The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which to burn. Hey, Hey! Think them 90s that plagued us for so long has finally decided to make their exit. Hello to all you Chronicle readers. Time to get out your long johns, but there will still be some folks wearing shorts.
When I was at Wendy’s last week, I started talking to this lady. I found out she knew folks that I knew. Her name is Margaret Evans. We could have talked more but she had food to take home for her and her husband’s supper. She is a reader of my article. Thanks Margaret.
My pretty flowers will soon be bit by old man frost. I did enjoy them this “hot” summer. My son Ron and his wife was suppose to be enjoying the beach at Panama City this week, but Hurricane Michael beat them to the beach. The lady has already sent them the key to the condo where they would have been staying. They say there is a reason for everything that happens, but, they sure had been looking forward to going.
Sorghum or “lasses” making the old fashion way. Now you southern folks know what I mean. When I say lasses, norther folks may not know what sorghum is. It is a syrup type made from the cane. Let me tell you about it. When I say old fashion way, it was all harvested by hand, not as it is today, even though it was a lot of work. It was a favorite time of year for us kids. What time we wasn’t working we were hanging out down at the mill. Can you imagine kids of today “hanging out” at a sorghum mill? I remember as plain as if it was yesterday when our sorghum patch was. It was over across the creek from our house and down at the end was our tomato patch. Seemed every year when the tomatoes got ripe, we had to walk through the sorghum patch to get there. Every year when the mad dog scare would spread through the neighborhood. This meant a dog with rabies was supposed to be out there. We were scared, but we went anyway. Thank goodness I never saw one. I got off the harvesting of the sorghum. Anyway, daddy made us a wooden paddle, kinda sharper on one side. We had to go down the rows and strip off all the “fodder” or leaves. Then daddy would come along with a hawkbill and cut the cane down. Can you imaging what a back breaking job that was to cut a whole field down? Then daddy would lay them in a pile, then us kids would go behind and cut the “heads or seeds” off.
Then it was loaded on the wagon and taken to the mill. A horse was hooked to a big “lever” or press that operated the rollers. The horse went around in circles to operate the rollers. If I wasn’t putting cane in the rollers to squeeze out the juice, I would some time walk behind the horse and tap him with a piece of cane to keep him moving. The juice run through a trough to a barrel then into the sorghum pan as needed. My dad was a good sorghum maker. Other people brought their cane to dad’s mill for him to make their sorghum. I don’t remember how much daddy kept for pay. The juice was run into the cooking pan. There was different sections in the pan, and you started cooking in a section then as it cooked you ran it through another and by the time it went through all the sections it was ready to run off in buckets. The smashed “cane or silage” was moved to a big pile, probably with a pitch fork. There was where our hard work paid off for we would run on top and turn somersaults.
We would get cuts on our legs and arms for the silage was sharp. We didn’t care, we was having a good time. Oh! I forgot to tell how we would break off a “joint”, because the cane had joints. We would chew the end and get it real soft like a toothbrush, then go and dip it in the hot lasses. Was sweet and yummy! You cold take two or three joints and bite into them, then start twisting and such out the sweet juice. You would cut your mouth sometimes, for the can was sharp once you chewed on it. Another thing, the hawkbill knife that dad cut the cane left a 45 degree angle after the cane was cut, or what was left of the cane, and us kids were barefooted. If you wasn’t careful and stepped on the stub you could get a real nasty cut. Lasses was one of our staple foods for the winter. If you have never had homemade hot biscuits and “real cow” butter along with the sorghum, you have missed what the old saying is, “it is so good would make you slap your pappy.” Now why would you want to do that? It’s just what southern folks say when something is good. Try some lasses, the and licking finger good.
A Bit of Humor
“You must believe that folks can return from the dead Miss Cringle”, said the doctor to his nurse. “Why, I really don’t know”, replied the startled nurse. “Why do you ask?” “Oh, no reason,” replied the doctor, “but I do think you should know that right after you go off to go to your grandmother’s funeral yesterday, she came in here to see you!”
Somebody has well said that there are only two kinds of people in the world. There are those who wake up in the morning and say, “Good morning Lord.” Then there are those who wake up the morning and say, “Good Lord, it’s morning.”
When a church seeks a pastor, they want the strength of an eagle, the grace of a swan, the gentleness of a dove, the friendliness of a sparrow, and the night hours of an owl. And when they catch that bird, they expect the pastor to live on the food of a canary.
ASAP Always Say A Prayer