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“Feeling Sequimish”
Mark Couhig
Contact Mark at mcouhig@sequimgazette.com
Mark Couhig has been a writer for more than 50 years.  
His first experience with the written word arrived at a very early age when he was required to painstakingly hand-trace dotted lines in a notebook, a process that led first to a mastery of the straight, purely angular letters of the English alphabet. He soon turned his attention to the curved letters, exhibiting a full proficiency in that skill by the end of his seventh year.
Before another year had passed, Couhig had begun to cluster letters into meaningful compositions, an accomplishment for which he was awarded a coveted gold star, the first-ever public acknowledgement of his extraordinary aptitude with words.
In time he would take these words and strategically create further clusters, which he called “sentences.”
Paragraphs soon followed.
In the third grade Couhig learned the skill of cursive writing, allowing him to greatly expand and accelerate his output.
Over the ensuing months and years Couhig’s now-renown facility for dramatic narrative developed. He was able to work the delicate filigree of fiction — dramatic, purposeful action that engages the reader — to a degree that astonished Ms. Sweeney, his teacher and mentor. Of one of Couhig’s early works, “Run, Tom, Run,” she wrote, “I’m so proud of you.”  
As his facility with words grew, so too did his worldview, aided in part by his assiduous readings of “The Weekly Reader,” which he continues to regard as a formative influence in his later, more mature works.
In the fifth grade, Couhig’s repertoire and love of the written word translated to a sterling turn on the stage as Shepherd No. 3 in a new and dynamic dramatic reading of the Gospel According to Luke, a popular work of the time.
Approximately 50 years later Couhig moved to Sequim where he writes a blog.  

Awnree da Fift at Opelousas

Published on Wed, Sep 12, 2012
Read More Couhig



BOUDREAUX. O, lawdy. Dat raht now we had us here 
   Fo' or tree o' dem lazy bayou rats 
   Home fishin dis mo'nin' like erry day.
  
AWNREE. Who dat say dat? 
    Iz 'at you cuz? Mais, it do'n matta none; 
    If we gon' kick dat bucket, we enuf 
    To make Acadiane most sore hurt;
    And if we get on, well, da less us,
    Da bettah we gon look when we done did.
    Gawd's sake! Don't go axin' for even one more. 
    Choooh! I don't care nuttin for dat gold stuff, 
    An' I don't ahnvee what udders eatin'; 
    No boo-day, me, if my blous' it gets stole; 
    Dese tings is jes nuttin, lees' to my min'. 
    But if iss bad to want dat honor, mais,  
    Den I'm the baddess man dat evuh wuz. 
    Mais non, coo zanh, ax for nun dem in town. 
    Lawd knows I ain't gon to miss out on dis,
    And jes hanover what's comin' to me. 

    Spread da word, Thibodeaux, to errybody,

    If you ain't got stomach for dis fit,
    You can vamoose; wid a ass kick to boot.
    I'll make da bill for da bus, dat's for true; 
    None a us wants to ride wit dat cooyan 
    Who ain't got da bon couer to die wid us. 
    At da church, dey cerebratin San Crispi'.
    All dem who make it tru and gets back home, 
    Gon erry year drink beaucoup beer dat day,
    And in Crispi's name rouller les bon temps! 
    Even when his prospect is all swoll up, 
    He spread dat big pig and light da fayhr, 
    Den call out, 'Duhmara is San Crispi's!' 
    He'll jerk up dat chemise, show all dem scars, 
    And tell da folks, 'Got dem from Crispi's day.'
    Old man's mem'ry ain't too good; but all gawn, 
    He'll make vay-yay, wit peoples lissen up, 
    To all his bad tale. An den usses names, 
    Which he recall like da back o' his hand — 
    Awnree da kang, LaFourche and Lafayette, 
    Broussard and Bourgeois, Prejean and Babineaux —
    Will wit da wine be spoke of plenty. 
    Da parrain will learn his godson da tale; 
    And Crispi' Crispianne won't never go by, 
    From dis very day till kingdom it come, 
    When we ain't tawked of high and mightily.
    Jes us, ma frans, us Cajun confreres. 
    Cause all dem who gets bloody wit me t'day
    He is my brudder; I don't care how nasty;
    Dis fight will make him all da bettah fo' it. 
    And all dem from da Ville now on da bayh,
    Will get a ser'ous case of de chew rouge, 
    An' dey keep dem moufs shut, when any tawks, 
    Dat fighted wid us at San Crispi's day.
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