My grandfather’s black felt Stetson hat is a treasured keepsake of the tall and lanky man with the sparkling sapphire eyes.
As newlyweds, my grandparents traveled the Atchafalaya Basin by houseboat. Pop fished and trapped squirrels and raccoons for a living.
When his family grew — eventually with three sons and five daughters — he became a farmer and tilled the land with a mule-drawn plow and raised pigs, chickens and cattle. He also enjoyed raising pigeons, letting them fly freely over the canopy of pecan trees on the family farm, called “The Old Place.”
Though he did not have many years of formal schooling, Pop Duce, French for “sweet,” could rattle off all the names of trees, birds and wildflowers. He knew his way around the Basin, even the “secret” spots. Every feature of his property was familiar, from the oldest tree to the section of the barbed wire fence that needed mending because of an ornery bull.
It was Pop who gave the family dog the name “Get Back.” Pop did not welcome the dog jumping on him; so he often told the beagle mix to “get back” and the name stuck.
Pop bought 100 acres of lush woodland a few miles away from the family farm and named it “Hope.” What an inspirational name we thought! Then we learned that the name was actually derived from a Louisiana penal farm from the early 1900s known as “Hope State Farm.”
Faded denim dungarees with a long-sleeve shirt and neatly rolled-up sleeves was his daily attire. For formal occasions, he always wore his one black suit and tie and, of course, his Stetson.
Keeping up with the world’s goings on, especially Louisiana politics, was important to Pop. He woke up when the rooster crowed and couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly stay in bed under the covers any later than 6 in the morning.
Once he finished his breakfast of couche-couche or lost bread, he read the newspaper. He skimmed it again before bedtime in case he had missed anything.
One bright autumn day, we brought Mom and Pop to the Baton Rouge zoo. How he enjoyed whistling, waving his arms and calling out “Jo” to the giraffe and gazelles, just like he did to the cows on his farm. Every last one of his cows on the farm was called “Jo.”
Pop seemed content with his simple life and cypress cabin. While rocking on his front porch on Sundays, he and my grandmother were surrounded by their children and grandchildren to share jokes and news in French. During summertime visits, we often cranked out homemade cherry vanilla ice cream. Musicians in our family entertained by playing the accordion and fiddle and singing old favorites.
Pop was well versed in home remedies. During flu season, he concocted an adult tonic which was a mix of warmed up whiskey, honey and lemon.
I don’t remember my grandfather ever getting sick! And maybe that’s why he lived until his mid-90s.
— Poché lives in Lafayette
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