Untold thousands of barrels of uncut crude oil have been gushing out of a small hole on the ocean floor, off the coast of Louisiana, for a month now.
So, it’s no big surprise that it has come ashore to coat the grasses of the marsh, kill the birds and torment the turtles. We needed a miracle to stop it.
It was a sad day when the sun rose on the shiny swirls of pretty colors as the oil washed ashore on Grand Isle.
It makes me think back to times with my Cajun in-laws, and Ya-Ya (the Great Grandmother).
They said Ya-Ya was senile, but I never thought so. She still lived in a world where all the kids went barefoot and there was dancing and singing on porches in the night.
She told her stories half in French until her daughter reminded her to “speak English!”.
Ya-Ya loved to laugh, and tell her stories, and she still didn‘t like to wear shoes, at 80 something.
Once I had some friends down in Bayou LaFourche. Way down where the land of this watery state gives way to the water.
We are talking Cajun land. The folks I knew down there lived on fish, and all types of creatures from the land and water. They were poor, but proud. Their barbecue fish was without rival .
They fished for a living.
But, it was oil that brought in some real money.
Down the Bayou, they defended the oil industry. If you went down there and started talking environmental talk, you were seen as an enemy trying to snatch away the jobs and the money. I learned to respect that.
So, shut my mouth.
Today, on the Blues Breakdown, the mourning begins. With all the songs I can find about water and nature, and maybe a few about pathos, paranoia and maybe one funny song.
Really, the music just takes over, like it should.