Good afternoon from The Comanche Historical Museum. Again ,I am writing something that may interest people about me and my life. “Yes, I am thankful.”
One of the most important things that I am thankful for is my parents, and I am happy to say that I did get to tell them this before they passed away.
I am sure we were very poor, but my parents never talked about this.
One thing, we had plenty to eat, because my father and mother loved to garden, so we ate very well, canned lots of meats and vegetables, and made many jars of jellies an jams. My daddy killed hogs every winter, so we had lots of good bacon, hams, shoulders and good homemade sausage and homemade lard to last until the next winter.
We had a long table that was our dining table. It was made from wood. I can just see my Daddy and Mother getting ready to make homemade sausage. They had a sausage grinder bolted to the edge of the table, and all of the lean meat scarps would be put through that sausage grinder. The meat would be piled up high on the table. Then, Daddy would sprinkle salt and pepper, red pepper and some sage on the table full of meat and work it in good.
They would fry a sausage patty or two in the black iron skillet that was staying heated on the wood stove. Daddy and Mother would taste the sausage, if it didn’t suit them, they would add more sage or whatever was needed to make it taste better. When it was just right, Daddy and Mother would fill sausage sacks with the fresh sausage, and they were hung, along with the hams and the shoulders, out in the smoke house. They would keep for a long time.
I can just see the hams and the big shoulders, wrapped in paper that had been treated with lots of red pepper, and tied around with bailing wire. Mama or Daddy would go out to the smokehouse in the early morning, and unwire the ham, pull back the paper, and using a very sharp knife, cut out as many slices of the ham as they wanted to cook for breakfast. Then, wrap the paper back around the ham, fasten the wire around it and hang it back on the nail in the ceiling of the smoke house.
I can remember my dear mother, on Sunday morning, going out to the chicken pens, picking out two nice fryers, wringing their necks, (and the chickens never knew what had hit them), she picked off the feathers, cut them up, and fried them in good lard in her black cast iron skillet on the wood stove. She made good biscuits, cream gravy and we finished off that good meal with home made jellies that she had made, such as plum thicket jelly.
Lazy people didn’t eat very well, but my Mother and Daddy worked hard. We were rich and didn’t know it.
Yes, this is a part of my family history that I wanted to share with you. Next week. I will write more about our area.
Thank you, Missy Cox Jones.