For CJ Mayeux of central Louisiana, catching crawfish alongside ancient cypress trees is a family tradition that leads to memory-filled gatherings.
Story by Keith Lusher
In Louisiana, crawfish mark the changing of seasons in a way few things do, bringing people together around pots, tables, and traditions that feel as old as the state itself. They signal spring without the need for a calendar, turning ordinary weekends into gatherings and meals into events. Crawfish are not simply something Louisianans eat. They are something people anticipate, plan around, and return to year after year.
For CJ Mayeux, crawfish season isn’t confined to a few spring months. It is a way of life built slowly over time, shaped by family and years spent in the swamp. CJ was born in Bunkie, a small town in central Louisiana, where crawfish were part of everyday life. Some of his earliest memories involve catching crawfish along roadside ditches with his brother Danny, using simple string-and-wire shallow water nets. The brothers would check the nets with a broomstick with a nail sticking out of the end. The Mayeux’s crawfish were never purchased from a market. They were something you caught.
That early familiarity followed CJ into adulthood. In the late 1970s, he began crawfishing commercially, working the waters of the Atchafalaya Basin, a floodplain of swamps and bayous that stretches across south-central Louisiana. What began as a way to make ends meet soon became his livelihood.
During crawfish season, the work was relentless. CJ and his brother lived out of a floating camp in the spillway, fishing daily and returning home only briefly before heading back out.
“Back then, if you were getting twenty-five to thirty-five cents a pound, you were doing good,” CJ says. “Really good.”
When the crawfish season finally wound down in early July, CJ and his brother didn’t haul everything home. They hung their traps in the trees along the spillway, lifting them out of the water and leaving them there until the following year without locks or chains. There was an understanding that what belonged to you would still be there when you came back. Months later, when the water rose again and the season returned, the traps were waiting, untouched.
Over the course of his lifetime, CJ has watched the demand for crawfish increase. What was once a largely local tradition gradually grew into a widespread one.
“Back in the seventies and eighties, you didn’t hear about people eating crawfish in Texas or other states,” CJ says. “That just wasn’t a thing back then.”
These days, Crawfish boils are more common, drawing crowds well beyond immediate family. Crawfish began shipping out of state, and prices steadily climbed. What had once been a regional custom became a defining symbol of Louisiana culture.
“Today, nobody turns down the opportunity to go to a crawfish boil,” CJ says.
