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Geo. Rice: Reminiscence of molasses making, when I was a boy By George Rice Written 3 Mar 2014 I will start my story with "when I was a boy." It is noteworthy that all old men start every statement with "when I was a boy" or "when I was young." I think that must be an unwritten law. But what else do old men have to talk about? This reminds me of when I was a boy. Willie Breeding, who married my sister Margie, and his brother Harry, farmed the Breeding farm together. Their specialty was Angus beef cattle, but once they invested in some sheep. Now the time came for the sheep to be sheared, so inexperienced with sheep shearing, they employed a man who specialized in shearing sheep to help them. When the day came for the big event my Daddy and I went to watch the operation. After watching Willie and Harry catch a few sheep and wrestle them down while the man would sheer them, my Daddy, leaning over the fence at a safe distance commented "Boys when I was a young man I could catch those sheep and shear them by myself." Not a word was spoken until that particular sheep was sheared and the shearer walked over to my Daddy and said "Mr. Rice, I told my Daddy once that I had never seen an old man that hadn't tore up hell when he was a boy". No more boasting from Daddy. While grocery shopping the other day I noticed some molasses that caught my eye. Frequently I will pick up a jar of molasses for my personal inspection. If they appear too dark they will be strong or if they are too light or too thin they won't have that proper molasses taste. These looked just right. So in my basket they went. That night I decided to fix a breakfast meal of sausage from Fairplay Meat market, scrambled eggs and some of those delicious frozen biscuits from Udell's market. Now a delicious meal it was. But the big event came when I put a plug of butter on my plate and buried it with molasses. Again, delicious. Now there isn't anything wrong with a plate of butter, molasses, and hot biscuits. But after the second and the third serving there wasn't a lot of molasses left in that pint jar. I don't think I should buy any more molasses for a while. Back to molasses making when I was a boy Once again back to "when I was a boy." Molasses making was a big event at our house. There was always an acre of cane grown for molasses. Molasses were not made and put in jars. They were processed into what we called lard cans. Three or four lard cans every year. Sugar was scarce especially during the World War II era, so molasses was used not only for eating but also for cooking. Molasses making was a community affair, like hog killing. When the cane was ready for processing, Mr. Aroe Smith, who lived across the river from our homeplace - now covered with water just downstream from where the Holmes Bend Boat Dock is today - would bring his molasses making box and set it up in the hickory grove. That was a grove of big river hickory nut trees on our farm that was known far and wide for their superior nuts. Once the molasses box was set in place a special wood had to be supplied for the event. Neighbors would come to help strip the cane off the fodder, cut and load it on a team wagon and transport it to the cane mill, which was always a point of interest. It was important to have a dependable mule or horse to walk a circle around the cane mill while one or two men fed the cane into the mill to squeeze the juice from the cane. As the mule came around and around the mill the men feeding the cane had to duck their head each time the mule circled the mill. But sometimes they became careless while telling big tales and would get hit in the head with the boom the mule was pulling. Then there was the undesirable event when the mule would become excited or frightened and turn the mill over, spilling the cane juice and causing much disruption. The juice was carried in buckets and poured into a container at the end of the molasses box with a valve to let just the right amount into the cooking box. This cooking box, as the best I can remember, seemed to be about 36 or 40 inches wide and possibly six or seven feet long. There would be channels about 5 inches wide; the juice would travel from side to side as Mr. Aroe would push or pull the juice with tools that looked like a miniature garden hoe, along the way. As the juice would cook along the way, skimmings would create on top of the cooking molasses which Mr. Aroe would scoop with a miniature looking shovel and throw into the skimming hole, located in the ground at the end of the cooking box. Now that skimming hole was another interesting topic for the work hands and undesirable for those who became prey for others. It was a hole dug with a shovel about eight or ten inches deep for the purpose of throwing the skimmings in. After a few days of molasses cooking the hole would be probably three or four or possibly five inches deep with gooey sticky skimmings. It was a big joke to rake a few leaves over this pit and wait for someone to step into it; now use your imagination for the results. As the molasses cooked, going from side to side, the finished product went out the other end and drained into lard cans. The can of molasses would be set aside to cool and taken to the house. Each day the women of the community would bring food for the work hands and spread a cloth on the ground and everyone and the ants would have dinner. After one family's crop was processed, neighbors would have gone to another farm, stripped the cane, and hauled the cane to this location for processing. Of those neighbors that I can remember, there were Uncle George (Noon) Bault, Uncle George Alford (Sut) Bault, Rollin Bault, Tom (Skillet) Skaggs, Hubert Hovious, Basil Bault, Olin (Powder) Robertson and some from the Frank Risen farm. The Uncles were not blood kin, but I was taught to speak to them as Uncles. From this location the molasses box was moved to the Cane Stalk Holler which was named because of the large piles of cane stalks which accumulated from year after year of molasses making. This Cane Stalk Holler is the first deep dip in the Corbin Bend Road. Some of those neighbors that I can remember are El Smith, Bob (Chuck) Robertson, Coy Beard, Haller Bault, Melvin (Puter Belly) Bault, S.L.(Hunter) Fisher, Jim Riall (of the Riall store and Holmes Post office) and Uncle Dempsey Rice - This was really my Uncle. --George Rice This story was posted on 2015-03-14 06:23:04
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