CCJC Audio Podcast Episode 54, Season 2
This morning when the news announced that some of this years Mardi Gras parades and events would have to be postponed due to still another weather event, here at Cajun Chronicles Podcast Corporation, after we dried out our Patagonia wind jackets, tugged off llse Jacobsen brightly colored boots, and shook out umbrellas before storing them.
We all had a good laugh over Flour Moon bagels and Blue Dot donuts, Maturin Daigle entertained us with a Louisiana story from the POV of swamp critters. As a Type 2 Diabetic he often distracts himself watching others devour such sugary delights, happily munching on his diabetic friendly homemade breakfast treats.
On such a rainy day, as our video and camera man on the street, he’s stuck inside with us. It’s a rare day to enjoy his wit and storytelling skills for us all.
He swears it’s true, some Fish Crow told him:
The Sticky Truth About After The Mardi Gras Party Is Over
There was that year when the Mississippi River and the sky joined forces to audition for being better than Niagara Falls during Mardi Gras. Bayou Boogie wind, not to be outdone. Well . . . It also decided to do the Zydeco 2-step tango with rooftops and trees. That was a year that the swamp critters swore they’ll never forget.
This was especially true for Maurice, a Common Muskrat and Grand Marshal of the Krewe de la Limp Bizkit. They were a motley crew of soggy Nine Banded armadillos and a few bewildered South American adopted nutria.
Complaining, Maurice grumbled to his best gal pal, “I tell you Delphine,” his whiskers dropping like overcooked Fettuccine spaghetti noodles, “That greased pole? It ain’t greased no more. It’s sticky. Like a pecan praline that had a fight with a honey pot and lost. Be glad you and your Snowy Egret Krewe des Floatsam Finders are flying above all that mess.”
The traditional usually triumphant greased pole contest, a highlight of recent years' events, that awful year had become a scene of utter, hilarious chaos. Stupid humans, slick with the combination of rain and whatever that sticky stuff was, plus a thin layer of glitter that seemed to defy the laws of physics were to blame.
The stuff was clinging to the poles and upright columns everywhere like confused sequined sloths escaped from the zoo in the last hurricane trying to get back home to South America. Every attempt to ascend resulted in a slow agonizing push pull slide back down, leaving behind a trail of gutter gravy sticky residue.
“Look at them,” Delphine sighed, her elegant neck drooping. “The tourists bring all this stuff! Beads, Solo cups, plastic cocktail glasses, glitter, and the remnants of a thousand King Cakes. Even worse they leave it, like a flock of migrating rats with wings pigeons with a severe case of amnesia.”
Listening to all of this, the Bayou Boogie wind meanwhile was having his own grand old time. He whipped plastic cups into whirling dervishes. He sent discarded feather boas soaring like confused pink, purple and gold kites. He ripped all the banners from storefronts, turning them into impromptu, soggy sails.
“It’s a metaphor, Maurice,” Delphine sighed, watching a human frantically chase a runaway vinyl alligator. “A big wet glittery metaphor for how humans treat our home and their own home.” The aftermath of each night of Mardi Gras is always a spectacle, a crime against humanity and Mother Nature. The streets, normally vibrant in color, become a soup of swampy discarded beads, broken umbrellas, and soggy cardboard.
The cleanup crews, a legion of super humans in bright neon work vests, are battling a tide of trash that seems to multiply with every minute. I hate it. I’m sure they do too!
“They’re working hard,” Maurice admitted, watching a human struggle to untangle a string of beads from a storm drain. “But they’re always cleaning up. Always. It’s like they expect the swamp to just swallow the human vomit of trash up. Their tiny paws clutching repurposed plastic bags. They were pickup up the smaller pieces of salvageable, edible littler, a tiny impoverished starving army against the sinful mountains of debris.”
“Look at them,” Delphine said, a hint of Mother Nature instilled pride in her voice. “They understand all of this is a sin. They know we just can’t leave things like this.”
“But they are just habitat loss refugee raccoons,” Maurice said, his voice laced with sadness.
“And yet they’re doing more than most humans today,” Delphine retorted. “It’s not about being perfect. It’s about trying to solve problems. It’s about remembering that this entire planet is our home too. It’s about realizing that even a little bit of effort, picking up a single cup you or someone else dropped, a bead strung around where it landed . . . it’s small but can make a difference.”
As the sun began to peek through the rain clouds, casting a golden glow on the now soggy street, Maurice felt a flicker of hope. He looked at the helper humans, tired but determined to do their jobs, at the raccoon arm, still diligently collecting what could be saved in the debris.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice now softer,” Perhaps we can teach them. We could show them that even the biggest, most famous party town and state, can lead the way to find solutions to cleaning up together. Maybe next year, the Bayou Boogie winds won’t have so much to carry, and the heavens won’t rain in sorrow to wash away.”
Delphine nodded, her eyes reflecting the dawn’s golden light. “I hope you are right Maurice. Let’s do our best to inspire not only the locals but the tourists to leave a little less behind. Let’s show them how to treat our home, their home away from home, with the same respect that those little raccoons with no natural homes anymore do.”
Those two swamp critters knew as they watched the humans begin the long process of cleanup and restoration, that the real magic of Mardi Gras wasn’t just in the partying parades. It was the spirit of Louisiana resilience, the willingness to clean up after the party was over. It’s all about how someday soon we could unite and do a little better. Now that’s a message worth spreading, even if it came with a side of sticky, praline-flavored pole storytelling climbing chaos.
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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