October Tales

In case you haven't noticed, Fall of 2021 is here.  The days are still warm with a break now and then when a cold front dares to intrude from the place where cold fronts come from.  I am not a weather guru, so I have the bare rudiments of knowledge about such things.  Highs, lows, approaching storms, high humidity, rain, snow, possibility of snow.  I hope you understand.

Anyway, I am happy to see that October has finally arrived.  How do I know this?  One word..pumpkins.  Everywhere I look someone has pumpkins for sale.  This started way before October first.  In fact, I think I saw pumpkins for sale almost the week after Labor Day.  Not that I am disappointed.  What is there not to love about pumpkins?  They are all sorts of shapes from oblong to round, all sizes from tiny to huge.  They will fill a wheelbarrow.  Or nestle in the largest teacup.  

My experience with pumpkins started when we used to carve them for Halloween.  Most of the time my pumpkin's face was crudely made since all the artistic talent in our family belonged to my dad and my brother Derek.  They made a real production of making sure the faces were original and scary. I was praised for actually trying to make mine look spooky.

I am looking forward to our annual Trunk and Treat on the Square here in Gainesville.  I love seeing all the kids in their masks and costumes.  Sometimes the parents are dressed up too, making it a real family affair.  One year we came up with an idea.  In fact, I think it was the first Trunk and Treat.  Andy dressed me up as a scarecrow.  He loaded me into the back of the pickup and drove me down to the Square.  He unloaded me as if I were a dummy scarecrow.  That was the plan.  I would sit in a chair near the candy.  Andy would greet people.  He would make some excuse why I wasn't there to help him.  I wasn't feeling well, or I had another obligation.  It was fun for a time.  No one could see my eyes blinking but I could see them.  I slumped in my chair and and sat as quietly as possible.  Some people told Andy he had done a good job, making such an amazing thing.  But then it got weird.  A man walked up to us and asked if his little girl, dressed as a princess, could have her picture made standing by the scarecrow.  Thankfully, he didn't ask for her to sit in my lap.  Andy said...Well....sure, that would be okay and led the little one to me.  I held my breath.  The father was so pleased and thanked Andy for letting him snap the picture.  After the pair left, we had a whispered conversation.  I told him that this was not going to end well.  Before we could come up with a plan, a friend of mine approached me in the chair.  I swear, the Devil made me do it.  The person came very close to examine Andy's handiwork.  As soon as they were within whispering distance, I turned my face up to them and said, "Well, it is good to see you too."  And that was that.  I am sure I was the center of many anxious parents'  nightmares for many weeks.  Thankfully there were no children nearby.  I made a quick exit to the truck, took off my mask and hat and emerged to hand out candy too.  I think some people, as they were making their way around the Square again, wondered what had happened.  We did not explain.

Anyway, sometimes you think something will be fun.  But it turns out not to be so.

Don't worry.  I'll look like me when I am handing out candy this year.

Happy Halloween.

 

Fresh Wind Blowing from the West

A fresh wind is blowing from the west.  There were severe storm warnings for us last night but it never got here.  Just a smattering of rain.  On reading the news this morning, I saw there was damage to the west..in Oklahoma and Southwest Missouri.  But here the sun is shining.  The temperature is cool, but not too cold.  I am washing clothes, a usual Monday chore in my household.  The sheets are ready to hang out and then the towels.

There is a fresh wind blowing from the west.  I have decided to quit looking at the news on my phone, other than things I need to know, like the weather and local happenings.  The other news seems to be always the same.  And almost always it has  been hashed and rehashed.  I liked it when the news came once in the morning and once in the evening, thrown on the porch by our paper boy.  It might not have been up to the minute or second, but at least it was short and sweet.....just the facts.  And comics and funny stories and a column or two on the editorial page, a letter to the editor.  Always the good with the bad.  When I am in Mt. Home,  I have the habit of picking up the Sunday Arkansas-Democrat-Gazzette. I throw away the front page and read the inside news. Editorials,well-written and cogent, even if I don't always agree with the writer. A profile or two of worthy individuals who are being lauded for their achievements. And other things....Who were the attendees at the party at the Governor's Mansion?  Who was recently married?  And who were their parents and grandparents?  A lovely picture of the bride in her gown on the lawn of a palatial home.  Also a human interest story about someone who lived a good life, full of interesting details.  I throw away the obituaries since I know no one who lives much beyond Mt. Home.

A fresh wind is blowing from the west. Along those same lines, we do not own a TV.  Haven't for several years.  I listen to St.Louis Cardinals' games on my radio(Go Redbirds...next year!) or local football and basketball games when I know the team and the players.  Sometimes I tune in a MSU Bears' basketball game...women's or men's.  I might disagree with a call and be upset with the outcome, but they will be there to play another day.

A fresh wind is blowing from the west.  Soon I will turn off my computer, after posting this blog.  I will put on my boots, perhaps take my phone to catch a picture of an interesting flower or tree or bush or weed.  We just had our place brush hogged.  We sat on the porch at dusk last night and watched the resident coyotes scavenge a meal from the mowed grass..probably a tasty wood rat that somehow was napping when the mower went over him.  And a few deer who are not bedding down in the tree line came up to nose around.  It is amazing what you see when all that grass is cut...just a whole different world.

Did I mention...a fresh wind is blowing from the west?  And I, for one, am ready to get out and breathe in some clean air.  Try it.  Sure helps my attitude.

  

 

Making 'Lasses

Here is a picture of my friend down in Arkansas, checking out the sorghum patch.  Taken a few years ago, this photo reminds me of the happy days when we would spend the weekend helping make sorghum molasses.  She and her husband would grow the cane.  And Andy and I and several others would gather at their home and pitch in...making 'lasses.

Sometimes we had good cane to work with...and sometimes not.  It might be full of juice and splitting its green sides, just waiting to come out.  Other times it was skinny and selfish, holding on to the sugary pulp until you had to beat it out with the heavy rollers that squeezed it in the mill.

At times we used a tractor to make the mill go around.  One time we had the resident mules do the job. 

Making sorghum is hard work.  The juice needs to flow into the buckets at a good rate, leaving the residue of cane pieces on the filter cloth.  You have to make sure the juice is as clear of trash as possible.  Nothing worse than to have bits and pieces of cane floating around in that green liquid.

We use a stainless steel pan that fits snugly over the fire.  It is a small pan, made especially for heating the green, raw sorghum juice and turning it into dark brown molasses.  Many places I have visited use a pan with baffles that guide the juice from the raw start to the bubbling end over the constant heat of the wood fire. Workers use paddles to move the liquid along, making sure it doesn't stick along on the way. 

We sit across the fire from each other, waving away the smoke as it goes up the chimney.  Using skimmers, we pick up the foam and floating scum, flicking it off into the waste bucket near at hand.  Taking turns, we watch closely, moving the logs in and out of the fire pit to regulate the temperature.  We visit as we skim, talking to the kids nearby who are playing a game of tag and wondering when lunch will be served, because they are starving.

When the molasses turns that deep, rich brown, bubbling gently under the hot steam that rises above it, we take a thermometer and check the temperature.  This is not an exact science.  When is it done?  Don't want it to burn, but we want to make sure that no green tinge or taste remains.

The moment of truth arrives when two strong men lift the pan off the fire and carry it to the table where it is placed among the jars that wait, clean and shining in the sun.  Our friend carefully opens the spigot and fills jar after jar with golden brown goodness.  We are there to help wipe the rims and cap it off.

Everyone stands around to see how it is done.  Meanwhile, the mill keeps on working and the juice keeps on flowing.  The pan is cleaned up and we start the process all over again after a bite to eat.

Sometimes people come to visit the party.  They bring their fiddles and guitars and entertain the crowd with music, Sometimes someone gets out the jig board and dances along to a lively tune.  We encourage them by clapping and yelling.  The kids usually dance in the grass just to show they can do it too.

Back to work. The mill goes around and around, the juice is poured into the pan, we skim and talk and trade places when our backs get tired.  As the evening shade starts to cover the yard, we make our last batch of the day.  Cleaning up is not a problem because many hands make light work. Everyone pitches in.  They grab a jar or two of sorghum, take the empty pots and skillets of what they brought to share for lunch, leaving us with something to eat for our supper.

As twilight falls the four of us that are left sit on the porch, a cool breeze blowing up the valley. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sit in silence.  It is a companionable silence, no need to chat.  We are tired, bone tired.  Feed the animals and get them ready for the night.  Maybe bring the fiddle out again and play a tune or two there in the darkness of the new moon.  Stars begin to wink above us.  Bed beckons.  And tomorrow...joy of joys...we get to make ' lasses again.