We had one old mud chinked, log tobacco barn and one old faded,
grey weatherboard sided tobacco barn. Both had large rusty piping or
"flues" big around as a man....running from the stone firepit under
the shed in the front throughout the barn. We used the firepits to
cure tobacco with 'outsides." When the lumber mill cut the bark off
of trees it usually contained about 3/4 of an inch of wood along
with the bark. The outside of the tree....hence the name. A load of
them delivered usually ran about $4.00 to $7.00 depending on whether
it was Hardwood or Pine. You got what they had, no preference. I
would look for small pieces that were mainly wood and little bark,
that were easy to carve, usually Poplar. Some folks called em
"Sawmill Slats." I had an Old Timer pocket knife so dull it wouldn't
hardly cut hot butter and I used it to carve big wooden spoons and
forks. Grandma still had one of them in her kitchen when she died.
Nothing fancy but good for stirrin stews and soups. Mrs. Baisey must
have bought ten or more from me over time.....at a dime apiece. She
would buy it and just put it in a drawer with the others. She bought
all my Blackberries and Dewberries, for 25 to 50 cents a quart.
Blackberries brought the most money. I would pick berries all day....and
scratch
the next three weeks because I would be wrapped up with chiggers!
She made Cobblers with em using biscuits she sweetened with sugar
and homemade butter. She always made sure I got a taste...might be a
small one but she always somehow managed to save me a taste....
.jpg)
First time I took Buck to pick blackberries we got ourselves covered in those little seed ticks, I would have preferred chiggers, least you could wash'um off. Slice of life. Wish I had one of those spoons..you know, they say a spoon is a cookin' woman's wand...and I'm good with wands.
ReplyDeleteThanks for cookin up a memory Jimmy.
Jimmy, you know I love your stories. They always awaken a memory-good or not so good, but always cherished. Anyway, I sold blackberries, too, for a .25 a quart. Daddy used to takes us down into the pasture. Each of us had a pot, not a pail. We'd listen to hear who made the first ping with a ripe berry...and we didn't pick any unripe ones! Then, the game was on and we hoped to be the one to shout out because the bottom of our pan was covered first!
ReplyDelete