That’s pretty much all My Mama said while touring this charming town.
As I’ve said many times, Mom has a major sweet tooth, so naturally, we started our exploration of the quaint town of Abbeville, Louisiana, by checking out these monster syrup containers.
Mom read that Steen’s Pure Cane Syrup was created by Charlie Steen. The fourth generation of old Charlie’s family still runs the business. Charlie’s syrup came from the devil of necessity, as with most wonderful creations.
Back in the winter of 1910, old Charlie Steen’s sugar crop was crippled by an early winter freeze. Instead of accepting the sugar loss, Charlie built himself a small mill where he made a few barrels of syrup from his ruined crops.
The surrounding farmers traded their sugar cane for sugar, thus supporting Charlie’s new business. He enjoyed the endeavor so much that he went into the syrup business.
In the 1930’s Charlie, his wife Elizabeth, and their kids built a new plant in the heart of Abbeville on the banks of the Bayou Vermilion.
Steen’s Cane Syrup is made from 100 percent natural ingredients. It contains no additives, preservatives, synthetic flavoring, food color or added sugar. That means no corn syrup mucking up the two-legged’s insides!
Mom loves it & drizzles it on everything, and if “everything” isn’t available, she licks her finger. Mom did put a drop on my doggy biscuit. Honestly, I’d rather have bacon.
This is the courthouse. Mom thought it looked quaint. I was glad she didn’t make me pose in front of it.
The sheriff’s office had a pretty green awning instead of bold, harsh black heavy metal letters. Maybe Abbeville is more of a 1960’s Andy Griffith and Opie kinda town.
Mom had an inkling to create a disturbance to experience the inside. I quickly talked her off that ledge. I strongly feel my priorities are perfectly placed. I mean, if My Mama’s in the slammer who’s gonna feed the dog?
The city park was the next stop. The town fountain is loud and splatters water. Mom kept coaxing me closer to the menace until I finally put my paws down and said, “Enough.”
I told Mom I didn’t care how cute she thought it was; it made me want to run to the hot auto and hide. Mom understood so she loosened her demands, and we sauntered to the next “sit and smile” spot.
They have concerts close to this majestic old tree in this city park. Mom LOVES trees, so seeing the town place braces under the tree’s weighted limbs misted My Mama’s eyes.
I was relieved the heavy tree arms were supported; I didn’t have to worry about a possible neck fracture while posing for the silly picture.
The same park, but these trees were tall, straight, and naked. For some peculiar reason, Mom thought that was interesting.
The 70-mile-long Vermilion River is a bayou that runs through Abbeville.
Every time we turned around, there was another lift bridge. Mom’s lift-bridge enchantment has drastically faded since we have been in southern Louisiana.
Every river needs a boat.
At this point during the day, Me and Mom are tired and hungry. I get locked in the car with a crusty bowl of warm water while Mom goes highfalutin into a cozy Italian restaurant.
How fair is that? I’m doing all the work while Mom puts the phone against her face and pushes a button.
She was the only guest, so the service was excellent, as was the bread and pasta.
After a few days back in camp, Mom started daydreaming about that bread! I’m sure we’ll head back in that direction when My Mama’s willpower has ebbed.
Mom was told that the Abbeville Catholic cemetery has super old grave markers, and Steen’s great-great-grandson told Mom about the Masonic Temple graveyard. The Masonic graveyard sounded more exotic to Mom, so off we went.
This says DR. D.W. & L.R. White Born Dec 1. 1879 / Died Sept. 9. 1894. Mom thought it was interesting that someone was still putting flowers by the gravesite.
Here rests Maggie May White. Born Jany.25 .1882 / Died Jany. 15. 1888
This is a close-up of the headstone.
Mom didn’t think it appropriate for me to pose on or with the gravesites, so I explored while she took pictures. Mom pleaded with me passionately, “Please do not pee on any graves.” I’m happy to say I complied.
This entrance to the resting place of the dead tells who donated the land for Masons & Protestants to be buried. Actually, I don’t think anyone in southern Louisana gets buried. The water table is too high. Entombed is probably the better word choice.
Mom has always been curious about the Freemason organization; she included this definition.
“Freemasonry, the teachings and practices of the fraternal (men-only) order of Free and Accepted Masons, the largest worldwide secret society—an oath-bound society, often devoted to fellowship, moral discipline, and mutual assistance, that conceals at least some of its rituals, customs, or activities from the public (secret societies do not necessarily conceal their membership or existence). Spread by the advance of the British Empire, Freemasonry remains most popular in the British Isles and in other countries originally within the empire. Estimates of the worldwide membership of Freemasonry in the early 21st century ranged from about two million to more than six million.”
My poor Mama read many articles on the Masonic Religion and wrote a four-page paper to share with you. I told her repeatedly that this was MY fun blog, not a space to start talking about religion. Geez! Y’all are very lucky I spoke reason, and Mom listened.
My blogging about Abbeville and Palmetto State Park has come to an end. The following blogs will be about our time in Cypermort Point State Park, where Mom is hosting instead of simply living the life of a camper.