“The Cajun…. may be forgiven for being proud: for at one time he was the ‘poor folks’ of the swamps. Then he took a land that nobody else wanted and turned it into something special: he made it his.”

From The Longest Street by Tanya Brady Ditto

It’s personal for me – the Gulf oil spill. Certainly not to the same degree as for the folks whose lives and livelihoods have been thrown into chaos and uncertainty. But I’ve gotten to know some of them during visits to southwestern Louisiana over the last few years. I’ve seen their joie de vivre and determination to hang onto their unique culture in the face of an increasingly homogenized world. I’ve experienced their generous hospitality. So when I see those pictures of oil gushing into the Gulf waters, the gooey globs floating on the surface, and the oil-soaked shores and marshes, I’m also seeing familiar faces.

I see the Lafourcheaise, citizens of Lafourche parish, an hour south and slightly west of New Orleans. Mostly marshlands, swamps, Bayou Lafourche and shrimping villages, it was the first place my husband, Peter, and I visited when first venturing into Cajun country. We’d come for The French Food Festival, an almost 40-year-old annual event in Larose, population 7,500. Under a circus tent erected at the juncture of Bayou Lafourche and the Intercoastal Waterway, booths manned by churches, civic groups and local organizations offered a staggering variety of local specialties: alligator sauce piquante, oyster po-boys, shrimp boulettes, seafood pistolettes, boudin, beignets, tartes a la bouille…...

Taking a break from sampling, Peter and I stumbled upon some smaller tents. There were cooking and traditional craft demonstrations as well as one by the Bayou Hunting Retriever Club. But we stopped for the panel discussion about the local crab and shrimp industry, because I’d recently become aware of the effect cheap, farmed shrimp from Southeast Asia was having on American shrimpers. “Panel discussion” sounds formal; this consisted of three guys in ball caps and blue jeans, rears perched on a conference table, and about a dozen folks on folding chairs listening and asking questions. Generally they were upbeat. Though unhappy about the imported shrimp effect on prices, they were confident that their wildcaught shrimp were superior. Shrimp and crabs were plentiful, especially the crabs, which one called “the cockroaches of the sea.” Sounds distasteful, but his point was that the supply was so abundant that overfishing would never be a problem, and that crabs could withstand conditions harmful to other seafood. His biggest problem was finding enough workers to pick the crabmeat from the shells at his small processing facility.

Back under the big top, Waylon Thibodeaux’s band was tuning up. The lawn chairs folks brought had earlier been arranged in rows parallel to the stage for the Queens’ Crowns Auction (there were three, based on age), Texas Hold-em Tournament and Children’s Costume Contest. But now the chairs formed three sides of a large rectangle in front of the stage. When the music started we found out why: the rectangle immediately filled with dancers. There were dancers of all ages and abilities, from preteen couples through seniors. Grandfathers waltzed with tiny granddaughters standing on their feet; a mom and grade-school son perfectly executed the two-step. It was our first Cajun dance, and we were entranced – and not a little envious.

I see the folks working and eating at boiling points such as the Guiding Star in New Iberia and Richard’s Seafood Patio in Abbeville. Boiling points serve primarily – often only – seafood that’s boiled in a spicy broth, along with red potatoes, smoked sausage, whole onions and corn. Some are only open during crawfish season, which lasts roughly from late January through June. But most also have shrimp throughout the year, and crabs when crawfish aren’t available. (Louisiana crawfish are sustainably farmed in rice fields and not affected by the oil spill; after the rice is harvested in the fall, the fields are flooded and “seeded” with crawfish spawn; they are freshwater shellfish, not actually seafood.) Boiling points are about as far as you can get from fine dining, unless the “fine” refers to the shellfish’s quality. They’re served heaped on plastic beer trays, with an empty plastic cup for mixing condiments: hot sauces, mayonnaise and horseradish. You’ll know you’re in a real boiling point if you see a sink for hand-washing inside the dining room. Beer is the beverage of choice.

I see the oil-rig divers we’ve met at the Blue Moon in Layfayette. The Blue Moon Saloon and Guest House has become our home-away-