A baker's dozen children, some cane poles, a can full of worms and a good fishin' hole is really all it takes to spend a pleasant summer afternoon. The men took all the children over to the Dye house in the afternoon with the promise that we would cook whatever they caught. We really would have. . . but we weren't too distressed over the idea.
Children and men spent a pleasant afternoon. There were a few little blue gill caught and released. Everybody had a lovely time. They all came back tired and content-- just in time for supper: Chicken supree, ham, all kinds of summer vegetables, sweet potato pie and blackberry cobbler.
As much as children love water, I have to wonder sometimes why they are always so dirty. As grubby as they can be, from head to stockings, we usually find them under all the caked dirt when we bathe them head to toe in the big wash tub.
Showing posts with label Emily. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emily. Show all posts
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
A Tale of Two Chickens
Friday morning we put two nice, big Dominiquer roosters in a period chicken crate and hauled 'em to Perryville in the back of the truck knowing they'd make a fine addition to supper on Saturday night. One we had purchased from the Amish down in Liberty as a chick. The other, we hatched from an egg, it had a pretty little rosebud comb.
When we got there, we decided to tie the roosters out on a picket line, to make their final hours a little happier. Danny promptly dropped one and it went squawking and flapping off toward the hay field. We all chased and penned and plotted to catch it. We set two fine teenage boys, Jake and Chris, to chasing it. They finally dropped a heavy wool blanket over its head and slowed it down enough that somebody could grab it up.
The chickens spent an uneventful afternoon pecking at whatever their hearts desired down at the bottom of the hill. You really didn't notice them much at all, unless you happened to be walking that way. Until, that is, until one of them got loose. And, people, the race was on. Both sides of the creek, and up through the field, that rooster zig-zagged all over creation. Now, little did we know, but we had a chicken chaser from way back in our midst. Old Joe-bo, he slipped up behind that chicken and grabbed it up like it wasn't nothin'. There was a cackle or two from old Mr. Gevedon declaring that Joe-bo had thieved a chicken or two in his day. And if Joe-bo hadn't been goin' to do the preachin' on Sunday mornin', we might have had some serious apprehensions on the moral character of that man.
That other rooster figured out how to get loose like the first one. And I'll be durned if we didn't get to watch the fun all over again. No matter how hard they tried, those other fellers, couldn't catch that chicken. And Joe-bo said, "well, I reckon I better help these boys out." Those chickens went back in the crate after that. We'd not be chasing chickens all day long.
Well, young mister Owen who is just about six years old, got there sometime after dark. He thought those chickens in a crate was about the best thing he'd ever seen. We had us a discussion, me and Owen. He thought that the stew pot was a fine place for two such chickens. He enjoyed that idea a great deal, let me tell you. He spent most of Saturday, telling everybody that came by. "We was going to eat the chickens."
Little did we know, that chickens is low-down mean and ugly spirited. Those damned old roosters crowed every little bit, ALL night long. When I give up and rolled out of bed, somebody had throwed a saddle pad over the crate trying to trick the roosters into going to sleep. Roosters is mean. Nobody had much love for chicken on Saturday mornin'.
Danny and Bryan took the roosters and skinned them clean and brought them back to the stew pot. When they was finished boilin', Beverly cleaned all the meat off those bones for the chicken supree we was havin' for supper. The bones she brought out of the kitchen, there was a person or two that wanted to have some words with those roosters. You just can't reason much with a live chicken, and if you're going to have words you'd just might as well have them with the old boiled-down bones. That chicken sure was good. Maybe it was the crowin' that made it taste better.
When we got there, we decided to tie the roosters out on a picket line, to make their final hours a little happier. Danny promptly dropped one and it went squawking and flapping off toward the hay field. We all chased and penned and plotted to catch it. We set two fine teenage boys, Jake and Chris, to chasing it. They finally dropped a heavy wool blanket over its head and slowed it down enough that somebody could grab it up.
The chickens spent an uneventful afternoon pecking at whatever their hearts desired down at the bottom of the hill. You really didn't notice them much at all, unless you happened to be walking that way. Until, that is, until one of them got loose. And, people, the race was on. Both sides of the creek, and up through the field, that rooster zig-zagged all over creation. Now, little did we know, but we had a chicken chaser from way back in our midst. Old Joe-bo, he slipped up behind that chicken and grabbed it up like it wasn't nothin'. There was a cackle or two from old Mr. Gevedon declaring that Joe-bo had thieved a chicken or two in his day. And if Joe-bo hadn't been goin' to do the preachin' on Sunday mornin', we might have had some serious apprehensions on the moral character of that man.
That other rooster figured out how to get loose like the first one. And I'll be durned if we didn't get to watch the fun all over again. No matter how hard they tried, those other fellers, couldn't catch that chicken. And Joe-bo said, "well, I reckon I better help these boys out." Those chickens went back in the crate after that. We'd not be chasing chickens all day long.
Well, young mister Owen who is just about six years old, got there sometime after dark. He thought those chickens in a crate was about the best thing he'd ever seen. We had us a discussion, me and Owen. He thought that the stew pot was a fine place for two such chickens. He enjoyed that idea a great deal, let me tell you. He spent most of Saturday, telling everybody that came by. "We was going to eat the chickens."
Little did we know, that chickens is low-down mean and ugly spirited. Those damned old roosters crowed every little bit, ALL night long. When I give up and rolled out of bed, somebody had throwed a saddle pad over the crate trying to trick the roosters into going to sleep. Roosters is mean. Nobody had much love for chicken on Saturday mornin'.
Danny and Bryan took the roosters and skinned them clean and brought them back to the stew pot. When they was finished boilin', Beverly cleaned all the meat off those bones for the chicken supree we was havin' for supper. The bones she brought out of the kitchen, there was a person or two that wanted to have some words with those roosters. You just can't reason much with a live chicken, and if you're going to have words you'd just might as well have them with the old boiled-down bones. That chicken sure was good. Maybe it was the crowin' that made it taste better.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Glimpses of Antebellum Life, Part 2
August 1st
Dearest cousin Charlotte,
I hope this letter finds you and yours well. It seems but a day or two since you were here with us. It was such a lovely visit. You shall have to come and stay more often. The children talk constantly of our lovely adventures. The weather was warm while you were here, and we have as yet seen no rest from the temperatures. It is exceptionally warm. I believe everything has been at a standstill. It is just too hot to move.
We will be coming to Harrodsburg week after next. Mr. Burns is bringing some hogs to market. I hope to stop and visit with you for a few days before returning home. I need to look for a dress length or two at the dry goods. The girls are outgrowing their hems quicker than I can let the tucks out.
Your last visit you commented kindly on my doughnuts. I have only ever used the one recipe. Copied it from a a ladies journal long passed on to other hands. I thought your Mr. Tucker might enjoy these for his breakfast some cold morning.
Until I see you next.
Yours in kind remembrance,
Emily
Doughnuts
One pound of butter.
One pound and three quarters of sugar, worked with the butter.
Three pints of milk.
Four eggs.
One pint of yeast, if home-made, or half a pint of distillery yeast.
Mace and cinnamon to the taste.
Flour enough to make the dough stiff as biscuit.
Rub the butter and sugar together, add the other ingredients, and set the dough in a warm place to rise. When thoroughly light, roll into sheets, cut with a sharp knife into diamond-shaped pieces, and boil them in fresh lard. Use a good deal of lard, and have it sufficiently hot, or the cake will absorb the fat.
Dearest cousin Charlotte,
I hope this letter finds you and yours well. It seems but a day or two since you were here with us. It was such a lovely visit. You shall have to come and stay more often. The children talk constantly of our lovely adventures. The weather was warm while you were here, and we have as yet seen no rest from the temperatures. It is exceptionally warm. I believe everything has been at a standstill. It is just too hot to move.
We will be coming to Harrodsburg week after next. Mr. Burns is bringing some hogs to market. I hope to stop and visit with you for a few days before returning home. I need to look for a dress length or two at the dry goods. The girls are outgrowing their hems quicker than I can let the tucks out.
Your last visit you commented kindly on my doughnuts. I have only ever used the one recipe. Copied it from a a ladies journal long passed on to other hands. I thought your Mr. Tucker might enjoy these for his breakfast some cold morning.
Until I see you next.
Yours in kind remembrance,
Emily
Doughnuts
One pound of butter.
One pound and three quarters of sugar, worked with the butter.
Three pints of milk.
Four eggs.
One pint of yeast, if home-made, or half a pint of distillery yeast.
Mace and cinnamon to the taste.
Flour enough to make the dough stiff as biscuit.
Rub the butter and sugar together, add the other ingredients, and set the dough in a warm place to rise. When thoroughly light, roll into sheets, cut with a sharp knife into diamond-shaped pieces, and boil them in fresh lard. Use a good deal of lard, and have it sufficiently hot, or the cake will absorb the fat.
Friday, July 27, 2007
On Making Butter
No branch of household economy brings better reward than the making of butter; and to one who takes an interest in domestic employments, it soon becomes a most pleasant occupation.
The first requisite is to have a good cow. One that has high hips, short fore-legs and a large udder is to be preferred. The cream-colored and the mouse-colored cows generally give a large quantity and or rich quality. Take care that nothing is given her which will injure the taste of the milk, such as turnips and parsnips. Carrots are a fine vegetable for cows. Have her milked by a person who understands the process, or she will not give it freely, and will soon become dry. But the most abundant supply of the richest milk will avail little, unless all the articles used in the care of it are kept in the most perfect order. They should not be used for any other purpose. Keep a cloth expressly for washing them only. After washing, every article, and the cloth with which they are washed, all must be scalded. Wash off thoroughly all the milk from the pans, pail, strainer, churn, dasher, skimmer, spoons, etc.
If a cloth strainer is used, it should be of thin, coarse linen. A basin having a fine wire strainer is used by many persons. Tin pails and pans are better than wood and earthen; because tin is more easily kept sweet than wood. Those who keep one or two cows, will find a stone-ware churn best. No other is so easily kept sweet. For keeping the cream, never use tin, but always stone, cream-colored or fire-proof ware. For working butter, keep a wooden bowl and a ladle.
Have the milk closet on the coolest side of the house, or in the dryest and coolest part of the cellar, and with a window in it. Good butter cannot be made without a free circulation of fresh air. Strain the milk as soon as it is brought in, set it immediately in its place. To remove milk after the cream has begun to rise, prevents its rising freely.
When the butter has come, continue the strokes of the dasher a few minutes to separate all the little particles from the butter-milk. This done, take it out into the wooden bowl with a ladle or skimmer. The bowl and ladle should have boiling water on them when you first begin to churn. After a few minutes it should be poured off, cold water should be poured on them, and they should stand until you are ready to use them. This is to prevent the butter from sticking.
Work the butter with the ladle, until the butter-milk ceases to come out; then sprinkle it with clean sifted salt; work it in well, and taste it to see if more should be added. Mould the butter, with the ladle, into balls or lumps of any form you prefer; put it into a covered jar or tureen and set it in the ice-house or cellar.
The first requisite is to have a good cow. One that has high hips, short fore-legs and a large udder is to be preferred. The cream-colored and the mouse-colored cows generally give a large quantity and or rich quality. Take care that nothing is given her which will injure the taste of the milk, such as turnips and parsnips. Carrots are a fine vegetable for cows. Have her milked by a person who understands the process, or she will not give it freely, and will soon become dry. But the most abundant supply of the richest milk will avail little, unless all the articles used in the care of it are kept in the most perfect order. They should not be used for any other purpose. Keep a cloth expressly for washing them only. After washing, every article, and the cloth with which they are washed, all must be scalded. Wash off thoroughly all the milk from the pans, pail, strainer, churn, dasher, skimmer, spoons, etc.
If a cloth strainer is used, it should be of thin, coarse linen. A basin having a fine wire strainer is used by many persons. Tin pails and pans are better than wood and earthen; because tin is more easily kept sweet than wood. Those who keep one or two cows, will find a stone-ware churn best. No other is so easily kept sweet. For keeping the cream, never use tin, but always stone, cream-colored or fire-proof ware. For working butter, keep a wooden bowl and a ladle.
Have the milk closet on the coolest side of the house, or in the dryest and coolest part of the cellar, and with a window in it. Good butter cannot be made without a free circulation of fresh air. Strain the milk as soon as it is brought in, set it immediately in its place. To remove milk after the cream has begun to rise, prevents its rising freely.
When the butter has come, continue the strokes of the dasher a few minutes to separate all the little particles from the butter-milk. This done, take it out into the wooden bowl with a ladle or skimmer. The bowl and ladle should have boiling water on them when you first begin to churn. After a few minutes it should be poured off, cold water should be poured on them, and they should stand until you are ready to use them. This is to prevent the butter from sticking.
Work the butter with the ladle, until the butter-milk ceases to come out; then sprinkle it with clean sifted salt; work it in well, and taste it to see if more should be added. Mould the butter, with the ladle, into balls or lumps of any form you prefer; put it into a covered jar or tureen and set it in the ice-house or cellar.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Glimpses of ante-bellum life in Kentucky, part 1
I rose early, disturbed by the storm. I wanted to crawl back in under the blankets but knew I had much to accomplish this day. Mindful that guests were expected, I took extra care while dressing my hair. I made my way to the summer kitchen and found the logs had already been stacked and lighted. It was already hot, the rain had done nothing to cool the house.
Breakfast finished, I went to the cellar to retrieve the various things for the baking I had before me. Back in the kitchen, I began to stir the ingredients in the heavy bowl. First butter and eggs, then sugar and blackberry jam, now soda, spices and flour. I poured the mixture into the two ready tin pans, and placed each in a heavy dutch oven on the hearth. I retreated to the garden for a walk trying to refresh myself from the heat. I found no breeze in the garden, and so returned to my labors.
Now for the tea biscuits; butter, cream, sugar and flour. I mixed the ingredients with my fingers. I patted and rolled the dough until it was just the right thickness and then cut out the biscuits with a water glass. The tea biscuits would cook quickly, but might still be warm when the guests arrived. I thought that I might serve them with apple butter. I hurried to lay the tea things out on the table.
Breakfast finished, I went to the cellar to retrieve the various things for the baking I had before me. Back in the kitchen, I began to stir the ingredients in the heavy bowl. First butter and eggs, then sugar and blackberry jam, now soda, spices and flour. I poured the mixture into the two ready tin pans, and placed each in a heavy dutch oven on the hearth. I retreated to the garden for a walk trying to refresh myself from the heat. I found no breeze in the garden, and so returned to my labors.
Now for the tea biscuits; butter, cream, sugar and flour. I mixed the ingredients with my fingers. I patted and rolled the dough until it was just the right thickness and then cut out the biscuits with a water glass. The tea biscuits would cook quickly, but might still be warm when the guests arrived. I thought that I might serve them with apple butter. I hurried to lay the tea things out on the table.
Friday, July 20, 2007
A History Lesson
Each year, hundreds of Kentucky's best eleventh grade students spend five weeks of the summer before their senior year at Centre College. I can validate their experience, I was a Governor's Scholar in 1990. I guess that was a year or two ago.
In recent years, these students are presented with a choice of field trips. Many choose the Perryville battlefield as their day out. Saturday, we'll be there interpreting the events surrounding the October battle.
The Situation at Perryville - October 1862
Kentucky was suffering from an extended and extreme drought. The town much like many Kentucky towns sent their sons into both armies. Political tensions were strained. Throughout the summer of that year Confederate forces had been operating in the area. Several CS cavalry regiments were recruited from the surrounding communities.
The citizens were uneasy about the military situation and rumors were wide spread of an impending battle as the Union Army of the Ohio had been dispatched from Louisville to overtake Braxton Bragg’s Confederate Army of the Mississippi.
The first shots of the Battle of Perryville erupted in the early morning hours of October 8 when Federals and Confederates searching for water collided in the predawn darkness. Fighting escalated along the Springfield Pike west of Perryville until the Confederates withdrew back toward town. Buell's army arrived on the field throughout the morning, and took up positions on the heights west, northwest, and southwest of Perryville. Realizing that he was facing a significant Federal force, Confederate General Leonidas Polk (commanding in Bragg's absence) chose not to attack.
Bragg, 10 miles away in Harrodsburg, grew furious when he did not hear firing from Perryville. He rode to the battlefield and set up headquarters at the Crawford House north of town. Over Polk's objections, Bragg sent most of his army across the Chaplin River to attack Buell's left flank, composed of General Alexander McCook's I Corps. The Confederate storm broke at 2 PM, when elements of General Benjamin F. Cheatham's division attacked McCook's left.
Karrick– Park House
In early October, the town of Perryville was buzzing with rumors of an impending fight between Union and Confederate forces that were converging on the town. Harriet Karrick, lived in a large brick home in downtown Perryville and was warned by Confederate officers that she should vacate the town because of the coming fight. Ms. Karrick had several children and fifteen slaves. She vacated her residence and upon returning found her home in ruin. Her furnishings had been smashed to use as firewood, her family’s clothing had been ripped to shreds to provide bandages and her home was occupied by Federal Army surgeons who had converted it into their headquarters.
Dr. Polk’s Office
Dr. J.J. Polk was a staunch unionist. Polk was also a part of the re-patriation society that sent freed slaves back to Africa. His home and office was just down the street from the Karrick’s House. Polk was retired at the time of the battle but was forced out of retirement in order to help treat the thousands of wounded soldiers crowding every standing structure in Perryville.
The students will witness various members of each of these families attempting to deal with the situation just after the battle. Interpreters are encouraged to interact with the students in a first person manner and discuss the desperate situation of depravities that they will encounter over the coming months.
Growth Charts
It occurred to me last night while I was picking blackberries, that I can age my daughter by her role in the blackberry picking. Some people have growth charts hanging on their wall. That'd just be too easy.
The summer Anna was two, she was fearless and ferocious in her quest for the purple fruits. Briars were no match for Miss Anna. She dove in head first. She ate most of the berries she picked and about one third of the ones I put in the bucket. She giggled and bounced like Tigger during the blackberry adventures.
When Anna was three, she was more of a pointer. "There's one, mama." Older and wiser, she left the scratches and pricks and the bramble bites to me. She understood well what became of anyone who got too close to the limbs of the blackberry bush. Mind you, she still managed to return to the house with a purple ring around her mouth.
This year Anna is four. She picks a few berries and then talks a lot. She eats a few berries and then she talks a lot. She points out a few berries and then she talks a lot. She is four now, and, oh so good at it. She only dumped the berries on the ground twice. And, yes, she came back in the house sporting a lovely blackberry juice moustache. She claims that she only eats the berries that she picks.
Eventually, she'll figure out like her brother and sister, that you can shirk the blackberry picking and still get to eat cobbler. That's okay. I imagine picking blackberries quietly might be a nice change.
The summer Anna was two, she was fearless and ferocious in her quest for the purple fruits. Briars were no match for Miss Anna. She dove in head first. She ate most of the berries she picked and about one third of the ones I put in the bucket. She giggled and bounced like Tigger during the blackberry adventures.
When Anna was three, she was more of a pointer. "There's one, mama." Older and wiser, she left the scratches and pricks and the bramble bites to me. She understood well what became of anyone who got too close to the limbs of the blackberry bush. Mind you, she still managed to return to the house with a purple ring around her mouth.
This year Anna is four. She picks a few berries and then talks a lot. She eats a few berries and then she talks a lot. She points out a few berries and then she talks a lot. She is four now, and, oh so good at it. She only dumped the berries on the ground twice. And, yes, she came back in the house sporting a lovely blackberry juice moustache. She claims that she only eats the berries that she picks.
Eventually, she'll figure out like her brother and sister, that you can shirk the blackberry picking and still get to eat cobbler. That's okay. I imagine picking blackberries quietly might be a nice change.
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