It wasn’t just the actual food that made my childhood special; it was the opportunity to participate at a young age. Yes, I joined my father and his friends on these adventures, but oftentimes, I had these adventures with just me, a friend, and a pellet rifle or a homemade cane pole for perch jerking; and sometimes both. Then there is my mother. Mom is not from south Louisiana but from the studded pine forest and red dirt earth that make up Franklinton.
She grew up on a dairy farm, far different than how my father and myself grew up on Bayou Lafourche. She selflessly cooked most of the meals throughout the week, and at a young age, I can recall wanting to learn the everyday kind of cooking that provided us full tummies. My father is from a small town outside of Raceland called St. Charles. He grew up poor in a house that sat bayou-side with a garden, which my Paw Paw Bourgeois tended.
My Paw Paw hitched a ride to work every day and, by my father’s account, was one of the hardest-working men he had ever known. My father’s work ethic, and likely mine as well, probably has a lot to do with my Paw Paw. By today’s standards, this certainly wasn’t a luxurious lifestyle, but I believe the lineage of working hard for your family continues to resonate in me and hopefully in my own son as he grows and walks his own path.
