Its that time people, its Sunday evening, and in my families house that meat cornbread. I am simmering some fresh turnips, sliced thin in butter with shredded cabbage to eat with my cornbread. I am making a pone of cornbread in grannys cast iron skillet, so I cant tarry long. When I was growing up as a child on the mill Village, you could smell cast iron, cornbread, potatoes, beans and hope coming from the little houses. In the summer your olifactory senses would go into shock as the smell of cornbread, potatoes, squash, fried okra, onions, cucumbers, and tea filled the air. At grandmother Gregorys, no one was ever turned from the table. I just poured up my cornbread into the very hot cast iron skillet and it sizzled, i.e the crusty outside. The pan has to heat for a while at 400 or above lined with vegetable oil or lard to get it right. Then when you pour in the batter it sizzles and browns. Then you put it back in the oven. As I continue to write my growing up journals, and begin writing about my memories growing up in Inman, I will share stories about the Wooden Biscuit Bowl, Grandmother is the Supreme Court, Flour Sack Dresses and the Company Store, The Smoke Stack, The mill Pond, The Movie Theatre, The Maple Twin Beds, and on and on. Life when Baby Ruths were big as bricks, Youd dip your Coke, Toms, Orange Crush, Nehi Grape, out of a Red Coke Cooler. Asphalt was the color of your heels and when the sun went down you went in the house, unless yous chasing lightening bugs of course. Look for my stories in Destination Inman. If you want a copy let Ray Rogers Jr or Bessie Fisher know. Theyre on Facebook.
Posted on: Sun, 11 Jan 2015 23:53:04 +0000
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