CCJC: Audio Podcast: Episode 00074, Season 2
Bayou Wisdom & Bird Brain Moments: An Owl's Amusing Observation
You know, one of the nicest things about our little podcast company is how life happens around us. Our Cajun Chronicles Podcast crew, bless their hearts, can’t go anywhere in our vibrant Louisiana communities without folks pulling them aside, eager to share a piece of their world.
It’s often the quiet voices, the ones you might not immediately notice, sometimes our elders, carrying a lifetime of stories etched in their smiles. They are the ones who offer the most precious gifts. These encounters, these unexpected slices of life, remind us that beneath all the city or bayou bustle and the everyday cher, we’re all just walking this path together, doing our level best, one crawfish boil and one sunrise or sunset at a time.
Today, we have a story that did just that . . . stopped us right in our tracks and warmed our hearts. It comes to us anonymously, a little gem we gathered just today. Settle in, Cher, grab a cup of chicory coffee or maybe a little café au lait and let’s listen together. You’ll not want to miss this one!
Water Lily Wipe Outs & Unexpected Arias: A Bayou Bird's Journey
It was sometime near twilight, when a “who cooks for you” exclamation echoed across the Atchafalaya Basin. Of course, if you were from around there you instantly knew it was Hootie Who Dat, a grand Barred Owl whose wisdom was as deep as the basin itself. He’d just blinked his amber eyes from his perch high in a moss-draped bald cypress.
Now keep in mind that he’d seen it all in his many years surveying Bayou Chene swamp. He knew all about the slow, deliberate crawl of reptilian cocodrils, the frantic scurrying of a buck tooth bayou bandit Nuturia, even the occasional swamp spinner tourist attempting to navigate a pirogues with more enthusiasm than skill. But this time, a particular bird was causing a feather of two in his feathery pink under wings to ruffle in genuine shocked bewilderment.
Why it was one of those Purple Gallinules, a flashy thing, the color of a plum Mardi Gras float after being drenched in a rain shower. This one, well . . . seemed unusually enthusiastic. Its over sized, sunshine-yellow feet, usually employed with the exact delicate precision for navigating heart-shaped waxy Spatterdocked pads, who were now in riotous cup shaped full bloom.
Hootie Who Dat was quick to understand that the Purple Gallinule was flailing and failing as it attempted to sprint across this patch of Yellow Pond Lily. Trying to be helpful, he offered:
“Now hold on there, petit fou, what’s the rush?” Hootie Who Dat murmured, his gravelly reassuring voice as soft as the result of American Hornbeam falling leaves. “Those elegant pattes are meant for a leisurely stroll, not a bayou La Dépêche Dangereuse bush track race.”
The Gallinule, oblivious to Hootie’s nearby commentary, then reached the edge of an invasive free floating Water Hyacinth mat. But instead of stepping gracefully onto it, launched itself with an ungainly, slightly unearthly high pitched distress squawk. Its long, slender toes splayed out unnaturally, while it looked for the perch on the slick, bulbous leaves.
Hootie couldn’t help but think it resembled a clumsy tightrope walker who’d had one too many happy hour NOLA Hurricanes. “Sacre bleu,” Hootie Who Dat hooted softly. “Has the heat addled your little brain? They call you ‘Jesus birds’ for a reason since your kind are known to walk on water. This isn’t the time to develop a talent at nearly face-planting in one!”
The Gallinule after a frantic flapping of its iridescent purple wings, managed to regain its balance, but looked thoroughly ruffled. It then proceeded to peck aggressively at the bright golden nectar glow Water Lily, as if personally offended by its offending beauty.
“So now you are arguing with the flora?” Hootie Who Dat observed, his owlie brow furrowing. “Usually your kind is nibbling daintily on seeds and insects. But oh no . . . You are acting like you are settling a score with a particularly stubborn crawfish not wanting to get boiled.”
The Gallinule then spotted a Blue Dasher dragonfly, its wings shimmering like stained glass at St. Joseph’s cathedral. Instead of a swift elegant snatch, the bird lunged with such a force that it nearly tumbled backward into the murky bayou water. It missed the dragonfly entirely, who immediately buzzed away with what Hootie Who Dat could have sworn was a tiny, insectile chuckle.
“Mon Dieu,” Hootie sighed, turning his head from side to side. “This one defies all avian logic. It moves like a startled desperate crab, argues with flowers, and hunts like a clumsy Green Heron. Where is the serene, lily-pad-skipping grace we all have come to expect?”
Finally the Purple Gallinule, looking very much like a Mardi Gras float gone astray who had wrestled with a mudbug and lost, settled precariously on a half-submerged log. It puffed out its chest, its normally dazzling plumage, a tad askew. Then, surprisingly let out a series of calls so richly melodious they could charm the scales off a grumpy gar fish.
Hootie Who Dat, who’d been observing this feathered fountain of fluster, scratched his wise head with a talon. “Well, butter my Talking Key biscuits,” he hooted softly. “Even a bird who spends most of his day looking like he’s auditioning for a swamp slapstick comedy routine can still belt out a tune that’d make a Mocking bird jealous.”
He paused and with a slow all-knowing blink crossing his amber eyes, remarked, “Makes a fella think, don’t it? Maybe that neighbor who keeps tripping over his own two feet and singing off-key in the shower just needs a little encouragement. You never know when their inner opera star, or at least decent talent for whistler is gonna shine through.”
“So the next time someone’s struggling, don’t chuckle from your high Bald Cypress. Holler down a little ‘Atta boy’ or ‘You go girl!’ Even the clumsiest critters (or humans) deserve a standing ovation for trying and not giving up. This Bayou Chene swamp, bless its messy muddy heart, teaches you that every single soul, no matter how sideways they seem, has a song and a story worth hearing.”
Our tales are sometimes inspired by real Louisiana and New Orleans history, but some details may have been spiced up for a good story. While we've respected the truth, a bit of creative license could have been used. Please note that all characters may be based on real people, but their identities in some cases have been Avatar masked for privacy. Others are fictional characters with connections to Louisiana.
A Word of Wisdom:
As you read, remember history and real life is a complex mix of joy, sorrow, triumph, and tragedy. While we may have (or not) added a bit of fiction, the core message remains: the human spirit's power to endure, adapt, and overcome.
© Jerilee Wei 2025 All Rights Reserved.
Share this post