Homesteading in 2020

Donna Crisp on Facebook page: WIlder, TN

Welcome to Spring 2020.  Here I am homeschooling my children, baking my own sandwich bread and grinding cornmeal because the store’s shelves are bare.  While I know a lot of history – and frankly have learned a lot of homesteading skills from grandparents that always feared we’d have to go back to those early ways – I’m feeling sorely ill-prepared. There are a bunch of places on the web where you can read all about modern-day homesteading and I’m thinking of checking out some of those sites as the hazy-future looks more like the isolation of early homesteaders than the bustling 21st century.

Tennessee Mountain Stories isn’t really about homesteading, but instead it’s about remembering those that took care of all that for us years ago.  I’m prepared to re-think my focus if our quarantine extends too long.

One of my second cousins who follows me (and I’m so honored you do, Paul) from his northern home routinely pokes fun, reminding me how his grandfather my great-grandfather would have handled situations.  I’ve had to admit to him that I’m not as well off as that old man who only owned one milk cow (and therefore had to hunt milk elsewhere when the cow was dry) because I’ve got no cow a’tall!  As the coolers empty-out at Walmart I’m wishing I did have a little brown Jersey picking out back.  I know how to milk, I can churn butter and make cheese – but these skills are worthless without the cow.

Well, I can grind my flour and meal because of an electric grain mill – here’s hoping the power stays on.  I rely on my bread-maker and electric oven, but my trusted Dutch oven is at the ready should I need it.  You’ve seen me make biscuits in it here and cornbread bakes just the same.  I’ve always got a decent stash of dried beans – because we always eat them, although I confess I bought an extra bag.   

Still, I have no idea where to find or cultivate chicory and I’m rather attached to hot coffee.  Thankfully, two deer went in the freezer this winter so our protein needs will be met by that means if none other.  And I saw a bunch of wild creases on the mountain this week (I’ll try to share my experience cooking those next week) so the good Lord is gonna’ take care of our vegetable needs till we can get a garden in.

I guess I say all of this to ask: Modern-day-Mountaineers, we’ve been getting ready for this our whole lives.  We expected the Russians to invade and topple our infrastructure, then we prepped for Y2K or we’ve dreaded the big earthquake that would rip across Appalachia.  How will we stand up to this invisible enemy?  Will we dissolve into tears because Charmin isn’t on the shelf and Fruit Loops may be rationed?  Or will we dig into a plate of beans and taters and praise God in His heaven for giving us the grandparents who shared this knowledge and skill?

From Navajo Nation to Uganda, Africa

I recently met a young family from the Navajo Nation who are headed to Uganda, Africa to share the gospel of Jesus Christ.  So much of their life is very different from my Plateau beginnings, and yet a lot is the same.

Now, why would I want to tell y’uns about these Native Americans on Tennessee Mountain Stories?  I’m so glad you asked!

Because many of us in Appalachia have Cherokee roots, and we’ve talked here before about how those first inhabitants of our mountains shaped our lives even today, I took the opportunity to ask my new friends about their own genealogies.  The answers were a little heartbreaking and even with the gaps and questions in my family tree, I realized what a blessing I enjoy in the family legends that I share with you every week.

As “Americans” moved west, and missionaries of the late 19th century reached out to the native peoples, laws were enacted and schools established to “Kill the Indian, save the man,” as Colonel Richard Henry Pratt put it.  I’ve known this information from history books, but to meet these folks and learn that his grandfather was taken from his Navajo Reservation when he was 3 or 4 years old, given a new name and forbidden to speak his native language really gave those book-facts a face.  This man was given a “white” and he was so young that he never remembered his family name.  So genealogy searches seem impossibly difficult for his family.  By the time the young man came home to the reservation, his parents had died and there was no one within the tribe to return to him the family history the Indian Boarding School had stolen.

Our heritage is worthwhile, even the heritage of people whose conquerors called savage.  In 1918, Cherokees were employed to use their native language during the Second Battle of the Somme.  In 1942, the native tongue of the Navajo people was called into the service of the American people when the Code Talkers were established to encode Allied transmissions for protection from Axis eavesdroppers.  That same boy, who no longer had his native name, was one of those Code Talkers – and some of them would marvel that the United States needed them to speak the language they had previously been forbidden to speak. 

I cannot argue with the missionaries who trekked into hostile territory to tell the Navajos, Apache, Comanche, Chickasaw, Creek…there were more than 500 different tribes…about the love of Jesus Christ and His sacrifice on the cross that paid for their sins.  In fact, I heard these folks expressing gratitude that there are still missionaries going to the Navajo people, for thru those men they heard the gospel and committed their lives to God.

In fact, this young couple is now leaving their western reservation to take the same message of repentance, love and forgiveness to the people of Uganda.  Their methods are certainly different than the people who first reached out to America’s indigenous peoples but the message has not changed in the century-and-a-half.  They will learn Swahili (at least that’s the official language of Uganda, along with English), their children will learn to play the games of Uganda youngsters , eat the local foods and be greatly enriched by the culture of Uganda.  And the people of Uganda will receive the greatest gift of all, the gospel!

Matthew 28:19 Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

Rag Shoes

Last week I posted a picture of my 93 year old Grandma Livesay with her walking stick, wearing her rag shoes.  Just about any time you see Granny she’ll be wearing these familiar shoes, unless you see her at church.  She’s worn them my whole life.  In fact, we all wore rag shoes.  Now my little girl has a pair.

This classic oxford shoe is very old – dating back to Prince Albert in the mid-19th century.  It’s not surprising to learn that fabric shoes were not subject to rationing in the 1940’s – although saddle oxfords were produced in canvas back in the 1920’s.  That had to have helped increase their popularity.

I wonder if we started calling them “Rag Shoes” because they got ragged a lot faster than the leather variety?  In fact, I wonder if any of you call them “Rag Shoes” – or did this peculiar term originate with my grandma?

There’s a modern style of rag shoe – but it seems to come ragged from the store, and isn’t of the oxford style.  My grandma’s generation created their own rags – wearing something as long as possible, patching when necessary and wearing it a little bit longer.  Things have changed, but canvas oxfords are still popular, and we’ll still call them rag shoes – especially when this child will turn them into rags in no time at all.

A Sturdy Walking Stick

I’ve been spending a lot of time in nursing homes of late and I’m seeing so many folks aided by walkers.  Whether it’s the four straight legs, stop-and-go model or the wheeled “Rollator”, they allow those with trouble walking to maintain some level of independence.  In years past you would’ve carried a walking stick.

I suppose the modern, lightweight, aluminum devices are a great advance, but they just don’t have the character of the old wooden sticks.  A cane used to be something of a symbol of authority and a status symbol – whether status of age or money, I’m not entirely sure because they were certainly serviceable.

Canes differed based on your station in life, with the more affluent class carrying polished wood with gold handles.  

Winston Churchill always carried a cane, as did many gentlemen of his era– and before.  In fact, a walking stick was once a standard part of a gentleman’s attire – right along with a hat and gloves.

Ladies also had their canes.  Please remember that if she survived her child-bearing years, a woman was more likely than a man to live to an age that might require a walking stick.  And, canes were made in heights to accommodate her smaller frame, or stooped shoulders.

Many of us remember grandfathers, great grandfathers, or just little ole’ men among the community who carried a cane.  Just as staffs were originally used for guiding and separating stock, that cane could be used to direct a wayward child, create a loud noise to gain attention, or pop the backside of a mis-behaving child. My mother-in-law’s only memory of her great grandfather was his cane because he used it for all of those purposes.

People collect canes now – when I sat down to share these thoughts with you, I found numerous blogs and websites devoted to canes and their history.  And of course we’re still using something like those canes; whether hiking or working stock their usefulness has not diminished.

I have a cane that my Grandpa bought – long before he had any need of a walking aid.  And, I don’t think I recall him ever using it.  Now, I wonder if he bought it because he thought he might one day need to lean on it or if he thought he’d take up carrying it for his image.

I do wish y’uns would tell me about your memories of walking sticks.