Modern Preserving

I’ve talked here many times about canning and preserving, and while I’m going to try hard not to repeat myself, I will doubtless re-visit this subject because it’s such a huge part of our mountain life.

This week my sister’s well-stocked freezer went out.  (We’ll pass moment of sadness, and then I’ll hold your place while you go, run check if yours is still running.)   Unfortunately, she didn’t discover the outage until the meat was well-thawed, although still quite cold and deemed un-spoiled.  Enter her faithful sister – that’s me – to help get it cooked before it would spoil. 

And of course this process got me to thinking about preserving meat in yesteryear. The deep freeze is one of those modern conveniences that I praise The Lord for!  How nice it is to have all kinds of foods preserved, meats of many cuts and varieties ready for the evening’s meal in a matter of minutes if you use the microwave and in half a day without it.

But it was not always like that.  In fact, it wasn’t until 1940 that freezers large enough for more than ice cubes were introduced, and many families on the Cumberland Plateau would not enjoy the luxury for another decade.

And with all modern conveniences, they don’t last forever and seem to fail at the most inconvenient time.  What to do with pounds and pounds of thawed meat?

Well, we here talked a couple of years ago about canning sausage, unfortunately there was no sausage in the haul.  The Prairie Homestead gives great instructions on how to safely can chicken and I’m following the recipe closely.  Now I always like to keep canned chicken in the pantry – it’s so quick to mix with noodles and Alfredo sauce for those last minute meals and it’s a great way to stock up on meat without taking up valuable freezer space, however, I never knew of mountain folks canning chickens.  I guess they were one of those things you could just run out and get fresh anytime you wanted to cook one.  Come to think of it, that might be even more convenient, except for the plucking part.

Anyway, an old woman once told me that anything you could buy in the store you could can yourself.  I have found it to be true.  It’s kind of amazing the things we never tried, but I guess that speaks to our food origins and traditions – a subject for another day.

The recipe says to pressure either cooked or raw packed chicken for 75 minutes (in pint jars) at 10 pounds of pressure – I’ll add a picture of my completed jars when they come out.

A Boy and His Dog

I just love it when I get to meet folks that read my blog or books and my adventure on the 127 sale recently was no different.  I even came away with someone else’s story!

Jeff Green wrote a few years ago about his son Samuel’s start running dogs and hunting.  This is a great story for anyone who loves mountain stories because they are so much a part of our life.  I’m sharing Mr. Green’s story in its entirety below.  

Samuel Green, A Boy and His Dog(s).  As told by his father.

As a very small boy Samuel expressed interest in deer hunting and fishing but mostly was limited to fishing the pond in front of the house or on his grandmother’s farm while deer hunting the family farms as well.  The best I can remember Samuel was about 8 or 9 years old and early one Fall day (more about that later) I saw Rodney Atkinson, a local houndsman, and asked h8im about coming over and taking Samuel coon hunting as he had never been.  Rodney asked, “What about tomorrow night?” and we set a time to meet.  Rodney showed up at the appointed time with his friends and a load of Walker dogs and soon thereafter we were making the first drop of Samuels’ tree dog experiences.

It was early enough in the Fall that snakes were still crawling in a copperhead-infested area but cool enough that we built a small fire while waiting on some activity.  I must admit this was a new experience for me as well because my coon hunting experiences growing up were with cur dogs and we walked old roads and trails and such.  After a few tall tales we heard a locate off in the distance and the race soon began with each dog being identified as it joined the race.  Before long the dogs could faintly be heard treeing a good distance away and the hike to the tree began.  Rodney and his hunting buddies were primarily interested in getting to the tree while my primary interest was the safety of Samuel.  Samuel had also insisted on carrying his Davey Crickett .22 along on his first coon hunting trip which added to the difficulty of the obstacles in front of us.

Folks living or hunting in Middle Tennessee know all about the pine beetle that wreaked havoc on the pine trees about 20 years ago and know what the woods was like a few years following.  Well, we were heading in the direction of a former pine thicket and cut-over timber.  After crossing the same creek what seemed like a half dozen times, traversing through ivy thickets and belly crawling under pines, we get to the dogs treed on a loan standing oak tree large enough to be hundreds of years old and so full of holes it looked like it had been target practice for the Confederate army.  Needless to say, and all coon hunters would certainly agree it was definitely a coon.  The coon had made it to safety.

This hunting experience was prior to back trackers, GPS equipped dogs and handlers but Rodney did have a compass.  After much consideration, Rodney points off in a direction and states we need to go that way.  I looked up at the moon and positioned it in a general direction off of my shoulder.  As we walked, I soon realized we were going the wrong direction or the moon was doing strange things that particular night.  After stopping at some point to take a short break, we discussed the direction we should be going to bring us out in a field which would allow us to get a better bearing toward our vehicles.  Samuel was still small enough to be carried on my shoulders and was quick to agree to such when we made it to the field.  By this time, I am worried that this has been such a bad experience for Samuel he would never want to coon hunt again.  At about 2:00 a.m. we made it to our vehicles and as we were parting ways with Rodney, Samuel said, “This is fun, can we go again tomorrow night?”.  Rodney obliged, his dogs split treed, both had coons and one of the coons hangs on Samuel’s wall today as he was permitted to take it with his Davey Crickett.  Samuel has been hooked since that time.

Soon thereafter, Matthew Hall started bringing his OMCBA dogs over, taking Samuel with him squirrel hunting and carrying Samuel to the competition hunts in Jamestown.  Matthew gifted Samuel a puppy which did not turn out too well due to a lung hemorrhaging.  Lonnie Allred learned of this experience and offered a young dog to Samuel which had been hunted a few ties and knew how to load.  Thence, Samuel’s journey with Rusty Ain’t Rusty, a.k.a. Rusty, and the Original Mountain Cur Breeders Association began.  Samuel now has his own kennel, Clear Fork Kennel.  Arguably, better dogs have passed through his kennel in recent years but none that have had that special bond between a boy and his dog than that of Rusty.  Rusty may be seen in action on YouTube by searching “Squirrel Hunting with Original Mountain Curs”.

Many people have influenced Samuel along the way and time nor space will permit naming each of them and the wisdom they have shared with Samuel.  As Samuels’ father, I am comforted by the fact if Samuel needed help with something along the journey of life and I am not available or able to provide, he has met someone through his experiences with OMCBA that will be there for him.

Signs of Hard Work and a Home Well Made

Four and one half years ago, I wrote “A Life Worth Celebrating”, sharing with you the story of Gladys Pell.  Then two weeks ago I mentioned the handiwork of my husband’s grandmother (Gladys Pell) and great-grandmother, Gertrude Crow, with a promise to share some of it with you.  Well here you go…

I’m just going to pop all these pictures in here with very little commentary.  Please allow me to say first that I am honored beyond words to harbor these treasures.  Many of them are well-used, having been carefully folded and put away only when their holes or stains became too large to hide with a pretty vase. 

These pieces speak to me of hard-working women who gave the devil no chance to dwell in idle hands.  And they testify of homes well made!

Do you think being a “home maker” is so 20th century?  Is a house just a place to sleep and get in out of the rain?  Well the women who spent their quiet moments with a crochet hook or embroidery hoop in their hands were proud to have a home to make.  These ladies never had fine homes, but they adorned them with love, seeking to make a warm and welcoming space for husband, children, friends and neighbors. 

There are quilt squares for two entire quilts, no doubt embroidered and appliqued just as fingers became too crippled to do the last steps of setting them together and quilting them together with batting and backing.  And there is a beautiful square (please comment if you know the name of that pattern) that has the pattern pieces pinned to it.

There are handmade pillowcases – and while they are solid colors, the texture makes me wonder if they were made from feed sacks – I wonder how I could confirm that?  Even sacking was trimmed with delicate crocheted lace.

And there are dozens of crocheted squares that I hope you will help me identify.  I suppose they were just table decorations? 

I know we’ve been talking about quilts over the last few weeks – and there is one quilt in the bunch -  but I couldn’t help but share the other crafts as well.  Maybe I’ll find more quilts yet – along with the dutch boy I shared a few weeks ago, that just makes 2 quilts that were saved.

If you have handmade pieces displayed in your home, would you please share a picture with me?

Lessons from The Worlds Longest Yard Sale 2020

Yard sales can offer outgrown clothes, unwanted household plunder or the occasional truly-collectible find.  The World’s Longest Yard Sale is no different.  I’ve talked about the sale in years past, but this year is different – I am a part of it!  So I took a bit of a close-up look, and as I’m often wont to do, I was thinking about history.

I don’t know that all these vendors are country folk, but they could sure outfit a country home.  From brand new chairs that would equip your porch to reclaimed chairs with rag seats, there plenty of opportunity to rest your weary bones.  And you’ll surely have weary bones after a day on the sale.

There are all kinds of vintage kitchen tools – from depression-ware glass to enameled pots, pans or enormous coffee pots.  I saw a Wooden Swing Butter Churn (and I will confess that I only knew just what it was because the vendor very kindly labelled it for me).  Then I saw a little cabinet with teapots.  Whether that’s a reminder of our English roots or maybe it was a common household item in yesteryear, these are beautiful collectibles. 

Among the new items were crochet-trimmed towels and embroidered pillow cases.  These were certainly reminders of my grandmothers’ homes.

It’s dangerous for me to spend much time at these sites because I think I need about everything I see there.  I like to see things for sale that I have in my home today – sometimes I feel encouraged that I own such a valuable item, or maybe I mentally exclaim that I’d never sell mine for that price. 

I watch the people parading through these booths and wonder what their thoughts are.  Do they have a wash tub at home?  Do they even know what to do with a Wooden Swing Butter Churn?  Have they ever tasted freshly –churned butter and appreciated the cool sweet flavor as well as the fruit of their churning-labor?

Some folks saw the Tennessee Mountain Stories banner and stopped in to ask questions or pick up a book.  If you’re reading this after first being introduced to The Stories on the yard sale, Welcome!  If you’re reading before heading out to search for your own treasures, look me up.  I’ll be at Green Acres Real Estate & Auction in Clarkrange, Tennessee, on the corner of Hwy 127 and Clear Fork Road.