Legend has it that about two centuries ago, before the arrival of the Acadian exiles, a peaceful Indian village in what is now St. Martin Parish completely disappeared when the earth opened up and swallowed the entire camp.

My Uncle Cheese has been catching crawfish one way or another since 1938. In February, March and April of this year, I tagged along as he went crawfishing in the Atchafalaya Basin, and I photographed the entire process from bait to boil.

Unlike other recipes where the figs get lost in the dough, the spiral shape of this cookie highlights the fig and achieves the perfect proportion of texture, chew and crunch.

Because of their tartness, blackberries, in my opinion, are best eaten in a cobbler or in a pie, rather than right off the vine. So when blackberries came into season recently, and I found myself with a bucketful, I went looking for a good pie recipe.

The story behind the contest to name Evangeline’s Daughter

I had heard of black bears in the Basin. I never imagined I would see one in Catahoula. But there it was, two Thanksgivings ago, toddling across the turn-row of the cane-field, so close I could see its nose.

St. Martin Parish is ideal for kayaking. Not only because of the sheer number of waterways, but also because of the extraordinary variety of waterways. Bayous, bays, lakes, coulées, even a major river, shapeshifting from season to season

Running a restaurant can be a game of cold numbers. The St. John Restaurant in downtown St. Martinville goes through two thousand pounds of cucumbers every year and three thousand pounds of tomatoes. Thousands of heads of lettuce and tens of thousands of peppers.

The St. Martinville Garden Club will be celebrating the recently renovated Evangeline Oak Park with events scheduled throughout the month of April. For the first time in the city’s history, over the course of five events, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie will be read in its entirety, beginning and ending under the legendary oak.

Evangeline was unwell. You could see it in Her lackluster crown, leaf-bald in places, and in the meager crop of acorns She begrudgingly sprouted. A creeping fig vine, starting out innocently enough as an ornamental ground cover in the 1980s, had escaped its intended location and had managed to scale the trunk of the legendary oak, growing tighter, more leafy and more woody every year, tighter even to the point of cutting into Evangeline’s bark.

Photographing a bayou is mostly about how early in the morning you’re willing to wake up. The camera is the easy part.

Catahoula Lake is filling up with silt. The small lake in St. Martin Parish is now so shallow in places that grassy mounds can be seen poking up through the surface of the water throughout the year, and it’s hard to get a boat across the belly of the lake without your motor grinding mud. The good news is that a parish public works project aimed at restoring depth to the lake is currently underway.

A term paper presented to Dr. Benjamin Kaplan, Southeastern Louisiana Institute, in partial fulfillment of the requirements for credit in Sociology 371G—Marie D. Eastin—May, 1960

The state wildflower of Louisiana is officially the Louisiana iris, and who, having seen her purple petals in person, would deny her her celebrity status? Some even trace the roots of the fleur-de-lis symbol, so central to Louisiana’s mythology, back to a wild iris, fittingly, and not a lily. And the spectrum of her petals befits her grandeur, too: purple, purple-red, purple-black, purple-blue. Horticulturists create hybrids in her honor. But this is a story about another Louisiana wildflower. She isn’t an official anything. She’s basically a weed.

Three small wild persimmons still attached to the same fallen branch crown a rowdy pile of bigger fallen branches. I strike a match. The bed of brittle cypress leaves lying feathered at the bottom of the pile sparkles and sends up sparks.

Pecan cake is probably my favorite way to enjoy pecans. I’ll take a slice of pecan cake over a piece of pecan pie any day of the week.

At the cottage I’m surrounded by trees and plants. My dad has kept a garden—usually several gardens at any given time—for as long as I can remember, and my mom has always made sure that the patio area and outdoor spaces were alive with flowers and ferns and interesting ivies and vines.