Memoirs of Lloyd Moss: 1915
I think it might be a good idea to describe events that happened as part of our lives in the section of the country now known as Appalachia. One of the good things the people knew how to make was apple butter. We had a very large, wide-spreading Spitzenburg apple tree alongside the back garden. For many years the space under it had been the family wood-pile and all the chopping and splitting of firewood had been done there so the ground was carpeted with wood chips. This was where our apple butter was made. Mother had an elderly hillbilly woman come to the house early one morning in apple harvest season. She came in an uncovered buggy, bringing a big, black iron kettle tied on in back. Father hung the kettle on a chain from a limb of the tree and started a fire under it. Meanwhile, we all pared and quartered apples enough to nearly fill the kettle. The woman added some extras hard cider from a jug she had brought with her, cinnamon, nutmeg, orange peel etc., then she brought out her stirring paddle that had a long pole fixed to it sideways, sat down in a chair that mother brought out of the house for her, and proceeded to slowly agitate the mixture all the day long, calling for more wood on the fire when it was needed, and eating sandwiches and drinking tea - and, of course, gossiping with mother. The result was the tastiest, smoothest and most satisfying spread I ever had. It differed from the store-bought stuff the same as champagne differs from Cool-ade. Afterward it was put into jars, glasses or whatever containers were available, the woman took what she wanted as pay, and we had the rest to eat on bread for as long as it lasted.
Another event was hog-butchering day that took place in late fall. Father, having had a farm in Virginia, was experienced, so very early in the morning on the day set, neighbors came with their hogs, and we had two of our own. Someone brought a huge scalding kettle made for the purpose which was set up with a fire under it. The pigs were killed, scalded one by one, and the men set two with their round scrapers and removed all the hair. Then the animals were strung up under a tree and the butchering began. Meanwhile, plank tables had been set up in another place and all the women gathered around and began processing everything that wasn't solid meat. They had grinders and sausage stuffers, as well as cooking equipment, and you can't imagine what a busy place that was! All the intestines had to be cleaned and washed for the casings; hearts, kidneys, lungs, etc., had to be ground up, mixed with sage and other spices, and put into the stuffing machine which I had to turn by hand-crank. Then the heads and all parts not good enough for sausage were cut, ground, spiced and cooked in bread pans for head cheese, which is a breakfast staple similar to Philadelphia scrapple. At noon everything stopped for dinner. We had quantities of fresh, fried liver and onions, and finished off with several kinds of pie that the women had brought with them. This feast was eaten on the same plank tables, washed and spread with white paper, that had been used for everything else. There were no squeamish stomachs in that crowd, and even I ate so much that I didn't think I could stand up for the afternoon, but I did.
Another event was the picnic held for the benefit of the new Methodist Church. It was set up in the woods right next to the peach orchard with very rough stands constructed of slab boards. The women had fancywork to sell, and there were games of skill for the men and games of chance as well. Someone had cut the top off a young tree, skinned the bark off, nailed a $5 bill to the top then coated the trunk liberally with lard. You paid a small amount to take a try at climbing it, but most of the fellows couldn't even get their feet off the ground without slipping back. The affair went on into the night, for kerosene flares were hung from the trees. I've never seen any like them - before or since. They had a round reservoir hung flat against the tree and a goosenecked pipe at the bottom ending in a flame-spreader. All kinds of foods were sold, and it was here that we children tasted our first box of crackerjacks, and I had a drink of strawberry soda pop that reacted by coming back up my nose. We thought it was a tremendously exciting affair, what with the flickering oil lights among the trees, and everybody laughing and singing.