I was talking to a friend the other day and explaining to him the facts of survival back in the "good old days." I am pretty sure he thought I was making it up about the carp and all. He told me that Carp was a trash fish and no one really ate them. Hmm. Seems like I recall wading in the river with a big seine and filling tubs with them Mother had a way to can them so the bones got soft and they were almost like Salmon. I said "almost". They looked like Salmon, but they sure did not taste like Salmon. We liked the Carp best drenched in corn meal and fried in lard. And we always had bread when we had fish because one of the little kids would always swallow a bone and the only way to get it on down was to eat a piece of bread. I am amazed today that none of us ever had a perforated intestine, but we didn't.
So few people are around today that actually lived through the times back then in the small town of Nickerson when it was catch as catch can and anything that didn't move real fast was going to be eaten.
Try to imagine 8 of us living in a 2 bedroom house and no income. The house payment was $10 a month and it came first. Mother always planted a big garden that consisted mostly of sweet potatoes, onions, beans turnips, and corn. The corn was not the sweet corn like we enjoy around here in the summer, but was dried and then ground into corn meal. The root vegetables were pulled up and stored in the root cellar. Apples were abundant and several bushels of those ended up in the root cellar. We ate apple sauce, fried apples, baked apples, and boiled apples.
Mother always seemed to have chickens around and chickens meant eggs, except when "brooding" season was upon us. That was when the old hens sat and hatched out babies. Not all of them sat and we still gathered eggs, but I always kept a damn close eye on those beady eyed hens. They were just as apt as not to fly off that nest and peck me if I got to close. They never actually did that, but I lived in mortal terror that one day one might.
Usually the hens kept us with plenty eggs, so there were cakes when we had sugar. If one of the neighbors butchered a hog and dad helped we had pork and we got the fat which was cooked in a cast iron pot and this gave us "cracklings" and lard. I think out here they are called chiccarones.
Meat was never very plentiful at our house through the week, but come Sunday, we always had meat of some kind . My favorite was fried chicken because then there would be potatoes and the good country gravy. Now to the feet part. Mother had to make a chicken stretch to feed 7 of us, so every bit of the chicken as going into that skillet. Not the head though. The feet were immersed in boiling water and skinned. They went right into the skillet and while there was no meat on the feet they were good for chewing on and the little kids never knew they were not really getting anything to eat.
Sometimes mom would come up with a roast beef. That was something to die for. I especially liked the gristle. I could chew that for the longest time and actually thought it was good. Amazing how that worked! Today I only eat chicken breast. If I cook a roast it better not have any gristle in it.
So to this day I do not eat apples in any cooked form. I do not like to smell them cooking and so I do not cook them. I eat them raw and only when they are nice and crisp. Needless to say, I have given up the Carp for Alaskan wild caught Salmon and the only fowl on the farm here is the geese and they are not going to be eaten. I steal their eggs and make them into noodles. That is my idea of birth control! Chicken breasts is the only part of the chicken I buy or cook. No feet for me!
I look back on the hardest times and I can not help but realize that my mother had to be the strongest woman in the world. She took nothing and raised us kids to be functioning members of society. She took in laundry and cleaned houses to put food on the table and clothes on our backs. She made me a teal corduroy coat when I was in fourth grade and Lord only knows where she came up with the fabric. I wore that coat longer than I should have because the kids finally began to tease me, but it was mine and I loved it. When I hear Dolly Parton sing "Coat of Many Colors" I always think of my mother. As I get older I realize everything makes me think of my mother. The missing her is as bad all these years later as it was the day she passed. I do not think one ever "gets over" the death of our loved ones, we just learn to live without them and I am now acutely aware that my kids are probably walking in my shoes.
It is called life.
So few people are around today that actually lived through the times back then in the small town of Nickerson when it was catch as catch can and anything that didn't move real fast was going to be eaten.
Try to imagine 8 of us living in a 2 bedroom house and no income. The house payment was $10 a month and it came first. Mother always planted a big garden that consisted mostly of sweet potatoes, onions, beans turnips, and corn. The corn was not the sweet corn like we enjoy around here in the summer, but was dried and then ground into corn meal. The root vegetables were pulled up and stored in the root cellar. Apples were abundant and several bushels of those ended up in the root cellar. We ate apple sauce, fried apples, baked apples, and boiled apples.
Mother always seemed to have chickens around and chickens meant eggs, except when "brooding" season was upon us. That was when the old hens sat and hatched out babies. Not all of them sat and we still gathered eggs, but I always kept a damn close eye on those beady eyed hens. They were just as apt as not to fly off that nest and peck me if I got to close. They never actually did that, but I lived in mortal terror that one day one might.
Usually the hens kept us with plenty eggs, so there were cakes when we had sugar. If one of the neighbors butchered a hog and dad helped we had pork and we got the fat which was cooked in a cast iron pot and this gave us "cracklings" and lard. I think out here they are called chiccarones.
Meat was never very plentiful at our house through the week, but come Sunday, we always had meat of some kind . My favorite was fried chicken because then there would be potatoes and the good country gravy. Now to the feet part. Mother had to make a chicken stretch to feed 7 of us, so every bit of the chicken as going into that skillet. Not the head though. The feet were immersed in boiling water and skinned. They went right into the skillet and while there was no meat on the feet they were good for chewing on and the little kids never knew they were not really getting anything to eat.
Sometimes mom would come up with a roast beef. That was something to die for. I especially liked the gristle. I could chew that for the longest time and actually thought it was good. Amazing how that worked! Today I only eat chicken breast. If I cook a roast it better not have any gristle in it.
So to this day I do not eat apples in any cooked form. I do not like to smell them cooking and so I do not cook them. I eat them raw and only when they are nice and crisp. Needless to say, I have given up the Carp for Alaskan wild caught Salmon and the only fowl on the farm here is the geese and they are not going to be eaten. I steal their eggs and make them into noodles. That is my idea of birth control! Chicken breasts is the only part of the chicken I buy or cook. No feet for me!
I look back on the hardest times and I can not help but realize that my mother had to be the strongest woman in the world. She took nothing and raised us kids to be functioning members of society. She took in laundry and cleaned houses to put food on the table and clothes on our backs. She made me a teal corduroy coat when I was in fourth grade and Lord only knows where she came up with the fabric. I wore that coat longer than I should have because the kids finally began to tease me, but it was mine and I loved it. When I hear Dolly Parton sing "Coat of Many Colors" I always think of my mother. As I get older I realize everything makes me think of my mother. The missing her is as bad all these years later as it was the day she passed. I do not think one ever "gets over" the death of our loved ones, we just learn to live without them and I am now acutely aware that my kids are probably walking in my shoes.
It is called life.
