FIND YOUR KREWE A Louisiana native reclaims her Mardi Gras spirit in the Triangle by ADDIE LADNER
J
anuary 6, 2019: True to form, I move mountains, starting at dawn, to get everyone loaded up and out the door for Mass. It’s the Feast of the Epiphany and I’m ready to kick off another Mardi Gras season here in Raleigh. I'm up extra-early to get a king cake started and wake the kids with Zydeco music. Despite my best efforts, we're still late—and spend the entire Mass wrangling children who are barely able to pay attention. But then our 4-year-old recognizes the word “epiphany” and squeals, “Mardi Gras!” I’m embarrassed but also pleased as punch
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that my kids will know what this holiday is, after all. The Mardi Gras they’ll know is a stark contrast to the one I grew up with, but it’s better than no Mardi Gras at all. We’ll spend the next two months baking and passing out king cakes to local friends. We’ll listen to The Meters every morning as we pull down our bag of beads and masks; we’ll transform shoe boxes into miniature Mardi Gras floats. Laissez les bons temps rouler, I say! I was raised near New Orleans and went to college in Mobile, Alabama, so Mardi Gras was a holiday with as much significance as Christmas—schools even
get a full week off to celebrate. The festivities aren’t limited to just one day: they start exactly on the Feast of the Epiphany (which is always January 6) and carry on through Fat Tuesday (which varies year-to-year; usually mid-February or early March). Growing up, king cake was consumed regularly and many weekends were spent entirely at parades, where you’re expected and even encouraged to yell and plead for, essentially, junk. In return, you’d end up with bags of shiny plastic beads, doubloons and MoonPies that lingered in cars, homes and sidewalks for weeks.
Getty Images (FENCE, FEATHER); courtesy Oakwood (KREWE); courtesy Addie Ladner (CHILD)
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