If you grew up in south Louisiana and your grandparents were true Cajuns, you know better than to plant anything on Good Friday. My Maw Maw always told me (and she grew the best tomatoes I've ever eaten), "Don't dig in the dirt on Good Friday or the ground will bleed!"

I understand you may want to back away slowly right about now, but that's one of the many superstitions our Cajun ancestors passed down. I'm an educated woman with a relatively sane head on my shoulders, but even I don't tempt the Cajun fates.

It would seem those who came before us to this amazing place we call home were not the only ones who believed that you shouldn't plant on Good Friday. This past Sunday, I opened my church bulletin, and my pastor, Fr. Mikel Polson, had a wonderful message about the subject as well.

He referenced a custom of farmers, writing:

... on Good Friday, they were not to disturb the earth in any way, for that is the day that the Blood of Christ was poured into the earth for our salvation.

Fr. Mikel's message on Palm Sunday really struck a chord with me about the solemnity of the day. His gentle reminder helped to bring me closer to the true meaning of the Easter season.

So my barren garden will sit for an extra day, as it does every year. This time, Maw Maw will be smiling because I have a greater appreciation for the reason behind it.

Thank you for the reminder, Fr. Mikel.

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