CCJC Audio Podcast Episode 00059, Season 2
Lemme tell you about today’s Monday lunch staff meeting at Cajun Chronicles Podcast Corporation. After a weekend where the sky couldn’t make up its mind if it wanted to rain downpour of tangled Mardi Gras beads or shine like a brass marching band, our very own Laurent Francois Thibodaux, the man who knows the swamp better than his own Mama’s kitchen, bless his heart, rolled in with a pot of red beans and rice that could make a Saint Antony slap his mama.
Now, Laurent, he’d been cooped up all weekend with his office sidekick, Beaucoup, the Catahoula Leopard dog. Stuck inside his hunting and fishing cabin, he two got to thinking while the sky looked like it was about to throw a fit and maybe even spin a little Irish jig in the form of a tornado. What did the man and his dog think about? Nutria, naturellement!
Laurent, bless his southern storytelling soul, swore up and down that between dodging raindrops in a leaky roof and keeping Beaucoup from chasin’ imaginary squirrels indoors, they cooked up this idea about those big ol’ swamp rats. Ever since those invasive fur critters arrived at E. A. McIlhenny’s Avery Island, humans have gone and messed with them. Just trying to make a living after we moved them around like chess pieces on the South Louisiana landscape.
It took real deep thought served up right alongside of red beans and rice, to make all of us ponder on the finer points of being a good neighbor, even to a critter with orange teeth and a hankering for prize-winning petunias and rare roses. Made us all think, especially about how unpredictable crazy weather is affecting us all.
Tale of Two Cajun Elderly Ladies Outsmarting Their Nutria Squatters
Maman Cecile Babin, pushing ninety-five and hoping for 100, still sharp as a sharp pointed upholstery tack, and her daughter, Dorothee, a spritely seventy-something had seen their share of swamp critters. Lived in their little Bald Cypress axe-hewn shotgun cabin on the edge of the swamp for a lifetime.
They’d seen hurricanes, cocodrils lounging in the garden, and that time a rogue crawfish took over the mailbox on the dock. Now something seemed off in their sanctuary from city life. Maybe a noticeable tilt in the porch swing tipped them off. But nothing, nothing, prepared them for the Great Nutria Offensive of 2025.
Other clues started out subtly. A little faint rustling or chewing noise under the back porch. So faint they weren’t even sure what they were hearing. Then the toilet started gurgling like a lovesick American Bullfrog. “M’onsieur Ned’s nutria, Maman Cecile declared, tapping her quad cane on the barge board floor planks. Well, we can’t let them dump our house into the bayou.
Finally Dorothee, while tending to her prized long red cayenne pepper plants, discovered a gaping hole under the house, and Dorothee caught a glimpse of orange teeth glinting in the mud. Ever pragmatist, she quickly grabbed her binoculars. “Maman, they’re everywhere outside! And look, their teeth are orange, like those shiny teeth I saw.”
“Iron deposits, Dorothee,” Maman said knowingly. “Strengthens their chompers, they crave the stuff.”
“Rat de marais nutria Mama” she bellowed, brandishing her hoe and waving it about. “Those rodents bigger than rats are tryin’ to undermine us! Wild critters like last year when that family of Eastern Spotted Skunks had to be evicted from under there.”
Maman Cecile, ever calm and practical, pulled out her well-worn copy of “Cajun Critter Control” that the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries sent everyone. Maybe they could get someone to come help them with the Coypou problem.
“It says those critters got a right to live, even if they got side-mounted mammary glands and teeth like a long wave of glorious over-the-top gleaming orange tantrum splashed over the bayou sky. Are they saying, “Look at me! I’m going to look fabulous while defending what territory I stole before dramatically exiting stage down the burrow left?”
At first, Maman Cecile and Dorothee attempted to shoo them off with the cleaning of pots and pans, then resorted to opening and slamming doors. Instead, the nutria, probably thinking it was a Mardi Gras parade, popped their heads out and seemed to applaud. They also tried wind chimes and strategically placed mirrors. Instead the nutria, probably thinking it was a fancy bayou party, simply stared at their own reflections and groomed their whiskers.
Next, Dorothee, remembering her traituese botany lessons she learned as an student from Grandmere Julienne Babin. She tried to repel them with pungent herbs. “Maman, I’ve got a concoction of garlic, cayenne, and swamp mint. They’ll hate it!” She sprayed the mixture around the burrow entrances. The nutria however, seemed to find it quite appetizing, snacking on any soaked vegetation.
“They’re voracious eaters!” Maman Cecile sighed, watching a particularly very portly nutria much on her garlic-soaked rose bush. Desperate, Maman Cecile, inspired by her nutria “la sagesse des âges” knowledge, decided to engage in a soapy warfare.
She dubbed it Opération Baigne-Bulle, her version of polite pest control delivered by attaching a spray container to the garden hose. She knew water wasn’t going to deter them, but a sudsy Dawn Original of Destruction mixed with distilled white vinegar in their living room burrow might move them.
But the nutria, those crafty devils, simply swam out, climbed onto her prized container grown Knock Out Roses she’d been babying since forever. They were caught “pogné la main dans le sac” handed munching on the blooms. That for her was a full act of war declaration.
Next, they tried building and burying a fence of chicken wire weighed down by her hoard of soft red clay St. Joe’s Mississippi River batture clay. All traditionally handmade in wooden molded fashion, with a long history since 1891 down along the Pearl River. She could even still remember when her Papa brought a team of horses pulling the wagon of bricks from Lafayette.
That was a failed effort when the nutria simply got the best of them and cast out all of the chicken wire and bricks like they were crumbs being swept from the kitchen floor. Soon the next evening, as the sun dipped into the swamp, Maman Cecile had an epiphany. “Dorothee, remember that old story about Coypou Pierre C. Shadeaux?”
“The nutria that started the whole predicting the weather farce? Like today, but now with all the Brenda "The Barometer Barbie" weather girls in scanty clothes pretending to be meteorologists and a team of nutria for stars?”
Growing more weary in the battle, Dorothee not only remembered, but agreed. “Maman, that makes sense, what if they really want to be famous too?” Maybe they will go viral on social media and leave!
So they commenced building a tiny stage out in the water with a miniature weather station. They even found a “Le Chapeau Feutre du Marais aux Écrevisses,”top hat for Pierre C. Shadeaux, who hails from New Iberia. He is a particularly plump nutria. Dorothee, with her best voice over of a busty weather girl voice, announced, “And now, the prediction from the world-famous Nutria News Bayou Tranquility Network!”
The nutria, partly out of guilt and perhaps flattered, or confused, emerged from their unwanted squatters burrow beneath the cabin. They dove into the water, a clear sign of an early spring (or so everyone hoped after that shocking once-in-a-lifetime snow in Louisiana event.
It was mutually agreed upon by all parties, considering their new found viral Le Tik-Toc du Bayou fame, led to an agreement that the house or buildings would be finally abandoned. Maman Cecile and Dorothee celebrated with a “Le Jus de Grenouille Joie.” Both toasting their cleverness and the odd orange-toothed creatures that had given them a valuable lesson.
You see, even the most troublesome of critters (or neighbors) in a nation wide housing shortage and habitat loss around the world, just want a little fame and maybe a virtual floating social media platform to call their own. As a bonus they might get a more reliable good weather report because as everyone knows, Mother Nature’s creatures know weather better than any human ever could. And if all else fails, a little bit of understanding another’s culture coupled with a bit of Cajun charm can go a long way to peaceful coexistence.
Our tales are 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.
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