Butte La Rose

Bonjour!
Curtis “PT” Boudreaux: a quiet, reserved man he was, never having much to say. He was known for his compassion for others and love for his family. I remember when we were young he had a mild stutter. He’d make small comical remarks with always having a little grin on his lips. He was cool.
A typical Catahoula Cajun, PT was. He did not fear of dying, he was worried about leaving his children alone although they’re all adults. His wife, Lee Anna, died at a very young age when their kids were very young. He was very protective of them. He did a great job guiding them into adults. Their four daughters; Donna Reed, Patty, Iris and Denise, and two sons, Clint and Shelby, along with their spouses, 11 grand-children and 17 great-grandchildren.
He loved gardening, cutting his grass and cooking outside for his family, playing his harmonica and listening to Cajun music, which brought joy to his life. His twin brother, Shirlis “Gros,” died a few years ago. They were inseparable. PT loved to play his harmonica while Gros played his guitar. They played their music for family functions. PT honorably served his country in the National Guard for 10 years. If you want more details, go to www.pellerinfuneralhome.com and sign their guest book.
In my childhood, we lived about a half mile down the road from PT’s house. We were first cousins. Many Sunday mornings when I’d sneak away from mama’s eyes, I’d jump the ditch across from our house, cross through the barb wire fence and run through the fields to go to Tante Jeanne’s house to catch a ride to church with my cousins. PT always drove their car. I was about twelve when I found this little trick to go to Sunday Mass. And I look back and know now sometimes there was not enough room for me, but they always found a space to squeeze me in. And never did they complain. I kept my childhood secret for many years till I wrote it in my book.
Coming back from church every time, it was like a ritual, never missed, there on their table Tante Jeanne put potted meat and crackers and bread waiting for my cousins Sunday breakfast. God it smelled so good. I was always offered, even insisting I sit and eat with them. But would not. I felt I was already abusing their kindness by forcing myself on this ride to church. And if I’d eat their food they might not let me ride with them anymore. Dumb way to think, did not know any better. Sometimes I’d sneak back to our house without mama noticing I’d been missing. But Lordy when she did catch me, that meant a whipping. It is funny thinking back now.
PT farmed the earlier years of his married life. Learned it from his papa Nonce Tanno while the horse and wagons were still used for harvesting sugar cane. When tractors became affordable in mid-to-late 1940s, lordy, lordy, changed a new way to farm a living.
At the turn of the 1950s Mallard Well Service came to town and brought new hope to this area. Many of our men flocked to the oilfield for work. Several years after PT left farming he went to the oil patch. Farmers from here share cropped the farms. The land was not theirs. I presume that some stopped farming to go to the oilfield. Then they were able to buy lots and build their own homes. They left the sharecropper farm where they were no longer tenants. The cemetery in Catahoula where PT is buried is on the same soil that my papa farmed.

Cousine Hélène
337-280-1988.
helenboudreaux@juno.com