NEWS FROM THE HILLS

Summer released her hot grip on the hills this past week as fall-like weather spread cooler fingers through our days. Nights were blessedly cool after the steamy weather that we endured this summer, and although hot weather will come again, we have been encouraged by a foretaste of fall.

A cricket in the cellar mourns the demise of summer, echoed by the sad cry of the katydids as their dirge resounds throughout the night. Tiny tree frogs take up the plaintive refrain as days grow shorter, and nights grow longer. Many folks think that fall is a sad season, but I welcome it with open arms.
The recent rain has brought out some of the fall mushrooms. Our friends Rod and Rick brought a nice specimen of a clustered coral. I recognized it although I’d never prepared one. It is in the same family as the cauliflower mushroom, which I have eaten.

After it was cleaned and washed, I sautéed it in some butter and garlic. My cookbook called for cooking it slowly at low temperature, and it was good. It would be delicious sautéed with mixed fresh vegetables, as in a stir-fry dish. We usually find the tender meadow mushrooms, with the pink gills this time of year. Son-in-law Bob brought me one—just enough to tempt me.

This has been a good week for pickling, and some folks have asked about recipes. I’m getting ready to make pickled corn. It’s really simple, and a good way to use up the nubbins that are left in the patch. Boil corn as you would for eating, from three to five minutes. Cool in cold water, and then put in churn (you can use a five-gallon bucket with a lid.)

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Use a pillowcase to line container, and put the ears of corn in it. Mix one gallon of water and 2/3 cup of canning salt; pour over corn until submerged. Weigh down with a plate and a rock (no kidding; I have used the same scrubbed rock for years! You can use a glass jar of water with a lid if you wish.) Cover with clean cloth and another plate. (This is my invention—you can improvise with whatever suits your fancy; just make sure the corn is covered by the brine.)
Pickled beans are made basically the same way. Green beans are cooked until about half tender, and then rinsed in cold water. Place in jar with the same proportions of water and salt as for pickled corn; weigh down and cover. A lot of people make pickled beans in canning jars, but I have never tried that. Most of the recipes I find are for “dilly beans” which is more like a dill pickle.

We used to raise Logan Giant pole beans, a long, dark bean that was perfect for pickling. They were delicious canned also, especially when seasoned with real butter—and eaten with hot, crusty corn bread. It will soon be time for cool weather food, which is heartier than light summer fare.

We heard from JD Beam again, and he corrected me (again!) on the pronunciation of “swimming hole.” He says it is “swimmin’ hole” and of course he is right. It’s like “runnin'” “fallin'” “throwin'” and other country dialect. He also mentioned a person who is “hill born” until they die! I think I am one of “them.”

Mr. Beam was recalling a gristmill that was located in Arlington, Upshur County not far from Rock Cave. With the scarcity of money, the miller took a “toll” of the meal he ground. He thinks it is now powered by a diesel engine. There was a “cook house” about 50 yards from their house in Arlington, where the canning was done. That would have come in handy this hot summer.

He also recalls how the boys played with the dry ironweed sticks when he was young. They made arrows out of them, to the cry of the mothers, “Someone is going to get an eye punched out!” How could I have forgotten how Mike and Junie Gray used them for spears? I yelled the same thing.

Bob Craft says that the ironweed he recalls was smaller than the cornflower (cone flower?) that grows in Texas nor was the crown as high. We still have not figured out what the weed is that he was referring to, which was used as an insect repellant. Janet Tucker wonders if it could be pineapple weed, which some folks call wild chamomile. She says that citronella grass is good to repel mosquitoes, and also lavender—but she doesn’t think those are the plants he meant.

My sister Mary Ellen sent me a poem recently—I’m trying not to take it personally. After this summer, I feel as if I am headed that way!

WHO WILL TAKE GRANDMA?
Author Unknown

Who will take Grandma? Who will it be?
All of us want her; I’m sure you’ll agree!
Let’s call a meeting. Let’s gather the clan,
Let’s get it settled, as soon as we can.
In such a big family, there’s certainly one,
Willing to give her a place in the sun.

Strange how we thought she’d never wear out,
But see how she walks, it’s arthritis, no doubt.
Her eyesight has faded, her memory’s dim,
She’s apt to insist on the silliest whim.
When people get older, they become such a care!
She must have a home, but the question is where?

Remember the days when she used to be spry?
Baked her own cookies, made her own pies?
Helped us with lessons and mended our seams;
Kissed away troubles and mended our dreams.
Wonderful Grandma! We all loved her so;
Isn’t it dreadful she’s no place to go?

One little corner is all she would need
A shoulder to cry on, her Bible to read,
A chair by the window with sun coming through;
Some pretty spring flowers still covered with dew,
Who’ll warm her with love so she won’t mind the cold?
Oh! Who will take dear Grandmother now that’s she’s old?

What? Nobody wants her? Oh yes, there is One
Willing to give her a place in the sun.
Where she won’t have to worry or wonder or doubt,
And she won’t be our problem to bother about.
Pretty soon now, God will give her a bed,
But who’ll dry our tears when dear Grandma is dead?