Columns

I am becoming increasingly convinced that if I dig just two feet down at any place in my yard, I will dig into a huge underground sea of fire ants. It may spread for miles and miles.
Why else would it be that I can dump granules “guaranteed to kill the queen, destroy the colony, and wreak general mayhem on antdom,” and within hours find a new hill just two feet away from the old one?
The ants just scoff at my efforts and move a few doors down. I swear that I’ve heard a chorus of subterranean laughter as I patrolled my yard for ant hills.

Louisiana’s French speakers were in serious demand during World War II, especially when interpreters were needed as GIs fought their way across France after D-Day. But south Louisiana’s French speakers were also wanted for their fighting ability and even their typing skills.
Men from south Louisiana caught the eye of the Marine Corps early in the war. At the beginning of 1942, the brass sent Capt. Bob Mouton, a former congressman and a member of the Marine Reserves, into the byways to “get the best men from the bayou country.”

As we struggle through the changes brought on by the coronavirus outbreak, I am reminded of the 1980s, when a disastrous downturn in the oil industry turned south Louisiana topsy-turvy.
We’d boasted back then that our oil and gas made Louisiana recession-proof, that we had something everyone else needed, and nothing could change that. When others complained about oil prices, we put stickers on our bumpers: “Let the [blankety-blanks] freeze in the dark.”