Golden Syrup

Appalachians often take a bit of ribbing for our way or eating. I’ve shared with you foods like “Soaky” (a.k.a. Cofee and Bread) or Kilt Mustard and Lettuce. I recently had the opportunity to feed new friends from Colorado, and East Tennessee a good, country breakfast which, of course, included Chocolate Gravy. No one at the table except my own family had ever even heard of Chocolate Gravy, much less eaten it.

Being accustomed to misunderstandings in the food department, you can imagine how thrilled I was to see this article from Southern Living about Golden Syrup!  Golden Syrup is something I grew up with, I love syrup on my biscuits and (hold onto your chair!) on pinto beans. Yeah, you heard me – my grandpa taught me to eat beans that way and while beans and cornbread are a staple food in my home, I really want golden syrup on them.

Now, this has been difficult in recent years. I was raised on Bob White Golden Syrup. It was manufactured in Louisville, Kentucky and while I can’t find much history on the brand, I found a trade mark filing for 1947. A big corporation bought Bob White back in the 1990’s and then Carriage House somehow acquired them. I know these bits of history because I have purchased this syrup by the case, first from a Kroger store in Louisville, then via mail-order from the new owners. Today, Bob White Golden Fancy Table Syrup can’t be found anywhere.

But you know that I don’t give up easily. With continued research, I learned that an English company, Tate and Lyle’s, has been producing Golden Syrup since the mid-19th century. I don’t remember how I managed to get that first tin – because I started asking anyone who was crossing the pond to bring it back to me. Then, my beloved cousin who is living in Scotland brought 4 or 5 cans in one trip! Now, thanks to our global economy, I have it delivered directly to my house. And I do this regularly.

An article I read said the one product that could be found in English cupboards since Queen Victoria’s reign was Lyle’s Golden Syrup. Any product that had been around that long was worth a taste test.

So you see, Ms. Kaitlyn Yarborough got it right when she wrote that article for Southern Living saying syrup on a fluffy, white biscuit is like “taking a bite back in time”.

Paper Flowers

I’ve written here before about our beautiful, Southern tradition of Decoration Day. And, we know that with all of our traditions, we enjoy them in unique ways based on the day in which we live.

I have many times heard the stories from Decoration Days gone by of how the flowers were all homemade.  Like so many things, I understand the words of those stories, but I don’t really have a true understanding.  Well, I recently had occasion to work with a friend and make paper flowers. These were just a craft, and not intended to go to the cemetery. Still, I couldn’t help but remember those stories.

Now, I wasn’t particularly skilled at this craft – perhaps skill is something that develops with use and this was my first attempt.  If I made the bouquets for all of my loved ones graves, maybe the product would improve.

These flowers would be dipped in paraffin wax to help them last a little longer. Certainly, they still wouldn’t have the longevity of our modern, plastic bouquets. I wonder, though, in sacrificing longevity, would we add sentiment?

It occurs to me that as my grandmothers sat around the table with your children and created these works of art, did they talk about the loved ones who had already passed on?  Did they tell stories and share fond memories? Did those children come to ‘know’ their ancestors from their mother’s memories?

I would love to commit to you that I will make all of next year’s decoration flowers by hand – teaching my children to remember their family and learn valuable lessons from those memories. However, I always want to be honest with you… so I’ll just leave the plan open as an option.

At the very least I’m glad to have an inkling of the labor of love those who went before me.

The Mystery of Manson, Tennessee

I’ve talked here a number of times about Tennessee’s ghost towns.  These boom towns that popped up around a mine or timber tract often had their own post office, railroad spur and even hotels. Sometimes their names are humorous, like Grief, Deposit or Pokeberry.  More often than not, they are named for a prominant family in the neighborhood, like Cravens, Allred or Wilder.

Then there are the mysteries. I’m writing about this one in hopes one of you knowledgeable readers can enlighten me – along with the rest of the readers. So, I will pause right here to invite you to click “comments” below and share your information.

Please recall that my family was greatly blessed by a Grandmother (my Great-Great) who journaled the work, family, visits and news of the neighborhood. Her sixth oldest daughter was 48 before she married. While she stayed home to care for her invalid-mother, she nonetheless had quite the social life. And she frequently went to Manson.

I can’t help but wonder why. I took a little trip to Manson recently in hopes of finding the draw to that community. I barely found the community.

Manson never had a post office.  However, just up the mountain in Cravenstown there may have been a post office from 1907 – 1917 (at least Cravens in Overton County had service at that time). If you headed down the mountain, Boatland had a post office for a hundred years until 1955.

Most people who visit Manson today seem to travel from the Boatland direction – in fact I got some double-takes when I mentioned I wanted to take a drive from Wilder through the Manson community.  Today, the northbound, descending route is certainly the road less traveled. Yet, I find it hard to imagine in the 1940’s that many people would have driven the 25 miles to Jamestown, down the mountain to Boatland and then turned back up toward Manson…but maybe.

There are several cemeteries in Manson – family cemeteries – which testify to a thriving community over a period of years. Before you email me jokes that cemeteries aren’t indicators of successful communities, I want to remind you that we bury our loved ones close to us (especially in years gone by) and having people left to bury the dead is a simple sign of success.

And, there’s a church in Manson. Well, I was told there was a church. I never saw it but one of my passengers thought she saw a building that might have been a house of worship. And that was the destination my grandmother recorded.

This mountainside between Tennessee’s highway 85 and TN-52 is a rugged 15 miles as the crow flies. While there’s ample evidence of old farms, most of the cleared fields are overgrown today.  Certainly, that mountain would have held prime timber and century ago the breed of loggers in Fentress and Overton Counties would have been willing to snake the trees off of it.

On the other side of the mountain, Wilder and Davidson are best known for coal. However, a lot of timber was harvested in the same areas. While the railroad tracks provided easy transport after 1890, Manson may have yielded lumber that floated to market on the East Fork of the Obey River. Either way, a large timber operation builds quite a settlement. Yet those boom towns often had their own post offices.

There are no discernible signs of a town there now and nobody much talks about Manson anymore. Yet, my great-grandaunt saw fit to visit there; she surely had a reason.

So here you have it – more questions than answers. Yet a fascinating mystery. This is what I get as I try to peel back the layers of the personalities that inspire Tennessee Mountain Stories.

I’m looking forward to your comments!