NEWS FROM THE HILLS

September peeps cautiously around the corner as if debating whether to allow autumn to enter our hills, or permit summer to linger a little longer. There are definite signs that autumn is anxious to come. The cricket’s cry grows more mournful every day, sensing that summer is sliding away and change is on the way.

There is a yellowish tinge now to the leaves on the trees, where once they were robust and brimming with life. Now they hang tired and dispirited, as if the life force is slowly ebbing out of them. The cycle of life is turning again.

Our God has ordered the changing of the seasons, along with the master plan He ordained when He made the universe. In the very beginning, He set in motion the laws of the universe which rules us today. Genesis 1:14 says, “Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:”

Many country folks have relied on “the signs” for planting, harvesting, and other farm activities. Mom sort of scoffed at the idea of planting in a certain sign; she paid very little attention to the time of the month. A couple of things almost made a believer out of her though. She planted cucumbers one time when the sign was in the blossom. They bloomed profusely—and bloomed and bloomed. Nary a cucumber set on the vines. That is a good sign to plant flowers though.

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I made sauerkraut once when the sign was in the secrets. It turned black and slimy and smelled horrible. Mom said I made a secret weapon, but it was no secret how it smelled. I started paying attention to the signs then, especially when making pickled food.

Linda Anderson used to think that these things were just “old wives’ tales,” and paid no attention to her mother when she made pickled corn. She worked so hard on it, and it wasn’t fit to eat! She made another batch when the signs were right, and it was delicious. She says she learned to listen to her mother.

Andy made a batch last week when the sign was in the bowels. We will let you know how it does. I am fixing to make a churn full of pickled corn this coming week, but you better believe that I am watching the signs!

There are many country sayings about planting and harvesting, although some of them probably are old wives’ tales. Some things need to be planted in the “dark of the moon,” and some in the light of the moon. The dark of the moon is that period from the full moon until the new—or the “shrinking of the moon.” From the new moon until the full is known as “the light of the moon.” I have found that when the moon is rising (or light of the moon) is a good time to make sauerkraut. The brine will rise and almost overflow the churn. On the other hand, making it in the dark of the moon will cause the brine to shrink until more salt water has to be added to it.

Plants that grow underground (such as potatoes, turnips, onions, etc) need to be planted in the dark of the moon or they will all “go to tops.”) Maybe that is why Criss has no luck with turnips—he is sowing them at the wrong time of the moon. He has grown some that were all tops. I will watch the signs this time.

It is too late for these crops now, but we need to remember—beans, peas, tomatoes and other things that have their crops above the ground need to be planted in the light of the moon. We are ready to dig potatoes so we need to watch—they need to be dug in the light of the moon or they will rot.

There is another hill saying that I am not too sure of—”a hard frost will come about two months after the katydids start to holler.” They have been hollering for weeks now, and it’s hard to imagine a frost in 90 degree weather.

Andy says it is very important to pay attention to the signs when weaning calves from their mothers. I can remember Mom advising us about weaning our babies—if you wean them when the sign is in the head, they will bawl their heads off. When the sign is in the heart, they will cry their heart out. Andy says to be on the safe side, wean the calves when the signs are below the waist.
We always felt sorry for the calves when they were separated from their mothers and taken to the market. They would bawl so piteously and we would cry too. A lot of times we had made pets out of them and mourned when they had to go.

Farm children have always had pets, and we were no exception. I had a pet banty hen called Dorothy, and she was so tame you could pick her up anytime. The kids baptized her so many times in the creek that she finally went to heaven. You could say she was ready.

We still have pets. Minnie, our Jack Russell terrier, turned five in August. We had never had a house dog until we received her half-sister Millie as a gift. There was a lot of friction in the beginning, as Criss was adamant about keeping a dog in the house.

It wasn’t long until Millie was his special shadow, riding the tractor and farm equipment every time he did. She slept in her own little cage at night, and was up and ready to follow Criss as soon as he got up. We lost her through an unfortunate accident, and Criss still mourns her.

Two days after we lost her, we got Minnie, a little ball of white fur. She was so tiny that I slept with her and she never outgrew the habit. She has a bad habit of bringing a midnight snack to bed (a bone that she hides during the day) and we go to sleep with the musical “scrunch-scrunch” in our ears.

She sleeps at the foot of our bed, but sometimes wants to share her snack. I was almost asleep when I turned over to find a bone on my pillow. Sleepily, I told Criss, “Minnie has brought me a bone.” “Fine,” he answered. “Here’s a biscuit to go with it!” She had brought him a biscuit.

Mom would turn over in her grave if she knew we had a dog in the house. She’s probably turn over twice to know we have one in our bed.