During the spring and summer of 1971, God's Country was a twitter, Hollywood had come to town.
Not a lot was known about what was going on, since most of the movie was filmed in the Tallulah Gorge and on the Chattooga River, but the locals were excited a big time movie was being filmed in God's Country.
Not only was a movie being made here, but some of the locals had been chosen to take part. Not just in background roles, but these characters had speaking parts!
Word had gotten out that the cast of the movie featured some pretty major actors, Ronny Cox, Ned Beatty, Jon Voight and a new guy Burt Reynolds.
The cast and crew was housed at a downtown hotel and star sightings became commonplace. It was an exciting time in God's Country.
During that same time, plans were in place for an annual summer gathering, the Frog Leg Supper. A tradition each year, daddy and his buddies would spend the spring and early summer gigging frogs for the feast.
Each evening daddy and his crew would load up in a paddle boat and make their way through the small lakes and ponds of the area. By the time frog gigging season was over, hundreds of pairs of legs were ready to be cooked.
The annual frog leg supper was a big deal. For folks in God's Country it was a prestigious invite. We were used to having cook-outs at our house, but the frog leg supper was the big one of the year and the summer of 1971 was about to get even more exciting.
Everything was in place, daddy and his cooker were in place, the men folk were all gathered in the garage and mama and the women were making their finishing touches to the meal inside.
As customary we gathered in a circle for the blessing and the feast began. Then it happened, Hollywood showed up for the frog leg supper!
I honestly don't remember who from the cast did show up, but I do know that one of the ones in attendance was Ronny Cox. I think Burt Reynolds and Ned Beatty were there as well but can't swear to it.
As with all of our gatherings, the evening was scheduled to end with picking and singing. Doug and Tom were tuning up for their serenade, and as legend has it, Ronny Cox joined in. Evidently Cox played for so long and so hard his fingers bled.
That frog leg supper remains legendary in God's Country, it was the night Hollywood joined in with the town folks.
As the summer continued, rumors began to stir up about the movie and a buzz started that it was going to be a big time feature film. A movie based on a group of men from Atlanta who were on a rafting trip down the river. The premise didn't sound very exciting but the buzz was it was going to put that Burt Reynolds guy on the map.
When it debuted in 1972, the movie Deliverance became a blockbuster. It was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Picture and won a variety of other awards. Indeed, after Deliverance, the Burt Reynolds guy became pretty well known.
I wasn't old enough to see the movie when it came out, but the finished product did make an impression on those who saw it.
I don't know how I feel about Deliverance today. It was a great movie, but many, including myself have a problem with the depiction of the people of God's Country. For those who don't know us, you may think we are all toothless inbreds or backwoods rapist, which couldn't be further from the truth.
Deliverance was Hollywood make believe and as with many movies people can't separate fact from fiction, but the people of God's Country are kind, loving souls who had a brush with Hollywood, some brushes were good, and others not so much.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Most Valuable Lesson I Ever Learned
Daddy is a retired Football Coach and Teacher. If he had done every career assessment test known to man, he would never have found a more perfect profession.
For over 30 years daddy taught 12th grade American Government. He coached high school football for a number of those years. Literally thousands of kids went through his classroom and played football for him. You would be hard pressed to find any of those students who didn't learn at least one of his life lessons.
In daddy's classroom, the textbook was secondary. We would go through the curriculum, but the lessons that were learned often had nothing to do with what was in print sitting on our desk. A typical American Government session usually consisted of about 10 minutes of book study and the rest of the class was devoted to talking.
We talked in small groups, we talked as an entire class and more often than not, daddy would talk to us one on one.
Growing up in a small town, everyone knew everyone else's business. So when daddy knew a particular student was going through a hard time, he would take them out of the classroom, to his hillside perch overlooking the rest of the campus, and just talk.
For my entire life, daddy has been referred to by his students as Coach or Papa Ray, to this day he is still known by either name. Now in his later years, daddy has generations of the same family who know him by these terms of endearment.
I admit that for many years I resented this. Why couldn't my daddy just be my daddy, why did he also have to raise the children of everyone else in town? It took me a lot of years to realize it, but now I understand, his gifts as a teacher and coach, far exceeded what he could do for just Sam and I, they had to be shared with others.
Daddy provided counsel for kids who didn't have anyone else they could turn to. He listened, he lectured, he gave direction, but most of all he taught. Daddy is, was and will always be a teacher.
When I grew up, fathers were a lot different than they are today. They were not the touchy feely kind of men who show emotion and played with their kids every free second. Daddy was no different. I had my quality time him, but as I was growing up, he had two jobs, was trying to raise two sons, was mourning the loss of his oldest and had to care for his wife who was often ill. Daddy had more on his plate than most could ever imagine.
I have heard and read that parents who lose a child often divorce. Not saying that it was always easy in our house, because it wasn't, but daddy and mama hung in there, through the good and bad times to make sure that Sam and I had as normal of a childhood as possible.
When mama was sick, daddy learned to cook. He learned to keep house and he learned how to keep the family running. He often referred to it as "woman's work," but in our house it was the work of necessity. As much as he was different from today's fathers, in those respects he was a trendsetter.
Whenever mama was sick, or is sick today, he is the best person you can imagine to have at your side. I have seen my daddy spend hour upon hour and day upon day, sitting in a hospital room, just sitting making sure that mama isn't left alone.
Daddy always says the person who is in the hospital is much better off than the person who is at their bedside. The person who is sick is being taken care of, but the visitor is helpless to do anything for their loved one, other than being there.
Daddy sits bedside, he talks, he reads the newspaper, he watches tv, he talks, he walks, he talks and he talks. Most importantly he is there.
In our house there weren't a lot of rules. Mama and daddy let us have our freedom to learn about the world. I never had a curfew through high school, it wasn't necessary.
We had one rule in our house, the rule that is the basis of the most valuable lesson I ever learned. "Don't do anything to embarrass your mama."
That one saying was engraved into the heads of Sam and I, like the inscription on any monument you will find the world over. "Don't do anything to embarrass your mama."
With a commandment like this, why would a curfew ever be necessary. It was easy to give your kids freedom when the one thing that was always front and center was so simple, "don't do anything to embarrass your mama."
If we ever strayed from the commandment, and both of us did. Punishment was swift and severe, we may have strayed from the family covenant, but it wasn't long before we were on the straight and narrow again.
Seven simple words, often the last we would hear as we walked out the door, are what has led Sam and I through life. If you think about it, what greater lesson could a father ever teach his kids, "don't do anything to embarrass your mama?"
Today as a man of 45 years old, those words still echo in my head through many of the day to day challenges I face. I haven't been perfect, but I think for the most part I have honored that commitment to my family and the challenge that daddy set forth for me many years ago, at least I hope I have.
He isn't perfect, but he is mine, an example of love and life lessons. Still teaching me to this day, the lessons of life I carry with me always.
Papa Ray, Coach, Husband, Teacher and to me, most importantly DADDY.
Happy Father's Day Daddy.
Thank you and I love you!
For over 30 years daddy taught 12th grade American Government. He coached high school football for a number of those years. Literally thousands of kids went through his classroom and played football for him. You would be hard pressed to find any of those students who didn't learn at least one of his life lessons.
In daddy's classroom, the textbook was secondary. We would go through the curriculum, but the lessons that were learned often had nothing to do with what was in print sitting on our desk. A typical American Government session usually consisted of about 10 minutes of book study and the rest of the class was devoted to talking.
We talked in small groups, we talked as an entire class and more often than not, daddy would talk to us one on one.
Growing up in a small town, everyone knew everyone else's business. So when daddy knew a particular student was going through a hard time, he would take them out of the classroom, to his hillside perch overlooking the rest of the campus, and just talk.
For my entire life, daddy has been referred to by his students as Coach or Papa Ray, to this day he is still known by either name. Now in his later years, daddy has generations of the same family who know him by these terms of endearment.
I admit that for many years I resented this. Why couldn't my daddy just be my daddy, why did he also have to raise the children of everyone else in town? It took me a lot of years to realize it, but now I understand, his gifts as a teacher and coach, far exceeded what he could do for just Sam and I, they had to be shared with others.
Daddy provided counsel for kids who didn't have anyone else they could turn to. He listened, he lectured, he gave direction, but most of all he taught. Daddy is, was and will always be a teacher.
When I grew up, fathers were a lot different than they are today. They were not the touchy feely kind of men who show emotion and played with their kids every free second. Daddy was no different. I had my quality time him, but as I was growing up, he had two jobs, was trying to raise two sons, was mourning the loss of his oldest and had to care for his wife who was often ill. Daddy had more on his plate than most could ever imagine.
I have heard and read that parents who lose a child often divorce. Not saying that it was always easy in our house, because it wasn't, but daddy and mama hung in there, through the good and bad times to make sure that Sam and I had as normal of a childhood as possible.
When mama was sick, daddy learned to cook. He learned to keep house and he learned how to keep the family running. He often referred to it as "woman's work," but in our house it was the work of necessity. As much as he was different from today's fathers, in those respects he was a trendsetter.
Whenever mama was sick, or is sick today, he is the best person you can imagine to have at your side. I have seen my daddy spend hour upon hour and day upon day, sitting in a hospital room, just sitting making sure that mama isn't left alone.
Daddy always says the person who is in the hospital is much better off than the person who is at their bedside. The person who is sick is being taken care of, but the visitor is helpless to do anything for their loved one, other than being there.
Daddy sits bedside, he talks, he reads the newspaper, he watches tv, he talks, he walks, he talks and he talks. Most importantly he is there.
In our house there weren't a lot of rules. Mama and daddy let us have our freedom to learn about the world. I never had a curfew through high school, it wasn't necessary.
We had one rule in our house, the rule that is the basis of the most valuable lesson I ever learned. "Don't do anything to embarrass your mama."
That one saying was engraved into the heads of Sam and I, like the inscription on any monument you will find the world over. "Don't do anything to embarrass your mama."
With a commandment like this, why would a curfew ever be necessary. It was easy to give your kids freedom when the one thing that was always front and center was so simple, "don't do anything to embarrass your mama."
If we ever strayed from the commandment, and both of us did. Punishment was swift and severe, we may have strayed from the family covenant, but it wasn't long before we were on the straight and narrow again.
Seven simple words, often the last we would hear as we walked out the door, are what has led Sam and I through life. If you think about it, what greater lesson could a father ever teach his kids, "don't do anything to embarrass your mama?"
Today as a man of 45 years old, those words still echo in my head through many of the day to day challenges I face. I haven't been perfect, but I think for the most part I have honored that commitment to my family and the challenge that daddy set forth for me many years ago, at least I hope I have.
He isn't perfect, but he is mine, an example of love and life lessons. Still teaching me to this day, the lessons of life I carry with me always.
Papa Ray, Coach, Husband, Teacher and to me, most importantly DADDY.
Happy Father's Day Daddy.
Thank you and I love you!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Go To Guy
I am the youngest of three children... three boys. Tom, Sam and me. I am 11 years younger than Tom and 7 years younger than Sam, quite a gap.
I asked my mother once if I was a "slip-up," in her always eloquent way, her response was quick and without the miss of a beat "you are loved." That is all any child needs to hear, slip up or not.
By the time I entered the picture, my brothers already had an active life going, I can just imagine that a baby in the house was the last thing they wanted to endure. Much less a baby as cute and perfect as me!
My brother Tom was killed in a single person car wreck when he was 16, I was 5. I don't remember Tom but know from the stories I have heard that he was a good guy, smart, kind, good athlete, everything a parent could ever want.
After Tom died our family changed a lot, but mama and daddy, along with family and friends, did everything they could to give Sam and I an idyllic childhood. Sam was actively involved in school activities, sports and friends, I was still young and became the one who was sheltered and doted on.
With a seven year age difference, Sam and I didn't have much in common, OK we didn't have ANYTHING in common. I was the brat little brother who cramped his style, I was the one who got way too much attention and special treatment. Sam was the one from whom much was expected.
Naturally, Sam and I didn't get along as children. It wasn't so much that we didn't get along, we just didn't talk to each other or acknowledge each others existence.... typical sibling stuff. We would fight over the color of the sky, nothing was off limits.
Although we weren't "friends" as children, Sam's big brother role was part of his character even from an early age, he was the one who would wake me up early in the morning to see what Santa brought, he was the one who reluctantly drove me to and from school and the one who took up for me, even though he never said anything about it, when I was picked on by the bigger kids.
As the years passed, Sam went away to college and I stayed home to finish elementary school. During those days I began to miss Sam when he wasn't home, but I would never EVER tell him that! When he came home, usually every weekend, with a posse of college friends I would listen intently to the stories of college life, secretly wishing I was there too.
College wasn't Sam's thing, he was much better at the social aspect than he was the academic aspect. It isn't that Sam wasn't smart enough for college, it is just that he had too many other things to do. He needed to get out and make his way in life, Sam is more of a "School of Life" kind of guy than he is a bookworm kind of guy. After a few years of giving college a try, Sam decided to move on and get out into the world.
Sam worked all kinds of jobs and was successful at most of them. Never afraid of hard work, Sam took a job on an oil rig in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. It was during this time that I finally realized just how much I loved my brother.
In the wee hours of the morning, during the Spring of 1980, daddy woke me to say that Sam had been hurt on the oil rig. They were rushing to Louisiana to be at his side. I would be staying behind at school and they would keep me posted and arrangements would be made for me to stay with friends.
As mama and daddy rushed out the door, I collapsed on the other side and cried, worried for my brother and praying for his safety, in that instant I knew just how much I loved my brother and knew that I couldn't be without him.
The result of the accident was internal bleeding and exploratory surgery to fix the problem. Sam's recovery took several months, but he did recover fully, except for the "stomach disorder" that he, still to this day, regales us all with whenever there is something that needs to be done that he doesn't want to participate in. "I can't wash the dishes, you know I have an "stomach disorder." Oh yeah, how could I forget.... the "stomach disorder."
In 1982 I went away to college, I was much better at the social aspects of college as well, but unlike Sam, I was going to ride that gravy train to its fullest, I didn't want to graduate to the "school of life," I was enjoying college and could have stayed there forever.
During my college years, Sam and I began to grow closer. We could actually have a conversation without one of us, usually me, heaped in the corner crying or tattling on the other to mama or daddy. As I entered my 20's we would just pick on each other, about anything and everything, but it was always done in fun and not meant to hurt.
Something else happened during those years, I began to depend on Sam for advice and guidance, he had the life experiences that helped me make decisions and I looked to him more and more to help me as I began to plan my entry into the real world.
Over the years, Sam has continued to be that "go to" guy for me on many of life's biggest decisions. I trust and value his opinion on most things and I know that he will guide me the best he can. With that said we are still complete opposites.
Sam is, in my words, a right wing wack-job. I am, in his words, a bleeding heart liberal. Our characterizations of each other aren't completely true, and we know that, but it is the basis for what makes our relationship fun today.
From children who couldn't be in the same room with each other, we have evolved. Now we can be in the same room with each other and usually only end up smacking each other with words instead of fist. But all of our battles are done in good-natured debate with respect for the other's opinions.
I don't see Sam as much as I would like to, usually only a couple of times each year. When I do see him, I know that I will have fun, he can make me laugh like nobody else, today we enjoy each other's company and we enjoy getting the other riled up.
Mama has a rule at family gatherings..... no politics, and she starts off each family meal with "now we are not going to talk about politics at the table." She knows as well as we do that she just opens up the challenge when she states the rule, because once it is on the table, we go for it, the battle for political supremacy is on. Before the debate is over, daddy is usually laughing his head off, Sam and I are both red-faced and riled up and mama is sitting there with an exasperated look on her face loving every minute of it.
Sam and I now talk on the phone at least once a week. Our conversations never begin with hello, they usually start something like "Nancy Pelosi is the biggest idiot on the planet" or "Dick Cheney is the anti-Christ." From there, the caller regales the other with the idiocy of the day. We actually agree on more than we disagree on, but this is our way of challenging the other to think more and know what is going on in the world.
Several months ago when I decided to enter the political arena, Sam was so proud of me. He would check in everyday to see how the campaign was going and he created the mantra for my campaign "don't let him out work you and don't let him out tech you." I didn't and I won. Sam was so proud when I told him I won the campaign and I can't think of any other right wing wack-job I would have preferred to have supporting me.
If we aren't arguing about the politics of the day, we are laughing about something mama and daddy have done. (EDITORIAL NOTE: Mama, it is ALWAYS Sam who makes fun of you.... you know that... I would never make fun of my mama or daddy!!!!!)
But more than any political debate or story about our families latest comment, we now talk to each other just to touch base, to see how the other is and what is going on in our lives.
Sam remains my "go to" guy whenever I need advice. He has more life experiences than I will ever have and he has learned lessons from all of them. Sam never got the college degree that I did, but his accomplishments in life are something I continually strive for. He is a wonderful father, successful business owner and one of the most creative marketing professionals I have ever met. His life experiences are more than I ever learned in a school book.
Where Sam got so much from his life experiences, I got the soft heart and wearing your emotions on your sleeve trait. Each Christmas I make sure to get the "Sam and Ken hugging photo." He acts like he hates it, but he knows it is going to happen and he grudgingly wraps his arms around me and fake scowls for the camera. I treasure each one of those pictures and deep down I know he does too.
At the end of all of our phone conversations I end with "I love you." His response is always the same.... yeah. For a kid brother who was a pain in the butt, who got all the attention and grew to idolize his big bro, that is enough, actually it is more than enough. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thanks Sam for putting up with me, for guiding me, protecting me, challenging me and loving me. Thanks for being a role model, I love you!
Yeah.
I asked my mother once if I was a "slip-up," in her always eloquent way, her response was quick and without the miss of a beat "you are loved." That is all any child needs to hear, slip up or not.
By the time I entered the picture, my brothers already had an active life going, I can just imagine that a baby in the house was the last thing they wanted to endure. Much less a baby as cute and perfect as me!
My brother Tom was killed in a single person car wreck when he was 16, I was 5. I don't remember Tom but know from the stories I have heard that he was a good guy, smart, kind, good athlete, everything a parent could ever want.
After Tom died our family changed a lot, but mama and daddy, along with family and friends, did everything they could to give Sam and I an idyllic childhood. Sam was actively involved in school activities, sports and friends, I was still young and became the one who was sheltered and doted on.
With a seven year age difference, Sam and I didn't have much in common, OK we didn't have ANYTHING in common. I was the brat little brother who cramped his style, I was the one who got way too much attention and special treatment. Sam was the one from whom much was expected.
Naturally, Sam and I didn't get along as children. It wasn't so much that we didn't get along, we just didn't talk to each other or acknowledge each others existence.... typical sibling stuff. We would fight over the color of the sky, nothing was off limits.
Although we weren't "friends" as children, Sam's big brother role was part of his character even from an early age, he was the one who would wake me up early in the morning to see what Santa brought, he was the one who reluctantly drove me to and from school and the one who took up for me, even though he never said anything about it, when I was picked on by the bigger kids.
As the years passed, Sam went away to college and I stayed home to finish elementary school. During those days I began to miss Sam when he wasn't home, but I would never EVER tell him that! When he came home, usually every weekend, with a posse of college friends I would listen intently to the stories of college life, secretly wishing I was there too.
College wasn't Sam's thing, he was much better at the social aspect than he was the academic aspect. It isn't that Sam wasn't smart enough for college, it is just that he had too many other things to do. He needed to get out and make his way in life, Sam is more of a "School of Life" kind of guy than he is a bookworm kind of guy. After a few years of giving college a try, Sam decided to move on and get out into the world.
Sam worked all kinds of jobs and was successful at most of them. Never afraid of hard work, Sam took a job on an oil rig in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. It was during this time that I finally realized just how much I loved my brother.
In the wee hours of the morning, during the Spring of 1980, daddy woke me to say that Sam had been hurt on the oil rig. They were rushing to Louisiana to be at his side. I would be staying behind at school and they would keep me posted and arrangements would be made for me to stay with friends.
As mama and daddy rushed out the door, I collapsed on the other side and cried, worried for my brother and praying for his safety, in that instant I knew just how much I loved my brother and knew that I couldn't be without him.
The result of the accident was internal bleeding and exploratory surgery to fix the problem. Sam's recovery took several months, but he did recover fully, except for the "stomach disorder" that he, still to this day, regales us all with whenever there is something that needs to be done that he doesn't want to participate in. "I can't wash the dishes, you know I have an "stomach disorder." Oh yeah, how could I forget.... the "stomach disorder."
In 1982 I went away to college, I was much better at the social aspects of college as well, but unlike Sam, I was going to ride that gravy train to its fullest, I didn't want to graduate to the "school of life," I was enjoying college and could have stayed there forever.
During my college years, Sam and I began to grow closer. We could actually have a conversation without one of us, usually me, heaped in the corner crying or tattling on the other to mama or daddy. As I entered my 20's we would just pick on each other, about anything and everything, but it was always done in fun and not meant to hurt.
Something else happened during those years, I began to depend on Sam for advice and guidance, he had the life experiences that helped me make decisions and I looked to him more and more to help me as I began to plan my entry into the real world.
Over the years, Sam has continued to be that "go to" guy for me on many of life's biggest decisions. I trust and value his opinion on most things and I know that he will guide me the best he can. With that said we are still complete opposites.
Sam is, in my words, a right wing wack-job. I am, in his words, a bleeding heart liberal. Our characterizations of each other aren't completely true, and we know that, but it is the basis for what makes our relationship fun today.
From children who couldn't be in the same room with each other, we have evolved. Now we can be in the same room with each other and usually only end up smacking each other with words instead of fist. But all of our battles are done in good-natured debate with respect for the other's opinions.
I don't see Sam as much as I would like to, usually only a couple of times each year. When I do see him, I know that I will have fun, he can make me laugh like nobody else, today we enjoy each other's company and we enjoy getting the other riled up.
Mama has a rule at family gatherings..... no politics, and she starts off each family meal with "now we are not going to talk about politics at the table." She knows as well as we do that she just opens up the challenge when she states the rule, because once it is on the table, we go for it, the battle for political supremacy is on. Before the debate is over, daddy is usually laughing his head off, Sam and I are both red-faced and riled up and mama is sitting there with an exasperated look on her face loving every minute of it.
Sam and I now talk on the phone at least once a week. Our conversations never begin with hello, they usually start something like "Nancy Pelosi is the biggest idiot on the planet" or "Dick Cheney is the anti-Christ." From there, the caller regales the other with the idiocy of the day. We actually agree on more than we disagree on, but this is our way of challenging the other to think more and know what is going on in the world.
Several months ago when I decided to enter the political arena, Sam was so proud of me. He would check in everyday to see how the campaign was going and he created the mantra for my campaign "don't let him out work you and don't let him out tech you." I didn't and I won. Sam was so proud when I told him I won the campaign and I can't think of any other right wing wack-job I would have preferred to have supporting me.
If we aren't arguing about the politics of the day, we are laughing about something mama and daddy have done. (EDITORIAL NOTE: Mama, it is ALWAYS Sam who makes fun of you.... you know that... I would never make fun of my mama or daddy!!!!!)
But more than any political debate or story about our families latest comment, we now talk to each other just to touch base, to see how the other is and what is going on in our lives.
Sam remains my "go to" guy whenever I need advice. He has more life experiences than I will ever have and he has learned lessons from all of them. Sam never got the college degree that I did, but his accomplishments in life are something I continually strive for. He is a wonderful father, successful business owner and one of the most creative marketing professionals I have ever met. His life experiences are more than I ever learned in a school book.
Where Sam got so much from his life experiences, I got the soft heart and wearing your emotions on your sleeve trait. Each Christmas I make sure to get the "Sam and Ken hugging photo." He acts like he hates it, but he knows it is going to happen and he grudgingly wraps his arms around me and fake scowls for the camera. I treasure each one of those pictures and deep down I know he does too.
At the end of all of our phone conversations I end with "I love you." His response is always the same.... yeah. For a kid brother who was a pain in the butt, who got all the attention and grew to idolize his big bro, that is enough, actually it is more than enough. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thanks Sam for putting up with me, for guiding me, protecting me, challenging me and loving me. Thanks for being a role model, I love you!
Yeah.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Short Notes....
From time to time I will post "Short Notes," these are follow-ups to previous post or quick questions.
- Several of you have mentioned that you don't use soap in cleaning your Black Iron Fry Pan. You are right.... I was wrong! Water only.
- Banana Sandwich.... Mayonnaise? Peanut Butter? or You have never had one?
- Thank you so much for all the positive comments I have been receiving on the Blog, I am thoroughly enjoying writing it and sharing these stories with you.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Man Vs. Hog
Daddy is an excellent cook. He is self taught and can cook almost anything.
I am sure he will tell you the only things he can't cook, are the things he doesn't want to eat.
With mama in the hospital a lot when we were younger, he often had to cook and clean to keep us on a regular schedule. It wasn't easy, but daddy did it. I don't think I ever heard him complain about it either.
The kind of cooking daddy did in those days was out of necessity, to keep the family going. The kind he would do in the kitchen with a black frying pan, preparing the day to day basics. Daddy tolerated basic cooking, but daddy loved to get outside and cook......cook over an open flame, like a man cooks!
Turn daddy loose on the grill or with his deep-fat fryer and he was in his element. However, if you ever wanted to see a man revert back to his inner-caveman, give daddy a fire pit and a wild hog and you have the makings of an epic battle between man and beast.
It would usually happen at least once a year, it didn't matter if it was an occasion or just a reason to cook, but once a year or so, daddy would cook a wild hog. When I say a wild hog, understand, I mean the WHOLE hog! Weeks of preparation would go into the battle of man vs. hog with the outcome always the same.... man won!
When daddy cooked a hog it was a spectacle. The pit had to be just so, temperature of the coals exact, the hog prepared for cooking with affection, cooking timed to the exact minute, daddy was the king of the fire pit and his audience appreciated his efforts.
As you can imagine, cooking a hog wasn't just a meal for the family. No, when you cook a hog it is an event, for the masses. I have seen daddy cook a hog in the blazing heat of a 4th of July, during Bicentennial events in Chamblee, Georgia; on top of Black Rock Mountain with snow falling from the sky and along side a small fishing pond beneath a gazebo while games of football were played in the fields nearby.
Daddy loves being in a group, his personality is at its best when he is the center of attention and cooking a wild hog over a pit has a way of putting that attention square on the guy in charge.... daddy. He would entertain friends, neighbors and family for hours on end during the cooking process with story after story, each tale growing bigger as the night went on. Oh yes, the night went on, you see, cooking a hog in a pit isn't a couple of hour process, no it usually begins in the late evening of one night and continues until supper time the next night.
Hour after hour, daddy would stand by the pit,turning and basting and rubbing and watching that hog turn to a perfect golden brown. Meat falling from the bones ready for the masses to enjoy.
Daddy always loved those moments when the hog was presented and everyone begin to dive in and enjoy the fruits of his labors. Congratulations were abundant, praises for the chef and slaps on the back, daddy was the center of attention and he loved every minute of it.
I started thinking about daddy and those hogs once and thought there was an analogy there that sums up daddy's life. Some parts of the pig roast aren't a lot of fun, the staying up all night, constant basting and turning and rubbing, it is tiresome work and often lonely. But when the meat is presented and the crowd is enjoying the fruits of that labor the hard work must all seem worthwhile as the man provides for his family, Man vs. Hog..... everyone wins!
I am sure he will tell you the only things he can't cook, are the things he doesn't want to eat.
With mama in the hospital a lot when we were younger, he often had to cook and clean to keep us on a regular schedule. It wasn't easy, but daddy did it. I don't think I ever heard him complain about it either.
The kind of cooking daddy did in those days was out of necessity, to keep the family going. The kind he would do in the kitchen with a black frying pan, preparing the day to day basics. Daddy tolerated basic cooking, but daddy loved to get outside and cook......cook over an open flame, like a man cooks!
Turn daddy loose on the grill or with his deep-fat fryer and he was in his element. However, if you ever wanted to see a man revert back to his inner-caveman, give daddy a fire pit and a wild hog and you have the makings of an epic battle between man and beast.
It would usually happen at least once a year, it didn't matter if it was an occasion or just a reason to cook, but once a year or so, daddy would cook a wild hog. When I say a wild hog, understand, I mean the WHOLE hog! Weeks of preparation would go into the battle of man vs. hog with the outcome always the same.... man won!
When daddy cooked a hog it was a spectacle. The pit had to be just so, temperature of the coals exact, the hog prepared for cooking with affection, cooking timed to the exact minute, daddy was the king of the fire pit and his audience appreciated his efforts.
As you can imagine, cooking a hog wasn't just a meal for the family. No, when you cook a hog it is an event, for the masses. I have seen daddy cook a hog in the blazing heat of a 4th of July, during Bicentennial events in Chamblee, Georgia; on top of Black Rock Mountain with snow falling from the sky and along side a small fishing pond beneath a gazebo while games of football were played in the fields nearby.
Daddy loves being in a group, his personality is at its best when he is the center of attention and cooking a wild hog over a pit has a way of putting that attention square on the guy in charge.... daddy. He would entertain friends, neighbors and family for hours on end during the cooking process with story after story, each tale growing bigger as the night went on. Oh yes, the night went on, you see, cooking a hog in a pit isn't a couple of hour process, no it usually begins in the late evening of one night and continues until supper time the next night.
Hour after hour, daddy would stand by the pit,turning and basting and rubbing and watching that hog turn to a perfect golden brown. Meat falling from the bones ready for the masses to enjoy.
Daddy always loved those moments when the hog was presented and everyone begin to dive in and enjoy the fruits of his labors. Congratulations were abundant, praises for the chef and slaps on the back, daddy was the center of attention and he loved every minute of it.
I started thinking about daddy and those hogs once and thought there was an analogy there that sums up daddy's life. Some parts of the pig roast aren't a lot of fun, the staying up all night, constant basting and turning and rubbing, it is tiresome work and often lonely. But when the meat is presented and the crowd is enjoying the fruits of that labor the hard work must all seem worthwhile as the man provides for his family, Man vs. Hog..... everyone wins!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Staple of the Southern Kitchen ~ Black Iron Frying Pan
Long before Teflon, aluminum, stainless steel or copper the cast iron frying pan was an essential staple for any southern kitchen. Available in a variety of shapes and sizes, the Black Iron Frying Pan has been used for all varieties of cooking.
Often passed down from generation to generation, the Black Iron Frying Pan never looses its ability to cook a masterful meal. Mama used her fry pans often and for numerous dishes. She would fry chicken, pork chops or cubed steak and then use the remnants for gravy. There is something about those old frying pans that capture flavors and cook with an even golden brown, unlike the pans of today.
I have seen mama cook an entire meal in one fry pan, of course back in the day we fried most everything, but even with today's cooking styles, the old black frying pan can be used for stir-fry or a baking dish.
Several years ago, daddy picked up a number of fry pans at a yard sale, he gave me three. A small, medium and large pan. After years of cooking, I felt complete now that I had my own. You can buy them in the store, but honestly it takes years of use before a black fry pan is cured just right
When I got my fry pans daddy gave me a few lessons on how to take care of them.
Never, ever, never, never, never put an Iron frying pan in the dishwasher...NEVER! Always wash the fry pan with soap and water in the sink.
If you store an iron frying pan in the oven it will cure quicker. If I am cooking something in the oven I leave my stored pans there, something about the constant heat just helps them get better and better.
I use my fry pans for everything but my favorite dishes are fried chicken, okra and cornbread. The heat, the consistency and the versatility makes a Black Iron Frying Pan a Staple for any Southern Kitchen.
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