I grew up on the northern end of the Mississippi River.  The part of the river that you can walk across without getting your feet wet.  The area of the river inhabited by people who’s excitement consists of shoveling snow and swatting mosquitoes.  The area of the river where a night on the town includes either: a) Legion/VFW Hall b) church social c) fishing d) a little lunch.Or more often then not, all of the above.

Our little farmstead lay about forty miles as the crow flies from the very headwaters of the “Father of all Waters.”  Yet their was little connection to those that lived downriver.  There was no blues, no jazz, no longing for Beal Street, no desire to walk Bourbon Street, no desire to live the life of the seemingly carefree people on the other end of the river.

Stoic and stubborn to the bitter end, we were good, hardworking Czechs, Germans, Norwegians, Swedes, and Fins…and the Fins were a little too rambunctious for the rest of us….

But somewhere along the line, I get mixed up with a bad crowd.

For the seventh year in a row, I’ve been involved with an event much more in-line with the far end of the river, those Cajuns and Creoles way down south where the Mighty Mississippi meets the clear waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

I’ll admit it.  I’m involved with a crawfish boil.

The event has grown and evolved from a simple celebration of spring with some crawfish, potatoes, corn, and beer and a handful of friends in a garage into a bonafied event with ninety pounds of crawfish, forty pounds of sausage, forty pounds of potatoes, corn, spices, kegs of beer, and well over a hundred friends served up on the back patio of a very small town type bar in the middle of the largest city in Minnesota.

And last year even a Cajun band to boot!

I’ll admit, for a man with such strong northern roots, it is hard to believe that for at least one day a year I’ve become so gulfified (Cajuafied?  Creolinated?  Mississipianianified?), but it’s true.

While the celebration may be more New Orleans then Bemidji, the spirit is universal.  It is about good friends, good food, and enjoying good company.  It is less about the crawfish (aka “mudbugs”) and more about friendship.  It has less to do with cooking and more about getting people from diverse backgrounds, faiths, and creeds together to celebrate and break bread…er…crawfish together.

Regardless where you are, what your background, what your financial situation, or how stoic your raising, we all need a little more goodwill, a little more celebration, a little more gratitude for what we have, even if all we have are friends, for often in this world, that is enough.

This year, with its financial melt down, with its global unrest, with its rancor and ill will towards our fellow men - this year, more then ever - we need a crawfish boil, or lefse feed, or clam bake, or back yard garden party.  This year, more then ever, we need to realize that our riches lie in not what we have, but in who we help and serve.  Our riches lie not in our bank accounts, but in those that help and support us.

So get the pot a boiling and the Zydeco music playing and enjoy the riches that surround you in your friends and family.