Mama Barnes Saturday Soup

After each meal during the week, my Grandma Barnes saved every leftover
spoonful of vegetables—beans, peas, okra or corn—whatever we didn’t
consume on the spot. No matter how small the amount was, it went into
the `fridge in coffee cups, bowls or whatever she had available and
covered with Saran Wrap. On Saturday morning she would go to my dad's
old country grocery store and get a "soup bone". Her bone of choice was
a beef “knee” joint that had been stripped of its meat to make ground
beef. My dad, since he knew that he would get to enjoy the resulting
soup, left more meat on the bone than he normally would have.

Gathering up her soup bone and whatever fresh veggies my dad would
donate to the cause, she took it home and started a big pot of water
boiling. The she cleaned out the "Frigidaire" as she called it. She
would make enough vegetable soup to feed an army. The funny thing was,
no matter what the leftovers were, the soup always tasted the same -
wonderful! To accompany the soup there was always what she called
“Johnny cakes”, which was cornbread fried on top of the stove to dip in
the soup.

For dessert, she made bread puddin', using leftover biscuits or bread of
any kind. She also made rice puddin' using the same recipe only with
leftover rice. Wasn't nothin' wasted at her house!

Don't get me started on those fried pies she made. Little half circles of
pure heaven, filled with whatever she had at the time – peaches,
apples, even jelly if didn’t have any fruit.

If she had not made cornbread that day, she made biscuits “from
scratch”—usually three times a day. Sometimes she would pack a “syrup
biscuit” into my lunch bag to take to school. She would take one of
them big ol’ cathead biscuits, poke her thumb in it, and then fill it
with cane syrup that was made at the Harris County prison farm where
Papa Barnes worked. He was a deputy warden there for many years, only
retiring against his will when he turned 72. They grew all their own food,
raised cows and pigs, and were almost completely self-sufficient. Farm
laborers, actually prisoners, were readily available … if they weren’t
out on the Chain Gang, swing-blading the ditch banks or even worse,
chained to the turnstile of the syrup mill. Normally they used mules
for this operation.

Inmates of the penal system of today have nothing to complain about!

Personally, I think inmates are being treated to a dude ranch style of imprisonment now. Isn't it supposed to be punishment? 3 hots and a cot plus gyms to workout in along with free education, medical, dental and cable tv is not my idea of punishment.

The soup reminds me of restaurants that I have worked in. Most kitchens had a stock pot, into which everything went. Even egg shells! Of course, they only used the broth, but their soups were great. I doubt that practice is still in use, with the more stringent health codes of today.

I remember seeing chain gangs along the road when I lived in Alabama, thirty plus years ago. Whenever I am reminded of them, I think of Paul Newman in "Cool Hand Luke"!

That sounds so much like my Grandmother Windham. Eating there was always a treat. She got her first Frigidare when I was about 10, when electricity was finally available in their community. Before that, she had an icebox. I can remember my mom referring to the refridgerator as an icebox. Granma also had a wood-burning stove until about that same time. I remember that she would cook an enormous pot of black-eyed peas, and drop okra and corn-on-the-cob into the pea pot to save burner space. There would be a ham bone in that pot as well, and, of course, cornbread. Black-eyed peas (or cream peas, or purple-hulls, or speckled butter beans, but mostly black-eyes) poured over a crispy-crust piece of cornbread was my favorite meal as a child.

My grandfather sometimes helped out at "the store." He would bring back staples, like cornmeal and flour. I don't remember ever seeing any produce there, because every farm had a garden, and when vegetables were off season, the farmers' wives would pull down jars of black-eyes, tomatoes, pickled cucumbers, and pickled peaches for the vegetables to go with the fried chicken, pork chops, or ham. And always those biscuits and/or cornbread.

There was a time, after I was grown, that you could still buy pickled peaches in grocery stores, but I haven't heard of them in a long time.

Ann

Brew,
I can identify with what you wrote. There was no waste at our house when I was a kid. Any scraps not used in the house were used for the animals. There were no garbage trucks needed.
Living conditions have changed and what worked back then doesn't work today. Can't feed the hogs if you don't have any, at least in animal form.

Yes, Abe, I remember left-overs going to the hogs, along with the "blue-john" left after the butter had been churned from the milk. Today, we call it skimmed milk. We drink what was once part of the hog-slop.

I've read in several places that fats from cattle wouldn't clog our arteries so much if the cattle were still fed grass. Grass-fed cattle have around 80% more of something called conjugated linoleic acid, or CLA, than cattle that have been fed grains. CLA helps in the processes of burning stored fat for energy, and without it in our milk and steaks, all the "sick" fat is stored and stays put. That's also why eating green vegetables helps us humans to burn off our fat and keep our cholestrol levels down.

That's what "progress" does for us, I guess.

Ann,
We had an icebox. The ice man would come once a week and deliver large chunks of ice that went into the "icebox." We still had one that sat on our back porch until my parents died and it was sold.
My grandfather worked at the York Works, in York, PA. He was employed there when they invented the refrigerator. The company later became part of Borg-Warner York. York brand AC's can be found most everywhere. The term "Fridge" was used by most people instead of refrigerator. The town of York was named after York, England. And here's something you may not know. York, Pa. was the first capital of the United States. It was just for a short time and then it moved to Philadelphia and later to Wash. D.C. A good question to ask if you want to stomp someone is: "Where was the first capital of the U.S.?

That's a bit of knowledge I hadn't picked up, Abe. I'll hang on to it. Right now I'm trying to remember which appliance company made those early Frigidaires. Was it Westinghouse?


Ann

I think it may have been Westinghouse, Ann. My gram had an old one with the domed top that she used until she moved in the 70's which was a Westinghouse. I can still see the big W on the front in my memory bank.

We wasted very little when I was growing up. When we had stuff the dog couldn't have it was put into compost. That is still a good way to make use of waste products, and one we use here, for the garden. We don't have garbage pickup, but there are recycle bins for the community to use, and they get used.

Ann,
my statement about the invention of the refrigerator will cause dispute. The technology of refrigeration goes back to the 1800's with German scientists and progressed from there. Inventing a refrigerator for household use would apply to my comment.
I believe it was Frigedare (sp) that was the first brand name. Can't say for sure.

Ann, see the following website concerning refrigerators.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Refrigerator

Seems General Electric was the leader with the home appliance.

Since the subhect of "slopping the hawgs" has come up, this may be a good time to tell y'all about



I wonder how many reading this even know what a slop bucket is. Well,
to those unfortunate enough to not have had the educational
opportunities that I had, a slop bucket is a big bucket (5 gallons, or
so) that throughout the day (or two), all food wastes would be emptied
into. Usually kept on the back porch, this vessel would acquire a
rather strong bouquet, which can be used as a reminder that it is time
to go “slop the hawgs”, which is an old farming expression that means,
“Dump the rancid, putrid mixture into the hog trough.”

Anyway, this one particular hot summer day, I suppose I had been a
little too persistent in nagging my mother. I had just gone one nag
over the line and been instructed to “Go pick a switch.” There
are rules about switch picking. If you “Don’t pick a good one, I’ll
pick one for you!”

I was already crying when I handed her the freshly picked willow
switch. It was about three feet long and just limber enough to whistle
when swished through the air.

She came at me and I was a’backing away, and I was a’cryin’ and
hollerin’, “No, mommy, no”, and she was a’swishing that switch, and I
backed out the kitchen door, out onto the back porch, already imagining
the sting of that whistlin’ instrument of torture.

Just as she was reaching out for my hand so we could do the “Circle
Dance”, I backed into the slop bucket, which struck me just at the back
of my knees. Down I went, perfectly centered into that dad-blamed
bucket. I fit so neatly that there was very little room between me and
the sides of the bucket – but just enough for that putrid, noxious
liquid mixture to squirt straight up about six feet into the air before
coming back down in it’s entirety upon me.

There I sat, my legs straight up in the air, butt at the bottom of the
slop bucket, with almost liquid bread hanging off my ears, tomato
peelings and other stuff draped over my head, realizing that I was
trapped, and in a very vulnerable position. But mom had stopped in her
tracks. I looked into her face trying to get a feel for her mental
condition, and I saw that her face was all screwed up real tight, and
she was getting’ red, but somehow it didn’t seem like the previous
“mad” look.

Then she burst out laughing so hard that the first few notes were these
really long hoots – the kind that you can barely get your breath saved
up to be able to do the next one.

My mom had a kind of hereditary bladder condition that caused her to
pee her pants when she got really tickled. This was one of those times.
Somehow she forgot about switching me, or maybe she figured I had been
punished enough. Either way I was grateful – even grateful enough to
have to spent the rest of my life hearing that same story told at every
family reunion or social occasion. There are several of those classics
that our family shares, and no matter how much you groan when one is
told, they would be missed if they were forgotten.

I learned a lot due to that slop bucket. Sometimes life dumps on you,.
but if it causes you to avoid a butt spankin’ or a switching, and you
learn something from it, you just may be a better person because of it.

Ever since writing that last piece on hog slop something has been
nagging at me. Everyone thinks that hogs will eat anything, but I
remember hearing back then that there was one thing that they would not
eat - and that was potato peelings! Anyone else have an idea?

Great story Brew. Lots of things I can identify with.
I don't recall hogs not eating potato peelings. From what I remember they ate anything digestible.

Brew, I really liked the tale of the slop bucket, and no, I can't think of anything hogs won't eat. They will eat potato peelings if you cook them, though.

Thanks, Abe and Zada. I believe you're right about the potato peelings.
They didn't eat them if raw - but who would cook peelings just for the
hogs?