pot and de mixture became redder and redder until it was finally full. Grandgam put in what few t’ings she had, de okra, onion, bay leaves, and andouille and de green and red pepper and dey started in to boilin’ de pot until it commensed to frothin’, stirrin’ it wid a boat paddle. “Now,” said Mama Aimee, “start dippin’ de mixture into de bowls.” - And dey did.
And den, and den, a funny t’ing done happen, as dey began to dip de red mixture, what come out was gumbo – rich, thick, tasty gumbo. But not just any ol’ gumbo, gumbo jes loaded with all sorts a delicacies from de bayou an’ de river. Besides de veg’tables, it had in it andouille, shrimp, crawfish, poisson,[25] caimon, even snapper turtle. (Cou, did I mention okra, it wouldn’t be gumbo widout okra, would it?) And de funniest t’ing was, what was in yo’ bowl all depend on what you wanted in yo’ bowl! And de mo’ dey dip, de mo’ dey was. So, dey call all de rest a de fambly, None Podna and Nona Michele and Babelle, den dey call de neighbors, “Uncle” Caimon and “Aunt” Boo. An’ dey all ate gumbo and had seconds. (Uncle Caimon had thirds.) But de mo’ dey dipped, de mo’ de gumbo grew in de pot and every bowl full was better dan de las’.Dey call de rest a de neighbors and ever’body dey know – and den de whole village and ever’body up de bayou. Folks came by wagon and cart, pirogue and bateau.[26] Dey was folks ever’where eatin’ gumbo.
Now, a course when you get a bunch a Cajuns together eatin,’ a partie, she gonna break out and it did – a big partie. Dey brought in de fiddles, de accordions, de concertinas, de drums, and de g’itars. Dey even played de soup spoons and washbode! All de people told stories and danced de fais-do-do. Dey sang and sang and everybody was happy dat Christmas. By de time dey sang de las’ “Sainte Nuit, Belle Nuit”[27] and “Noel, Noel,” ever’body was bone tired and began to head for de house..After all de town had left, only de fambly and Caimon and Boo stayed. Dey began to pick up de place (dat many folks can make a powerful mess, don’tcha know?) Dey emptied out de big black wash pot and dey had exactly twelve bowls of gumbo left over (thirteen, if you count de one Uncle Caimon snook when nobody was watchin’.)
Li’l Clotile went back into de kitchen to see what was left a her beautiful box, de one dat had held de Roux du Paree, de magical one that she had done sacrificed and give up so dat ever’body could eat and be filled. She picked up de pieces, mostly just “jibbutties,” but dare was one larger piece she saw out of de corner of her eye as it was lyin’ on de floor under de table. It seemed to be in de shape of a heart. She stoop down and picked it up and as she done look at it closely, she saw dat it had writin’ upon it. It was hard to make out, so she called Grandgam and Mama Aimee. Dey finally could see de writin’ what had been carved and it say, “… and the greatest of these is love. – Papa.”[28]
And somewhere, just south a Jackson on a southbound, Papa, he smile a big smile, ‘cause he know somethin’ ever’body else don’ know – dis Christmas gonna be even happier den dey ever imagined.[29]
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And so, Leslie, this story tells us that each of us is special and each of us has something special to give. It may be contained in a pretty box or it may not. The point is not the box – it is the gift inside the box – the gift inside each of us. This is a gift given to each of us by our Papa. It is not given to keep on a shelf and look at but to share with our family and the whole village – maybe the whole world.
If we all share this gift, then the whole village will be blessed and we will have the happiest Christmas of all.
An’ dat’s what I wish fo’ you and yo’ fambly dis Christmas. I garontee![30]
[1] This is a story told by an old Cajun grandfather to his new granddaughter. The connection is that Amy and Stacy had our first granddaughter, Leslie, this fall. The live in Mississippi not far from the Louisiana state line. They have two cats named Boudreaux and Thibodaux. Naturally, Clotile (the wife in all the jokes) goes with those two if you’ve ever heard Cajun jokes. The story is told in the Cajun dialect using a number of French and purely Cajun words. If you want to read this more than casually, I have posted an explanation of the names and words on my blog: http://johnwible.blogspot.com./Feel free to visit there and leave a comment.
[2] Young French girl.
[3] I wanted to call Leslie “Clotile”, but they would not let me.
[4] A flat-bottomed boat or canoe used by Cajuns in the bayous propelled by “poling” the shallow bottoms.
[5] A fictional town near Picayune, Mississippi – as close to Louisiana as I could get it and still be in Mississippi. My pastor and friend, Alan Cross is from Picayune. The Poitrevant family were among the early settlers of Picayune, founding the local paper which moved to New Orleans, the Times- Picayune.
[6] In this story, characters are drawn from family and friends. Leslie is “Li’l Clotile, Mama Aimee is my daughter, Amy.
[7] World War I.
[8] Papa is my son-in-law, Stacy. Don’t get overly concerned about Papa, the story’s not over yet.
[9] “My dear.”
[10] “Pretty-perky.”
[11] Friends.
[12] Tung oil production was once the principle industry in Picayune.
[13] “Joy of living.”
[14] My wife, Susan and me, the “cats” named us “Poppi and Gam.
[15] Susan’s Sister, Michelle and her husband, Leo. “None” and “Nona” mean “Uncle” and Aunt.” “Podna” means “friend.”
[16] Leo and Michelle’s children, Lauren and Mark. “Pistache” means “peanut.”
[17] My friends Don and Catherine Lynch from Louisiana. “Caimon” means “alligator or ‘gator.” “Boo” is a name of endearment.
[18] Actually, they belong to Stacy, Amy and Leslie.
[19] Turtle.
[20] Bull frog..
[21] A roux is a mixture of butter and flour, cooked until bubbly. It can be browned very deeply, then used as the basis for etouffe and brown sauce or gumbo.
[22] One associates Cajuns with a party and a good time among the family.
[23] Multiply the dimensions by 7 and see Exodus 25.
[24] “Oh!”
[25] “Fish,” not “poison.”
[26] “Boat.”
[27] “Silent Night, Holy Night.”
[28] A double-entendre on “Papa.” My friend, Carmen Falcione, is fond of calling God his “Papa.”
[29] I told you not to worry about Papa, didn’t I? Also, there is a strongly Messianic allusion here. Jesus is Immanuel, "God in the Flesh." Jesus came on Christmas, thus God or "Papa" came on Christmas. So here, Papa is coming on Christmas. Likewise, His first coming portends His second coming. When Jesus (Papa) come the second time, it will truly be a happy event for His "family."
[30] Justin Wilson, the late Cajun comedian and raconteur used to sign off with the phrase, “I guarantee.”
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