Poor America

Howdy Ya'll,

I jest got done watchin' somethin' with gran'pa and let me tell ya, it's got me plum fired up an'fightin' mad. I got one of the young'uns to tell me how to add one of them link things so after I git through writin', I'll add it so's you can go watch it fer yerself. I'm hopin' ya'll will pass it along to all yer friends as well.

Now ya'll now I ain't no political person. I learned a long time ago that certain things jest ain't discussed in polite comp'ny, so I try to stay out of religion, politics and peoples bedrooms. But, to me, this here ain't political. It's a dad blamed shame.

What we watched was a documentry called Poor America. Some gal was the reporter and she went all over interviewin' people, even young'uns. She talked to'em about how they got to be in the situation they was in, how they managed to live day to day, even asked the young'uns if they'd ever gone to be with no supper.

The answers would jest break yer heart. There's a family with 3 young'uns livin' in a motel room cause their daddy cain't find a job. They talked to a couple that was livin' in a big'ol concrete storm drain. They talked to people that was livin' in what they called a tent city. They talked to the lunch lady at one of the schools and she said she saw young'uns taking handfuls of them ketchup packs. She asked'em what they were fer and they said to make ketchup soup with so's they'd have somethin' fer supper. They talked to a man that had a bad hernia and was riskin' gangrene but he didn't have no insurance. His wife was a cryin' cause she was so worried and said he jest kept goin' cause he knew he had a family to take care of and couldn't afford no bills. One of the young'uns they talked to was a little bitty gal and she said one time they ate a rat. Now ya'll know that with me bein' as southern and bein' as country as I am, I've probly ate stuff some of ya'll wouldn't dare, like gator, coon, er squirrel, but I ain't never ate no rat and I don't understand why a young'un here in the United States should have to either!

Here's where I might jest make some of ya'll mad at me, and if'n I do, I ain't apologizin' cause I got jest as much right to my opinion as ya'll do. And in my opinion, this here show was plum heartbreakin'. There jest ain't no excuse fer American people to have to live this way. The whole government has got things so messed up now that I don't know if any of them politicians has got brains enough to fix it. The sad part is, many Americans has got enough sense but the politicians won't listen cause it don't put no money in their pockets er the pockets of their cronies! The only way they'll ever listen is to have enough Americans get together and start makin' some demands and standin' up fer what is right, what aught to be, and jest plain ol'common sense!


A few months ago I had to go down to the local welfare office in town to pick up somethin' fer gran'pa's medicare. He worked all his life and paid in to it fer a lot of years, so I figer he deserves it. It ain't no hand-out, It ain't no welfare. Anyhow, whilst I was in there waitin', you'd be surprised as to what I saw. I saw a big ol'heavy set gal in there with 2 young'uns talkin' on one of them fancy cell phones in fancy new lookin' clothes and wearin' enough jewlry to choke a mule. With her talkin' so loud, ya couldn't help but hear and she said somethin' about them not sendin' her food stamps so she was there to git'em. There was two young gals in there that couldn't even grunt in English, one young'un with'em and one of the gals had one on the way. They had a bunch of gold on too. I saw a bunch more stuff whilst I was waitin', and the more I sat there, the madder I got! I got the papers fer pa and headed out. Remember the big gal? Well, she was ahead of me and she went out and got in one of them fancy caddilac escalade truck-car things. If'n she could afford to drive that, why does she git food stamps? Why don't she drive an ol'pick-up like we do?

The facts is this - the goverment has spent more than it takes in fer pure silliness, it's took out loans so many times that other countries now purdy much own us, and it seems the only thing the govenrment wants to do is spend more money on more silliness and make up fer it by cuttin' things like gran'pas medicaire and his Social Security that he worked fer all his life. The government is tryin' to pass a law so that all Americans git insurance, but they have to buy it, and I mean HAVE to buy it. Here's a question fer'em - if'n ya already ain't got 2 nickles to rub together, ya ain't got no job and yer livin' in one o'them tent cities, where do they think yer gonna get the moeny to buy insurance to go to the doctor?

Now how about some common sense. Back before many of ya'll was born, there was somethin' called the WPA (that stood fer Work Projects Administration). It was a governement program that put people to work doin' public services like buildin' roads, bridges, parks and buildin's. There was also somethin' called CCC (that means Civilian Conservation Corps) that put men to work in conservin' and developin' natural resources. Now tell me why we cain't do somethin' like that fer all the ones drawin' welfare? Make it simple - if'n ya cain't find work on yer own, ya go to work fer the WPA er the CCC. The WPA could build er fix up a buildin' in ever city and town, then when it's done, they can put women to work babysittin' the young'uns at the new buildin' so others can work doin' somethin' else. If ya don't want to work at the WPA or CCC, then ya don't git no welfare of no kind. Do you realize how much money that would save the government? Yeah, they'd be payin' the same people that they are now, but at least we'd all git somethin; fer our money! There ain't a town in the United States that couldn't use some road work, some grass cut, some trash picked up er some buildin's redone. Libarries is closin' - make'em work there so our young'uns got somewhere to learn besides school. Build nice parks fer the yougn'uns to give'em somewhere to go and somethin' to do besides gittin' in trouble.

As fer all the women out there that got young'uns and daddy jest took off, find the daddies and make'em support the young'uns. Make these fellers think about sleepin' around like they ain't got a care in the world. If'n the mama says she don't know who the daddy is, then she don't get no welfare. Jest that alone would make a huge differnce. And, it'd stop a lot of these gals from having 3, 4, er 5 young'uns jest to watch her welfare go up.

If'n we don't put a stop to this foolishness, we're all gonna be right back to a depression, 'cept this time it's gonna be a whole lot worse. People ain't got the make-do skills we had back then. Young'uns don't know nothin' about growin' their food er raisin' their own meat. Men folks ain't got the skills to keep a vehicle er washin' machine going. Women folks don't know about sewin' clothes to wear er even how to fix the ones they got.

If'n we let ourselves go into a another depression, it's gonna be real bad, a lot's worse than ya'll can imagine. So now is the time to get off'n yer butts and do somethin'. It's time to start writin' letter, havin' town meetin's, pullin' together as communities and make the government listen to some common sense. Good grief ya'll, this here is America, the greatest country on earth, and we're sellin' it out to greed and stupidity and other countries. How do you think your grandyoung'uns is gonna live? What are we gonna leave'em with? How many young'uns in the United States is gonna have to eat rats before we say enough is enough?

Till next time,

Gran'ma Gertie


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXaJKeYGzDU

The Texas Preacher and His Eatin'

Howdy ya'll,

Like usual, I ain't been here much. Seems time jest flies by faster n' faster and I git busier and busier instead of gittin' slowed down like old folks is s'possed to!

Well, I got somethin' new to discuss with ya. I met a preacher feller back in early January that seems to be catchin' quite a bit of flack fer his eatin' habits, er maybe I should say the not eatin' of certain things. He's from Texas and I reckon they eat differnt than we do.

He says things like pulled pork is good, it jest ain't bar-be-que. Bein'a Texan and all, he figers there ain't no bar-be-que but beef. I ain't gonna give'im no flack fer it, but I do disagree with'im.


He also says that grits ain't worth eatin'. Now bein' from Georgia, them's jest about fightin' words! I wonder if'n he eats oatmeal? Only way I'll eat that no-taste-slimey-ground up cardboard is if'n it mixed with flouer, spices, sugar and baked into a cookie!


I know that chili is made all differnt kinds of ways, even some kind thats white and made with chicken. (Now that don't even sound good!) Seems he was havin' a discussion about chili the other day on his facebook page. He says chili ain't s'possed to have beans in it, jest meat, 'maters and seasonin'. Well, that might be fine fer goin' on a hot dog, but not fer real eatin'! Besides, at todays prices fer meat, and the way my bunch can eat, who could afford to make it with no beans? Now I ain't sayin' that chili is got to be more beans than anything else, but gimmee a break - most of us have to use the beans jest to make it stretch fer enough! B'sides, the beans is good fer ya cholestrol, you know, yer veins and heart. And, before he reads this and says I don't know chili, I need to let'im know that I used to live in Texas! I DO know a thing er two about it, probly more than most southerners. Like the simple bit that chili meat ain't s'possed to be hamburger meat, it's s'possed to be real small cut up chunks of beef, not some ground up stuff. Kind of like carne asdada (bet'cha didn't think I knew such a word, huh?!)

He said somethin' about not eatin' his chili with soda crackers er crumblin' up corn bread in it either. To each his own I reckon. He don't think corn bread aught to be crumbled up in nothin'. What?! Not even in pot liker from greens? Not in pea juice? Not in milk? Again, to each his own. Now if'n I find out he's one of them that expect sugar in his corn bread, I may jest have to....well, I'll have to figer out somethin'.

I also found out he don't like boiled peanuts! From the way he described'em, I figer he got ahold to some that weren't made right. Either they was over cooked, over salted, er jest old. Good boiled peanuts should have firm shells, tender peanuts, and jest the right amount of salt. Maybe one day he'll get gutsy enough to try some good'uns.

My point in this writin' is to let people know that no matter where yer from, people from other places is gonna eat differnt. I been lucky and I've lived in a bunch of differnt places in my life, and I can testify to it! When I lived in Ohio and in Colorado, I purdy much figered I'd starve to death b'fore I could get back home! There weren't no grits, no smoked sausage, no country ham, no boiled peanuts, no field peas, no butter beans, no decent corn meal, oh, the list jest goes on and on!

Now I also have to tell ya I learned to eat a lot of things I'd never heard of before, like a lot of them mexican dishes. I payed close attention and learned how to make'em. Fer a old southern gal, let me tell ya, I can make a mean bunch of pork enchilladas! One of my favorites is the chili relano and a little resterant in New Mexico interduced me to a green chili cheeseburger that is some kind of good! Gotta be versa-tile I say! Learn differnt things, eat differnt things, live on the edge I think they call it. Keeps life interestin'!

I've eat all kinds of stuff in my life time, from baby octopus to possum, from gator to buffalo, from coon to tomales, from chinese lo mane to squirrel purloe. Now there's a few things I won't eat again cause I didn't like'em the first time, but there's a bunch I would. I may like a change ever now'n then, but I always come back to my roots - jest a regler ol'southern breakfast with grits'n eggs, country ham, good bacon er smoked sausage and homemade buttermilk biscuits with cane syrup. Fer dinner I like stuff like fried chicken er pork chops, field peas, butterbeans, mashed taters er rice and gravy and greens, with NO SUGAR cornbread. Supper can often be warmed up leftovers from dinner, er even somethin' simple like hoe cake and mater gravy. The point here is whilst it may seem strange as to what other people eat er don't eat, ya gotta figer the way you eat is strange to them, too. And when ya run up on somethin' differnt, give it a try. Ya might jest find ya like it! Life is too short to pass oppertunity by and miss out on things jest cause yer too stubborn an set in yer ways.

I think I'm gonna be makin' breakfast fer supper tonight - homemade buttermilk pancakes and smoke sausage. ya'll have a good day!

'Till next time,

Gran'ma Gertie

Spring/Summer

Howdy Ya'll!!

Well it feels like spring has done sprung and I'm tickled! At my age, cold ain't yer best friend. So, since the time has come to git outside, I reckon I'll give ya'll some outdoorsy tips. First we'll talk about gardenin'. Remember, jest gittin' outside and gittin' started means yer half done.

I ain't gonna tell ya how to grow yer stuff, er even what to grow. I figure ya aught to have that all figured out in the beginnin'. So, I can tell ya a few ways to make things easier.

If ya happen to have gardenin' tools that are old, antique some might call'em, they ain't made out of stainless steel. More than likely they are made out of iron, which will rust to bits if'n ya ain't careful. So, after ya finish with yer gardenin', there's a couple things ya can do to keep'em lookin' good. Take the time to wash off the dirt. Then give'em a quick rub down with a plain rag dipped in some kerosene . A kerosene rag works good on everything from a hand spade to plow shares to rototiller tines. If'n ya are often in a hurry and skip the rinsin' off, keep a bucket with some clean sand, like the kind you'd buy fer a young'uns sandbox. Mix linseed oil into the sand. When ya git done with the spade, er whatever hand tool, jest stab it down in the oily sand. The sand knocks off the dirt and the oil keeps'em from rustin'.

If'n yer tired of replacin' wood fence post, try this. Mix boiled linseed oil with powdered charcoal till it's about the thickness of paint. Paint the post with it, let it soak fer a day e'r two, then bury it as usual. Yer grandyoung'uns probably won't see it rot!

Now if'n yer willin' to put in some work to git a true whitewash fer yer fence, workshed, er other outdoor buildin', here's a recipe fer it. But, this ain't fer youn'uns to mess with. Take 7 1/2 pounds of unslaked lime, 1 1/2 pounds of rock salt and 3/4 pounds cement. Disolve the rock salt in a gallon of water. Pour it careful onto the lime.Then add 1 1/2 gallons of water real slow and be careful cause it's gonna get real hot. Finally, sprinkle the cement a bit at a time and mix it good. Then apply it when it's still hot. Make sure ya pay attention to the weather. Ya don't need no rain fer a couple days at least. It'll take a couple days to dry and harden, but after it does it'll really last. But again, I'm gonna tell ya to be careful with stuff - it'll dern sure burn ya.

Fer weather predictions, we all know that a lot of times, the TV weatherman ain't so smart. I reckon we've all heard red sky n the mornin, sailor take warnin', red sky at night, sailor's delight. Well, there's more you can look fer. In the evenin', a bright yeller sky means ya got some wind comin', a pale yeller sky means wet weather, and a gray dawn means fair weather. If'n the birds ain't flyin' too much er yer pigs is tryin' to get straw to their sty, it usually means a storm is approachin', as does a spider tearing' down their web.. Now if'n ya want a good weather predicter, my gran'pa told us young'uns how to make one. And of course, you can git yer young'uns to make one too.

Tie a rock about the size of a baseball with a long piece of twine. Tie it off to a tree branch and let it hang about 3 feet off the ground. Pay close attention to the rock. If'n it's swingin', ya got a breeze. If'n it's jest hangin' and not moving, ya ain't got any breeze. If'n it hangs level with the branch, ya got a hurricane. If'n it's warm, ya got sunshine. If'n it's got snow on it, it's cold. If'n it's wet, ya got rain. If'n it ain't there, somebody done stole it! Yep, my gran'pa was a joker!

Now when yer flowers git to bloomin' and yer young'uns er grandyoung'un pick ya little bouquet, of course ya want to display'em! But, more often then not yer vases, glasses er jars are a bit too big for what they brought ya. Grab a few little fishin' corks and float'em on top of the water, then put the flowers in. The corks take up space and kinda help the shortest ones float.

If'n ya grow sunflowers, after they bloom and ya cut'em down, save the stalks. Them stalks make good tomater stakes, er even trellises fer ya beans, cucumbers, er mornin' glories to run on. Jest tie the stalks however ya want with some good twine and there ya go!

Speakin' of cucumbers, we all know how good a fresh cuke it and about how all the beauty people use'em fer baggy eyes. But did ya know you can leave the peelin' out on the counter at night and git rid of roaches? Jest throw'em away in the mornin' and put fresh ones out at night.

Ok, so yer done gardenin' fer the day and yer hands look awful. Mix up some course ground cornmeal, about a cup er so, a handful of salt and a handful of Ivory soap shavin's. The cornmeal helps git out stains, the salt helps get'em soft and the Ivory soap is easy on yer hands.

I reckon that's about all fer now. I gotta git my tackle box sorted out and git ready fer my next fishin' trip. Last week me and Pa went fer a couple days and I brung home 18 catfish and I'm more than ready to go again!

Till next time,
Gran'ma Gertie

New Styles

Big Britches

Where are them so called fashion police when ya need’em? I went to the mall the other day with one of the young’uns and jest about couldn’t believe what some of the young’uns was wearin’. I wondered if’n their mamas and daddies knew they’d left the house lookin’ the way they did.

How did it ever become a style to wear the biggest britches you could find? How come nobody wears clothes that fit? I seen boys with britches so big they had to hold’em up whilst they was walkin’ along. The waist on them britches had to be a quite a few inches too big, and the seat of them britches was down around their knees! That cain’t be comfortable, no way, no how. What are they supposed to do when they gotta turn loose of their britches to hold somethin’ er open a door? Jest let the britches fall slap off I reckon. I cain’t figer out how they even walk with the straddle down around their knees, much less sit er git in er out of a car.

Now, I know this may sound crude, but I asked one of the young fellers I know what the big deal was with all these big britches. He told me that he liked the “freedom” these big britches give’im in his down there area. Now let me tell ya, I’m a married woman and I’ve raised boys myself. I know how men folks are concernin’ the size of their down there area. Not one single down there area that I’ve ever seen was so big it needs that much room to feel free!

And why is it they think ever body wants to know what kinda drawers they’re wearin’? I could care less if yer junior has drawers with flames er dice er some cartoon character on’em. I cain’t tell ya what my own sons is wearin’, so why would I want to know what yer son’s a wearin’? Make him pull his britches up!

I know I can blame a bunch of this on the parents. A young’un that’s 13, 14, 15 years old simply ain’t the got the money to go buy his own clothes, so that means mama and daddy are buyin’ these big britches. If’n ya’ll quit buyin’em, the young’uns cain’t wear’em. If’n the young’un has a job, he may have the money to buy this kind of mess, but as a parent, ain’t you supposed to be teachin’ and guidin’ your young‘uns? Puttin’ restrictions where it’s needed? Makin’ rules to go by?

Have parents simply lost their backbone and decided to let their young’uns get away with anything they want to? Parents aught to know what their young’un looks like before they let’em go somewhere, and set some ground rules as to what’s allowed and what ain‘t, then stand by it. As a parent, ain’t you supposed to teach yer young’un how to be presentable and respectful? How respectful is it to show the whole public yer drawers? If I had tried to wear some of the stuff I see now, my mama would have right fast like told me that I weren’t goin’ nowhere lookin’ like that! She’d have said the same thing to my brother, so it weren’t jest cause I was a girl. And, she’d have stuck by what she said.

Teeny Tiny Drawers

Along with all the low cut britches the young gals is wearin’ lately, I’ve seen somethin’ else. Teeny-tiny drawers stickin’ out of the top of the britches. These things ain’t no more than a string running right down the crack of the gals behind. I saw some of’em on the rack at the store, and I declare, I’ve got hankerchiefs that have more material than them drawers! Will someone tell me what the purpose of these drawers is? They sure ain’t coverin’ nothin’, so it cain’t be that.

I know I’m old, and I know that my generation didn’t have a lot of choice as to what kind of drawers we had, but these things are jest plain silly. They don’t cover nothin’ and there ain’t no way these things can be comfortable. Even doctors has said these things weren’t good fer a woman to wear. These kind of drawers can cause all kinds of infections and stuff. Most doctors will tell ya that plain old white cotton drawers are best. They got enough styles now that you don’t have to wear what most people call granny panties. You can get plain white cotton in bikinis and high cut legs and jest about any other style, even ones that look like a boys drawers.

When colored drawers first came out, they was thought to be awful, only “those” type women would wear a pair of colored drawers. After that came drawers made out of material other than plain cotton. Then, they came out with the bikini kind, and it seems it’s went downhill fast from there. How come women buy this kind of stuff? I’ve already established that it cain’t be fer comfort, so that’s out. Is it because they want to be in style, even if it ain’t comfortable? Is it because they figer if they don‘t wear what the high fashion people tell‘em to, they’ll be thought of as out of style? Old? Not “with it”? Have we lost our senses? Why do we allow some hot shot in New York City or Paris, France tell us what we aught to wear?

Women have been slaves to fashion fer as long as there’s been such a thing as fashion. We’ve worn corsets so tight we couldn’t even breath right. We’ve worn shoes that hurt cause either they were pointy toed and too tight, er they had heels like spike nails. We’ve worn jest about anything imaginable jest cause it was the latest fad and supposed to be in style. I think it’s about time we started payin’ more attention to what’s comfortable and less about the fashion world. When the fashion world gits so bad that they invent a pair of drawers that ain’t nothin’ but string that goes up your butt, it’s definitely time fer a big change!

Push-ups and Tie-Downs

Speakin’ of drawers, what’s goin’ on with bras these days? Used to, a brassier was to keep yer boobies up where they belonged and fer modesty. They were made fer a purpose, and it showed in the way they were made. They were plain, simple, and undecorated. There ain’t nothin’ modest about a lot of the bras made now. Some of’em barely cover anything at all! They’ve got’em in ever color of the rainbow, some lacy, some frilly, some with skinny straps, some with criss-cross straps, and some with no straps at all. Heck, I even seen a package for a stick-on bra.! A bra that jest sticks on kinda underneath yer boobies like a band aid! Now do you think I’m gonna believe a stick on bra is gonna do anything that a bra was designed to do?

It’s bad enough that some mean twisted yo-yo invented a bra with enough wire in it to string a fence, but now they got the ones I call tie downs that try and mash a woman flat and keep ever thing from even jigglin’. I’m sorry, but the way our bodies is made, our boobies are gonna jiggle. It’s jest natural. It may make a few women a bit self conscious, but unless a woman is tryin’ to make’em jiggle on purpose, I don’t see what the big deal is. To sum it up - natural boobies jiggle and natural boobies don’t sit under yer neck. Quit tryin’ to change that.

Git Togethers

In the fall of the year, when I done finished with all my cannin’ and jelly and preserve makin’, it used to be time fer cane grindins’ and peanut boilins’. You know, good ol’fashioned community git-togethers. People used to have things like this all the time, but ya almost never hear of’em anymore. When did box suppers, peanut boilins, barn raisins, taffy pulls and gitar pickin’ and fiddle playin’ on a fall evenin’ go out of style?

Sometime soon, I’d like to throw a real ol’fashioned peanut boilin’ party some evenin’. The kind we had when I was still a young’un. I could git out a couple of my cast iron washpots, set up some saw-horse tables out by the barn, and invite the whole community. I’ll tell ever’body to bring somethin’ fer supper so‘s we can have supper first. The little young’uns won’t be so hungry and so apt to get into mischief, and the older young’uns won’t be so apt to complain when they got a full belly. There aught to be enough gitar pickers and fiddle players around to make us some music. It should turn out to be a right nice little git-together.

People used to do things like this all the time. Ever’body knew ever’body else, and all had a good time. It gave the woman folks a chance to catch up on their gossipin’, men folks a chance to talk about farmin’, the little young’uns a chance to play, and sometimes, the older young’uns a chance to sneak off and smooch a little bit! You’d prob’ly be surprised as to how many married folk got that way because of community git-togethers such as these!

Maybe if more people had git-togethers like this, we wouldn’t have so much trouble with our young’uns. It would give’em somewhere to go, a chance to have some good ol’fashioned kinda fun, and would help keep’em out of trouble. If’n the young’uns now days had places to go that was decent, and had grown folks to kinda over see things, maybe they wouldn’t be so many mamas and daddies wonderin’ where their young’uns was at.

I’ve heard so much about some of today’s git-togethers that I’m almost glad I’m old now. About all I ever hear is about the fightin’, the drugs, and the other bad stuff. I know about the drinkin’ too. It seems such a shame that people now days don’t know how to really have fun without addin’ some bad stuff to it. Now I ain’t sayin’ that people now are all bad, er that years ago that the people was better. Why years ago, shore, sometimes the men folks would sneak a little shine, or some young’un would bring a ceegar that he’d stole from his daddy, but we dealt with things a lot differnt back then.

If’n a man got out of line ‘cause he’d been drinkin’ too much, his wife or the other men folks would embarrass him so bad he’d be too ashamed to even show his face in town fer a month. If’n the young’uns really smoked that ceegar, they’d all show up by the bonfire lookin’ a little green about the gills, and too sick to enjoy the rest of the evenin’. It really taught’em a lesson!
Communities are differnt now too. People move about so much now that it seems there ain’t a soul that’s settled any more. People may live side by side fer years and never know their neighbors. They may see each other ever evenin’ when they come in from work er when their gittin’ ready to go to church, but they never even speak! Ya got people that retire and have two places they live, and they don’t know their neighbors in neither place!

People used to make it a point to know their neighbors, whether they lived in town and right next door, er out in the country a half mile apart. When a new family moved into the community, the women folks would often bake a cake er some cookies and take’em over to the new family just to say howdy and to welcome them to the community.

When a woman in the community was down, either sick er just from havin’ a baby, the women folks would all pitch in and help out. They’d some do laundry fer her family, er cook meals, er sweep the house, er do some weedin’ in her garden. If’n a man was down sick er injured, the men folks around would do what they could, like plowin’ his fields er feedin’ the live stock ever evening’, er even takin‘ his crop to be sold. If’n a family was down on their luck and was needin’ help, they got it, without ever havin’ to ask er without ever knowin’ who done what. If’n a families barn er house burnt down, it got rebuilt. No bunch questions, no bunch of papers to sign, nothin’. What was needed was jest done. It seems such a shame that communities ain’t like that no more. I think we aught to try and change it.

Now that I think about it, that git-together I been plannin’ sounds better and better. If’n more communities would throw git-togethers, maybe people would git to know their neighbors, maybe even make a friend er two. Ya jest never know. After all, like it’s been said before, strangers is jest friends ya ain’t met yet!

April Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!


It’s me again, Gran’ma Gertie. I been about to laugh myself right out of my rocker! Gran’pa’s been about to break his neck a lookin’ at our neighbor! Ever spring, when the weather gets a little warm, our neighbor comes out of winter hibernation. It’s almost like clock work, and jest about as reliable as groundhog day. When she comes out, it’s officially spring!

Now I cain’t very well say that the weather has to be real warm. Just a few days ago, I was outside piddlin’ with my flow’r pots, wearin’ my brogans, overalls, and flannel shirt. I ain’t the cold natured type, neither. I was quite comfortable. All of a sudden, I heard Gran’pa let out a whoop and a yell comin’ from the widow facing the neighbors house. I knew then that it was spring.

Now I ain’t the jealous type. I always figered that if’n another woman could take that cantankerous ol’ codger, she could have ‘im! I jest don’t think it’s proper fer a grown woman to go paradin’ around with all God gave her in such a little bit of clothes! Why, there ain’t enough material in that bikini thing she wears to make a good hankerchief! You might be able to get enough material to make the waddin’ fer a shotgun shell. It’s a wonder that she ain’t caught p-monia of the belly button.

I reckon she enjoys all the men folk around ridin’ by to get a glimpse. She always seems to wave at ‘em when they go by. You’d be surprised how busy the road is out front of my house come springtime! She is a blessin’ to all the women folk around, though. She’s the only reason we can get the men folk to help us outside! Even Gran’pa thinks he’s slick. He tries to make me believe he’s rakin’ up leaves, but I’ve caught him rakin’ the same patch of grass over and over. The only way he’ll rake anywhere else is to get a better view! And, since she’s our neighbor, guess what man has the most friends in spring?

This ain’t no young teenaged filly I’m talkin’ about, either. She’s married and got a house full of young’uns. She’s pushin’ forty if’n a day. Gran’pa did say she was a “Yonder” woman - the kind that looks better over “yonder” than up close. He says her face is so bad, she’s gotta sneak up on breakfast, and that he’s seen better heads on stray ally cats! I don’t know whether it’s true, or whether he’s jest sayin’ it to make me feel better!

I cain’t figure out what would make a woman dress like that. I may not be no Marilyn Monroe, but I ain’t the worst thing I ever seen. I ain’t ashamed of my looks in no way. I figure the good Lord above made me jest the way he wanted me, and since he don’t make mistakes, I ought’er to be satisfied. Maybe she ain’t satisfied and needs someone to gawk at her to let her know she’s all right. I think they call that self esteem now. I don’t guess she’s got any. Or maybe she thinks she’s better than all right and jest likes to show off.

Seems to me, she ain’t got no common sense, either. If’n I’m gonna go outside and cut the grass around the house, I know that there may be sticks that’s blown down from the trees, or rocks that the gran’young’uns has throwed, or any thing else imaginable in the tall grass. All that stuff has the chance of flyin’ out from under that mower with enough force to knock down a mule. I want me some clothes on! I want my shoes on! I got enough sense to try to protect myself, at least a little bit! Not her though. It’s barefooted and bikini all the way.

What about all the stuff we been readin’ about that skin cancer? All the doctors and scientist have said that the layer around the earth ain’t as good as it used to be, and the sun causes more skin cancer now. Don’t she realize that stuff can kill you! I know there’s lot’s more treatments now than there used to be, but it’s still a stupid chance to take. I ain’t plannin’ on dyin’ just to get looked at by a bunch of gawkin’ ol’ geezers, or a bunch of hormone crazy boys. It just don’t seem worth it to me.

At her age, she must stay on some kind of diet. She ain’t real skinny, but in order for that bikini to keep fittin’, when she’s old enough for the middle aged spread, she’s gotta be eatin’ nothin’ but grass and tuna fish. I ain’t tellin’ you oughta eat like a hog, but if a body eats with some sense, stays busy, and don’t spend all the time jest sittin’ around, the body will be alright. It may not be what a magazine says is perfect, or what would stop traffic on a busy street, but you’ll be jest right.

As fer me, at my age, my body is like a time machine map. Each wrinkle, each gray hair, every single part that has fell from where it used to be. It may not be purdy, but it’s healthy! I’d rather be healthy and not such a looker, than to live on grass and tuna fish, and die early from somethin’ stupid.

I feel so sorry fer our young’uns nowadays. All the people on the magazines, all the big Hollywood people, all the models, and all of the people our young’uns look up to are skinny as a rail. We always read about which one is in the hospital, or goin’ to some fancy doctor, or is losin’ their career ‘cause they ain’t got sense enough to eat. Our young’uns deserve better than that. They all seem to think that if’n they cain’t fit into a certain pair of britches, or wear one of them bikini things, they ain’t right. We ought to let them know differnt. But, until all the ol’ geezers quit starin’, and we keep puttin’ up with Hollywood, the magazines, and the models, ain’t nothin’ gonna change.

Well, I see Gran’pa’s done gone inside. I reckon our neighbor is done fer today. I do hope she’ll be back out tomorrow, though. I need Gran’pa to move the woodpile out by the barn. It’s springtime, you know!


‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie

March Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

Gran’ma Gertie here. Jest been settin’ on the front porch watchin’ the world go by. Now that March has arrived, I’m jest waitin’ on full blown spring. My tulip bulbs are jest now sproutin’ out, the mockin’bird’s is lookin’ fer nestin’ spots, and Gran’pa’s been talkin’ ‘bout the fence rows that need cleanin’.

If all the old almanacs are right, it should be pretty fair weather. In like a lion and out like a lamb, you know. Since I been followin’ the signs my whole life, I often wonder how the new fangled weather men git their predictions. If’n I watch the fog rise, I know I got some rain or a real heavy dew comin’. If’n it settles, ain’t no rain. I never needed one of them baro-meter things to tell me that.

If I go outside and it’s windy, I know what direction it’s comin’ from! I may not know the miles-an-hour, but I can judge if’n it’s enough to dry clothes on the line. If it’s real gusty, I can let the gran’young’uns fly their kites out in the back field. If it ain’t too breezy, I can sow some flow’r seed in the bed out by the back porch. I ain’t never needed a wind sock thing to tell me that!

I know that in the fall, if’n the sunsets real red, we got cooler weather comin’. You can tell if’n a hard winter’s comin’ by how many acorns fall, and how fat the squirrels are. You can also tell what kind of winter’s comin’ by the corn shucks. If the shucks are few and loose, a mild winter, if’n they’re heavy and wrapped real tight, count on a hard winter. When you see a ring around the moon, count how many stars are in the ring - that’s how many days ‘till rain. If’n you listen to the birds, you can tell if a storm’s approachin’. They always git real quiet, and usually lite somewhere to ride it out.

Now I know that all signs ain’t fer real. They was probably started by some superstitious ol’ maid to amuse herself and scare the daylights outta the young’uns. Like a bird in the house or a hoot owl outside yer window at night means death to someone close to you. Well, let me tell you, I’ve lived in the woods ‘bout all my life, heard hoot owls scream half the night, and had birds git in the house when I aired it out, and ain’t nobody died unless they was s’posed to! I do admit, though, to crossin’ out the path of a black cat if’n he crosses mine! Just in case.

I know most of this stuff seems perty silly to the young’uns of today. After all, they got all kinds of computer stuff to tell’em what’s what. They can find out in the blink of an eye what the weather is in any city in the world. I reckon it must be important to some people to know if’n it’s rainin’ in Paris, but me, I just need to know what the weather is in my own little area. I need to know things like will my clothes git dry on the line, or will I need to hang’em on the back porch? Will mine and Gran’pa’s rheumatism be bad this winter, or will we fair all right? If’n the gran’young’uns come over, can they go out and play, or drive me crazy playin’ in the house? These are the things that are important to me. And a lot of people like me.

I guess my point is that times are changin’, and they’re changin’ real fast. I just hope that somewhere, there’s a Gran’ma or Gran’pa teachin’ the young’uns the old ways, too. I’d hate to see the day when nobody remembers anymore. Now I ain’t sayin’ that I’m against learnin’ new things, or that the new ways ain’t no good. There’s been a lot of good progress that I’ve lived to see, but there’s a lot of things our young’uns could learn. Things that have had us country folks survivin’ fer years. We been buildin’ homes, plantin’ crops, raising meat, and bringin’ up young’uns fer hunderds o’years, without no fancy machines to tell us how to do it. Seems to me, we been perty smart! I jest hope we don’t let the young’uns ferget that. Learnin’ is somethin’ that nobody can take away from you, and you never know when you jest might need it!


‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie.

February Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll,

Gran’ma Gertie jest checkin’ in again. Since it’s soon to be Valentines Day, I thought maybe the young’uns would like to know how it used to be. The way it was when me and Gran’pa were young’uns. Before every store in town got in on it.

When I was jest a girl, we used to make all of our own Valentine cards. Most of the mama’s I knew used to keep little scraps of material from quilt makin’s, old paper doilies, and other notions we young’uns could have. If’n you were lucky, you could go to the dime store and buy some red paper or glitter. Mostly we jest used what we had. Mama used to make us a glue from flour, corn starch, and some water. My brother used to eat more than he used!

We’d sit around the table fer hours when we had a chance. It had to be after chores, supper, baths, and school work was done. It might take days to make all our cards. Sometimes even weeks if’n it was fer somebody special. After they were done, we couldn’t wait to give them out and look at all the other ones the other young’uns made.

I got one from Gran’pa that was as purty as any store-bought one I’ve ever seen. He didn’t have any paper doilies, so he spent several weeks cuttin’ out the paper into these purty heart and flow’r shapes. I don’t remember what he wrote on the inside, I jest remember all the time he put in to make it. He also done extra work at Mr. Douglass’s farm to buy me some little fancy tinfoil wrapped chocolate hearts. That sure was the way to my heart! Chocolate, pure and simple. It don’t matter what kind, light or dark, sweet or bittersweet, as long as it’s chocolate! Although, at my age, with my store-bought teeth, I have a little problem with the nuts.

Some women I know like to get flow’rs, or new night clothes. Some like to be took to supper, or off dancin’ somewhere. I’d just as soon spend my Valentine’s Day with Gran’pa, settin’ at the house, listenin’ to the radio, eatin’ my chocolates.

I reckon I found out what love was all about when he give me that first card. It’s about carin’ fer someone enough to do somethin’ difficult without complainin’. It’s about knowin’ somebody well enough to know what they like. It’s about bein’ happy with what you’ve got, and bein’ willin’ to share it. It’s about makin’ someone else happy without expectin’ somethin’ in return. I’m lucky to still have my someone. And real lucky that he still remembers.

If you have a special someone, don’t ferget that Valentine’s day is comin’ fast. Don’t ferget your mama and daddy, either. After all, they loved you first. If you can find the time, sit down and make a purty card. Homemade is always thought more of than store-bought. It shows that you cared enough to take the time, even in our busy world today. A Valentine don’t have to be a card, a flow’r, or anything expensive. It can be as simple as a promise to do somethin’ fer somebody, cut your mama’s grass, help your daddy in the garden fer a day, or fix a nice supper fer your special someone. It really ain’t hard if you use your noodle just a little. How do you think me and Gran’pa’s lasted all these years? He keeps on buying me chocolates and I keep on ..........! Well, I just keep on!

‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie

January Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

It Gran’ma again. I been settin’ by the fire all day waitin’ on a nice warm day to get here. Some days, it seems like there never was such a thing. Today’s one of them days. When you git to be my age, January ain’t yer favorite month.

When you git as many years on yer bones as I got, yer bones start arguin’ with you. They start havin’ those ‘Itis Brothers over quite a bit. You know them - Burs Itis, Arthur Itis, and the youngest one, Tendon Itis. I sometimes hurt in places I didn’ remember I even had!

One of my young’uns set me up with a city doctor one time. He had a big, fine fancy office, with purty pictures on the walls and purty plants growin’ in fancy pots. He was real nice, real clean cut, but seemed a might young to suit me. I wondered how he was gonna treat somethin’ he hadn’t experienced yet. He looked, he tugged, pushed, pulled and bent everything I had. Then he gave me his diagnosis (which I already knew and had told him), and give me a prescription. I got some kind of pills that didn’t do anything ‘cept make my stomach hurt. When I called him and told him, all he could say was that at my age, I had to expect some things to hurt.

I ain’t never went back to that young doctor. I jest cain’t see puttin’ out good money fer someone to tell me somethin’ I already know. I probly know more about doctorin’ than he does. I brought my young’uns into this world, and raised’em quite healthy. Ain’t none of them got any problems now. They didn’t have many comin’ up, either!

I know that oatmeal in tub of jest warm water helps take the itch out of chicken pox. I know that a sock full of warm salt is good to put on an earache. I know that turpentine and sugar mixed jest right is good fer the croup. So is a good mustard plaster. I ain’t never been one to drink, but if you mix a jigger of red likker, the juice of one lemon, and a tablespoon of wild honey, heat it up, drink it hot, and stay under the covers, you’re on your way to feelin’ better from a bad cold or the flu. After drinkin’ these toddies every 2 to 3 hours, either they start workin’ or yer too drunk to care! Either way, you feel a lot better. I know you can put a whole clove in just enough hot water to soffen it and put it on a bad tooth. The clove will make it go numb.

If’n you got a baby that’s teethin’, boil about 30 whole cloves in about half a cup of water, add about a teaspoon of sugar, strain it and cool it, and you got yerself some real good teethin’ medicine. A lot people don’t know it, but babies don’t like loud noise. I ain’t talkin’ about just one loud noise, like a clap, but noise like from an old fan or vacuum cleaner. If you got a colicky baby, lay him down and put the noisy thing right in the room with him. Turn it on, and within a few minutes, your baby’ll be sleepin away! Speakin’ of babies, if yours has a problem with a diaper rash, try givin’ him some diluted cranberry juice, and powder that bottom with plain ol’ cornstarch. Babies ain’t got to be no harder than you make them. Keep ‘em dry, fed and loved, and they do jest fine. Before you know it, they’re grown.

As fer my visitin’ Itus Brothers, I jest mix up a little eucalyptus oil (I get mine from the corner drug store in town), and a little lard, rub it on whatever part is hurtin’, and wrap it up fer a few hours. It’ll usually help the stiffness. It’s either that or the fact that I won’t give in to it. I got things to do. I ain’t got time to sit on my bottom and see if’n it’ll get better. I’m afraid the day I give in, Gran’pa better start makin’ arraingments with the undertaker!

I wonder how that young doctor will feel when he gets to be my age? How will he feel if some young hotshot tells him to expect things to hurt? Truthfully, I don’t reckon he’ll see the years I have. He don’t work hard enough to keep his body strong. He prob’ly eats the wrong stuff like all the other young’uns. He prob’ly worries too much about things he cain’t control. He’d be one of the ones that jest sits down and quits ‘cause somethin’ hurts. Seems such a shame, don’t you think?

I guess I’d better get up and get movin’ about. It’s still too cold to do anything in the yard or the garden. I guess I’ll go feed up fer the evenin’ and bring in a load or two of wood. We had a real red sunset so it’s gonna be cold tonight, and I need a big fire. Gran’pa jest ain’t big enough to keep a big woman like me warm!

“Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie

December Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

I been sittin’ here lookin’ out my front window fer some of the young’uns. I know they should be gettin’ here any time. With Christmas just a couple of days away, and the gran’young’uns bein’ out of school, they all said they would try to get here. I shore hope they can all make it.
It’s times like these that I miss the young’uns bein’ little. Now I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t proud of my gran’young’uns, but it is a little differnt. Young’uns nowadays expect things a lot differnt than my young’uns did. They act like if’n they ain’t got the biggest tree, the most lights, and the most presents, they ain’t had Christmas!

Fer gifts, they expect them fancy computer games, batt’ry powered cars, and baby dolls that talk, walk, and do ever’thing a real baby does. The new styles fer clothes are jest plain crazy. Either the britches look like they belong on the fat man at the circus, or they try to make grown folks out of young’uns! My mama wouldn’t have let us go to a dawg fight in some of the stuff them young’uns is wearin’!

I think one of the craziest things I ever heard was them yama goochi key chain things. It was supposed to be some kind of a computer animal. The young’uns had to push a button to feed it, push a button to play with it, and push a button to make it do whatever it was supposed to do. If’n the young’un didn’t push all the right buttons, the thing died. How a made up animal is supposed to die is beyond me. All the young’uns wanted one of these things, but at the same time, not very many would take the time to feed the family dawg! What made it so bad was that all the mamas and daddies was fightin’ to buy one fer their young’un.
A few years ago, it was them home made lookin’ dolls. Them things were about as ugly as a doll could be. Some feller got the idea from an old gran’ma in north Georgia. He took it to the patent office I reckon, so the gran’ma cain’t make’em no more. That feller made the dolls, made all the clothes, built a hospital fer’em, and sold’em with a set of adoption papers. On the news, it showed people in the stores just a fightin’, kickin, and scratchin’ to get one. Some things are just plain foolish.

When did we ferget what Christmas was about? When did the presents wind up bein’ the most important thing? When did the rule about the one with the most toys, wins, get voted on? When did the price of somethin’ get to be more important than the thought behind it? When did Christmas become just another day fer a store to have a sale? When did it get to be so..., what do they call it? commercialized? Maybe the right question would be why.

Why have we let ourselves get trapped in to doin’ what the toy makers and clothin’ makers want us to do? Why have we let our young’uns ferget the real meanin’ of Christmas? Why don’t we put more meanin’ on our families than on the presents? What have we done? And what can we do about it?

Fer starters, quit spendin’ so much money on stuff that the young’uns is prob’ly gonna get tired of in a week. Quit fallin’ fer the same ol’ tricks the stores pull. Start spendin’ more time with the young’uns. Take an evenin’ and explain the real meanin’ of Christmas. Teach the young’uns how to make a tractor from an ol’ sewin’ thread spool and a rubber band. Show’em how to make a pea shooter out of wooden clothes pins. Take an evenin’ to string popcorn or make paper chains. Make your own tree decorations. Go outside and bring in some fresh pine tops. They always smell better than that stuff in a can. I could go on and on. There’s a lot we could do, if’n we jest would. We need to get back to the real Christmas way. The way it should’ve been all along.

I think I see some headlights on the road, so I better get up. I got a million things to do. I still got lots of cookin’ to do, and I’ve done gathered all my old beads and quilt scraps so me and the gran’young’uns can cover some styrerfoam balls to go on the tree. Gran’pa jest cut it this mornin’ and it shore has the front room smellin’ good! Between the Christmas tree and the cookies I made, the whole house smells good. I hope the young’uns will just remember that it smells like home. Have a Merry Christmas, Ya’ll!


‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie

November Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

I’ve been busy as a bee at honey makin’ time gettin’ everything ready fer Thanksgivin’. It’s always been a real big thing at our house. All the family will be here. I don’t often get to see all my gran’young’uns at one time. There’s a big bunch of’em!

I reckon my family has always went all out fer Thanksgivin’. We always felt like we had a lot to give thanks fer, and most of the time, we may not have had much else, but we had food. It was usually that way with all us country folks. We always growed our own vegetables and raised our own meat. We may not have had a fancy store bought turkey, but you can bet there was a big hunk or two of meat on our table! It might be a smoked ham from one of our hogs, or two or three fine bakin’ hens of mama’s. We always had a big pan of cornbread dressin’ with gravy on the side, sweet potater casserole, fresh corn and any kind of peas or beans you could name, real mashed potaters made with real butter and real cream, and all kinds of cakes and pies, includin’ some of the best sweet potater pie you ever put in your mouth! A meal fit fer a king!

We always sat at the table, even if’n we had to extend it with saw horses and boards. Mama would always find a tablecloth big enough to cover. Most of the time, the little young’uns would eat at a separate table, being that they sometimes made a mess or spilt their tea. The food would spread all the way down the table, and usually into the kitchen. There would be gallons of iced tea put in wash tubs, and every kind of bread that we could make, from biscuits to fried corn bread patties put in baskets along the table. All kinds of jelly and preserves, and home made cane syrup was also there. If’n we were lucky, and enough money had been scared up, we had store bought cranberry sauce.

The smell comin’ from the kitchen early that mornin’ was enough to make your mouth water. By the time everything was finally done, most of us felt like our belly was meetin’ our back bone and we were ready to eat! When I was real little, it was sometimes awful hard to sit through the blessin’ without tryin’ to sneak a nibble.

Mama always made shore the young’uns was fed first. She said she wasn’t havin’ none of her young’uns eatin’ scraps! I’ve always felt the same way. Years ago, some people always fed the men folks first, the woman would then eat in the kitchen, and then the young’uns were fed from whatever was left. Not at our house! She knew how hungry us young’uns were. It had been a long time since breakfast, which was usually small because she had to get us all cleared out of the kitchen so she could finish up dinner. She most always had her cakes and pies done the mornin’ before, and the ham was just waitin’ in the smokehouse. She get jar after jar of her canned vegetables set out the night before. Everything was in the plannin’ and the timin’. Keep rememberin’ that all this was done on a woodstove! I’ve seen mama have to keep a fire goin’ in there for two or three days solid with all the cookin’ she done.

I know that we live in a differnt world today. Ever’body’s so busy all the time. Now, all a person has to do is go by their new big grocery store, pay thirty or forty dollars, and pick up a whole Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmin’s. While they’re there, they can pick up everything else ready made from the cakes and pies to tea in gallon milk jugs. It just don’t seem right. I still do all my own cooking. I don’t use instant nothin’! I don’t use my new miker’wave fer anything but a clock and what-not shelf. I’ve had to learn to use margarine instead of butter, canned milk instead of cream, and spices and stuff from a can instead of growed in our garden. I jest about burnt everything I cooked when Gran’pa bought me a gas burnin’ stove! So yes, I’ve had to learn to make do, too.

I reckon I shouldn’t gripe as long as the woman that picks up that store made dinner sits down and gives thanks with her family, and teaches the young’uns how to say the blessin’ and have good manners at the table.
Times are always a’changin’. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worst. At my age, sometimes it’s hard to tell. I jest hope we never change the things that really matter. Like our families, our young’uns, our friends and our religion. If’n we lose them, we ain’t got a lot left to hold on to. These things are more important than ever now, what with mamas and daddies both workin’, young’uns livin’ at the baby sitter, no time fer neighbors, and no time fer church goin’. Now I ain’t sayin’ I’m some preacher type, but I figer I owe my long years, my good sized family, my many friends, and all my blessin’s to some body. And I don’t mind givin’ thanks fer’em. Maybe we should all take a little time to do jest that. While I’m at it, I think I’ll pray for a perty day so the gran’young’uns can play outside!


‘Till next time,


Gran’ma Gertie

October Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

Well, I’m jest now beginnin’ to feel the first chills in the mornin’ air. Not quite chilly enough fer frost, but my old flannel shirt shore does feel good. The dog fennel’s were in full bloom about 4 weeks ago, so we aughta have first frost in about 2 more weeks. It’s usually quite nippy at night by the time the county fair comes around the last of this month.
I should be pickin’ the rest of my greens. I want to get’em before the frost falls on’em. That always makes’em taste sweet. I’ve heard tell that people up north put sugar in theirs! I like my greens good and bitter - makes the cornbread taste better. Throw a big piece of ham hock in there and you got a good supper fer a nippy evenin’.

I aught to head to the barn to put up all the fishin’ stuff. When you get to be mine and Gran’pa’s age, sittin’ on a bank or in a boat when it’s cold don’t make your bones feel so good. Once the weather turns off real cool, we have to quit fishin’ ‘till warm weather’s back. So, in keepin’ with my sportin’ type image, it’s time to dust off the shotgun and see how many shells I got.

The turkey shoots aught to be startin’ this weekend. They’ll run right up through Christmas. Nowadays, though, turkey ain’t all you can get. Sometimes you can choose between 10 pounds of sausage, a side of bacon, a fresh or cured ham, a pork Boston butt roast, and of course, turkeys. A few years ago, I filled up our ol’ freezer! It done me good to out shoot so many of them young hot shots with their fancy shotguns! There was even a few of the men folks that wouldn’t shoot against me - said it was wastin’ their money!

I’d like to get a couple of deer in the freezer and maybe a wild hog or two. There is no meat that taste as good as fresh wild hog that I know of. My daddy could skin out and cut up a wild hog so fast that he could have it done before you could get the grease hot enough to fry it! I might use one of the deer roast to make some jerky. Gran’pa ain’t got the teeth to chew it, so he just rolls it on his gums ‘till it’s soft enough to swaller. It shore does taste good, though. A few messes of squirrel, and four or five rabbit should do us nice fer the winter.

Now I know that a lot of ya’ll don’t believe in huntin’. I don’t belive in huntin’ fer sport or fer trophies like you see people on TV do. The only time I kill somethin’ is fer eatin’ purposes. I was raised in the woods, and could out shoot all the boys in the community by the time I was 10. I shoot only what I can plainly see. I don’t believe in makin’ no animal suffer. I never kill more than me and the family can eat. Besides, I like the taste a whole lot more.

You never know what the meat producer’s been addin’ to his meat, or what he’s been feedin’ his animals. I’ve heard an awful lot lately about bad meat gettin’ into the supermarkets, makin’ people sick, and sometimes killin’ people! More especially little young’uns and older folks like me. The doctor’s say that our bodies ain’t strong enough to fight off all the bad stuff in the meat. At least when I kill a wild animal, I know what he’s been eatin’ and I know where he’s been. I do the skinnin’, so I know how his insides look. If they don’t look right, I won’t eat it. I won’t eat nothin’ that’s been killed too early in the season ‘cause the weather is still too warm. After the second good freeze and cold weather is around fer a while is when I do my huntin’. I know by then that the meat will be good, and will keep long enough for me to get it home, get it skint, cut up, and put in the freezer. I may be ol’fashioned, but I ain’t stupid!
I’ve been seein’ a lot of those fancy cookin’ shows on the TV, and guess what? They’re beginin’ to use wild meat, too. I saw some foreign feller fixin’ what he called pheasant under glass. He used spices I never heard of, put some wine all over it, baked it, put it on a fancy dish of some sort and decorated it like it was some kind of present. I don’t know how his tasted, but I like my pheasant flour’d and fried in a cast iron frying pan! A pot of rice, a little gravy, biscuits and iced tea sounds perty good to go with it.

Most of this may sound mean, about me killin’ animals, but we country folks have survived fer years. Both usin’ and livin’ off the land. We ain’t like a lot of city folks. We know how to take care of the land, ‘cause it takes care of us. We ain’t as cruel as you think. When we kill, it’s quick. There ain’t no sufferin’ if we can help it. You should see how the animal dies at a slaughterhouse! Now that’s just plain mean.

I hope I ain’t offended any of ya’ll. If’n I did, I’m sorry. Not sorry that you got offended, but sorry that you cain’t understand our way of life. It’s the way I was raised, my daddy, and his before him. Some call that a tradition. I call it a good way to eat! Ya’ll should try it sometime. Even if’n you don’t hunt, I’m quite shore ya’ll know somebody that hunts. Next time you hear of’em goin’, ask’em to save you a shoulder off the deer. It’s the best BBQ meat you can find. Makes a perty good roast with potaters and onion and carrots, too. Here’s to good eatin!


‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie

September Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

I hope this purty day finds ya’ll doin’ good. Me, I been about as busy as a sore tailed cat on a porchful of rockers. It’s that time of the year. I done finished with all my cannin’, and September’s time fer cane grindin’, peanut boilin’, and jelly and preserve makin’.

The pear’s is jest now startin’ to get ripe enough for makin’ some preserves. I done sent Gran’pa out to the barn to bring in some of my mason jars. I reckon I’ll have to go into town to get some more lids and rings. Fer some reason, I never get back all my lids or rings. Oh well, I guess new ones will work better anyhow. I figure I aught to get at least four bushels off the trees out back. I’ll probly freeze a few fer the gran’young’uns. They like me to peel’em, add a little sugar, boil’em jest until the sugar melts and freeze’em. Then, when it’s done got good and cold outside, heat ‘em up a bit and eat’em over hoe cake. I got one gran’young’un that likes me to make cobbler. Gran’pa likes the cooked down preserves better. I always add a little spice to’em while they’re cookin’. They make a real treat with a hot buttermilk biscuit and a piece or two of fried fat back!

I know I’m gonna have my hands full when Gran’pa starts the cane grindin’. He always wants to sneak a little juice off to the side to make Happy Jack. That’s kinda like a homemade rum. It is some kinda powerful. I’ve seen that stuff make reg’lar men plum crazy! My daddy liked to take some juice in a old bottle down to the river with him. He’d set and fish while the juice got cold settin’ in the water. I never liked the juice myself. I wait fer the syrup!

It ain’t every body that knows how to make syrup. I’ve seen some that was real watery, and some almost as thick as molasses. I tasted some that wasn’t sweet at all, and some that was cooked too fast and tasted burnt. I’m perty picky when it comes to my syrup. After all, it’s gotta be good enough fer my hoe cake, my biscuits, and my griddle cakes. I also ain’t never had a piece of pork that didn’t taste better if’n you had a little syrup and bread to go with it!

I’ll be perty tied up this weekend, too. I got the gran’youg’uns comin’ to help me pick bullass grapes off the vines in the edge of the woods. I shore hope the birds ain’t got to’em first. Those wild grapes make some real perty jelly. I know them young’uns will probly eat as many as they pick, but at least the seeds aught slow’em down some!

After all this cannin’ and puttin’up is done with, I hope to throw a real ol’fashioned peanut boilin’ party. The kind we had when I was still a young’un. I’ll get out a couple of my cast iron washpots, set up some saw horse tables out by the barn, and invite the whole community. I’ll tell ever’body to bring somethin’ fer supper. That way, we can have supper first. The little young’uns won’t be so hungry and so apt to get into mischief. I also learned that the older young’uns won’t be so apt to complain when they got a full belly. There aught to be enough gitar pickers and fiddle players around to make us some music. It should turn out to be a right nice little get together.

People used to do things like that all the time. Ever’body knew ever’body else, and all had a good time. It gave the woman folks a chance to catch up on their gossipin’, men folks a chance to talk about farmin’ and hog prices, the little young’uns a chance to play, and sometimes, and the older young’uns a chance to sneak off and smooch a little bit! You’d prob’ly be surprised as to how many married folk got that way because of community get togethers!

I’ve heard so much about today’s get togethers that I’m glad I’m old now. About all I ever hear is about the fightin’, the drugs, and the other bad stuff. I know about the drinkin’ too. Shore, sometimes the men folks would sneak a little shine, or some young’un would bring a ceegar that he’d stole from his daddy, but we dealt with things a lot differnt. If’n a man got out of line ‘cause he’d been drinkin’, his wife or the other men folks would embarrass him so bad he’d be ashamed to show his face in town fer a month. If’n the young’uns smoked that ceegar, they’d all show up by the bonfire lookin’ a little green, and too sick to enjoy the rest of the evenin’. It really taught’em a lesson!

Well, I reckon I’d better get busy. Things don’t happen by themselves. Now that I think about it, that get together I been plannin’ sounds better and better. Maybe if more people had get togethers like this, we wouldn’t have so much trouble with our young’uns. It would at least give’em somewhere differnt to go, and somethin’ differnt to do beside hunt trouble. Think about it the next time ya’ll are plannin’ some kind of party!

‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie

August Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll,

It’s me again. I been sittin’ here on my porch lookin’ at all the sale papers that came in the mail. It’s time fer the young’uns to git back in school, so they got all the school stuff on sale. I never will understand what differnce a certain kind of notebook is gonna make in the way a young’un learns.

I seen wired notebooks, zippered notebooks, colorful notebooks, plain notebooks, ones with movie stars pictures on ‘em, ones with cartoons on’em, and ones with ever color of the rainbow on ‘em! They got regler pencils and fancy pencils, regler pens and colered pens and pens with special grips. Crayons now come in big boxes of 96 differnt colors, and paper is in ever color you could want to write on. They even got special stores that sell nothin’ but school stuff!

They got them backpack things fer the young’uns to lug all this mess back and to in. The TV said the other day that doctors is worried about the young’uns back messin’ up before they even get out of school to get a job! They just ain’t no sense in any young’un totin’ that much on their back! We didn’t have to tote that much when we worked in the fields ‘till we got older and big enough to handle it.

Can anybody out there prove to me that all this new fangled stuff is teachin’ the young’uns any better? Most young’uns now ain’t got sense enough to get out of the rain unless some game tells ‘em to! The young’uns that make it to college are taking so long to graduate that they done got gray hair before they know what a job is! And when they do git a job, guess where they go first? To the store that sells all the school stuff so they can git fancy stuff fer their new jobs! ‘Cept now, they’re called “office” supplies! Don’t make no sense to me, neither.

Since we done got all the supplies, are the teachers any better? I wonder. I see on them school calendars that they schedule teacher work days. These are days that the young’uns could be in school, but today’s teachers need the time to fix up report cards. I figered it shouldn’t take ‘em as long today ‘cause they got them computers to do all the work. In my day, the teachers had to do the figurin’ themselves, and the writin’ themselves, and there weren’t no such thing as settin’ up an appointment to see your young’uns teacher. If you needed to see her, you just stopped by the school when you had a minute. Boy, if you try that now, they’d have you hauled off! Yet all the time you hear the teachers whinin’ about they cain’t get the mamas and daddies involved in their young’uns schoolin’! They need to learn that you cain’t have it both ways. Either you want me there, or you don’t. They need to learn that time is important to mama’s and daddies, too. Some mama’s got jobs, and those that don’t got meals to cook, homes to clean, and probably got clothes to fold! Most daddies got jobs, too. They have to take off to go see the teacher. The least they can do is work with the man!

They need to learn that supplies don’t teach the young’uns, good teachers do. What is wrong with the good, old fashioned ways of readin’, writin’, and arithmetic, as long as you throw in some of that computer stuff so the young’uns don’t fall behind the rest of the world? Now a days, they’re teachin’ girls how to be welders and boys how to cook. They got health and safety classes, babysittin’ classes, and picture takin’ classes. If the mama’s would teach the cookin’, and daddies would teach the weldin’, and we all raised our young’uns with a little common sense, and left the picture takin’ as a hobby, they might find they could teach something that mattered.

Today’s young’uns ain’t as dumb as most of ya’ll think. They got plenty of brains to learn with. It’s just that what are we teachin’ ‘em? I was told one time to keep an open mind by some of the young’uns that I run up with. The only problem is that if your mind is always open, there ain’t no tellin’ who is goin’ to dump what in there!

‘Till next time,
Gran’ma Gertie

July Gran'ma Gertie

Howdy Ya’ll!

Gran’ma Gertie here again. July shore is turnin’ out to be a hot one. I reckon I don’t mind so much as long as I got ice in the frigidare fer my tea, and the rockers on my chair don’t wear out! I been thinkin’ a lot about this month. It’s always been a time fer young’uns to have their git-togethers, cold watermelon on summer nights, star watchin’, and flag wavin’. I figered out what seems to be wrong with July nowadays. The young’uns still git together, people still watch the stars, and people still have cold watermelon, ‘cept it’s got cool in the frigidare instead of a washtub. The problem seems to be the flag wavin’.
I don’t rightly know when the flag wavin’ stopped. All I do know is that today, people just don’t have the respect fer Ol’ Glory like they used to. Seems like ever body in town had a flag on their porch in July. They also had’em on Veterans Day and Memorial Day. Now, all these days are nothin’ but sale days fer furniture and automobiles. Don’t people know what these days are fer? Has ever body just fergot?
If’n you ain’t had somebody close to you that was in a war, or got killed in a war, or was sent a letter tellin’ you that somebody was just plain missin’, you may not ever understand. Our young’uns have been blessed by not knowing really what war is, ‘cept what they read in their history books in school. Them books don’t tell it all! Neither do the movies or the politicians. The wars that this country has been through has made it what it is today. My daddy used to say that the best place somewheres else was worse than the worst place here in the good Ol’’ U.S. of A. I tend to believe him.
If’n you got your gran’young’uns over fer an evenin’ this July, tell ‘em what it’s all about. Some things you just cain’t learn from a book. Sometimes the best learnin’ is what you hear from those that got experience and wisdom. If you got that experience and wisdom, share it. If you don’t, then set your bottom down and listen! I’d shore like to see more flag wavin’ goin on. Wouldn’t you?

‘Till next time,

Gran’ma Gertie