Gun violence has been a big part of my family heritage from birth onward since I am a descendant of two feuding mountain families, the Hatfield-McCoy and the Greene-Jones feuds. While these took place in the late 1880's, they have dominated many of my family and outside acquaintance discussions. Even today, everyone is curious about how these feuds started, how many were killed, who was involved, and other questions about violent mountain people. It's hard for people to understand the influence of post Civil War time, timber rights and scare useable land, long held family grudges, and daily contact with folks whom you dislike and distrust. Then there is the biggest factor of all, mental illness. My great, great Grandfather was one of the primary instigators of the Greene-Jones feud, and it is abundantly clear from family stories that he was not of sound mind. My relatives today tell stories about his beliefs, delusions, and actions as a result of those delusions. Needless to say there were no treatment options for him.
As a result of the current debate about gun ownership, protection rights and mass shooting going on presently in our county, I feel compelled to address feuds and gun violence from our family perspective in this blog. My family owned guns, largely shot guns, which were used to kill hogs and other animal 'varmits' that harmed our livestock and home. Occasionally Daddy squirrel hunted, but nothing more. He believe in gun ownership, but never made much "to do' about hit". I was never taught to shoot because that was not a woman's job. I was taught to stay clear of all guns and that guns are very dangerous tools capable of killing me and others.
My husband was taught to shoot; squirrel hunted as a youth, and until about 30 years ago we owned two shot guns. By the time our children were born we began to see the need to removed the guns from our house to protect them from their own and friends curiosity. The guns went back to my husband's family in East TN where they were safely stored away. We never saw the need to teach our sons how to shoot guns or how to use them for sport. We wanted a different life for them, and by this time guns had been used to kill Presidents and the Vietnam War was on. Times were changing. The horror of war and assassinations was too real and the availability and use of guns became tied to the problem.
The topic of guns recently reappeared in my life when those stored shot guns, which had not been used in years, had to be sold to remove them from my husbands family home. The second husband who lives in the family home with my mother-in-law now has Alzheimer's disease and showed tendencies of violence. He recently threatened to shoot some people with whom he had argued. The sale of the guns was welcomed by me. I had never had a fondness for guns and always felt they were highly dangerous to have around.
Currently, as a result of so many mass shooting in recent history, I have become an anti-gun activist. The incident in Connecticut has made my resolve stronger. I have heard the rhetoric of the NRA too long and know that it was never about anyone's rights or protection. It's all about selling guns and making money for the gun lobbies. Tennessee, much to my disgust, is still in the pockets of the NRA along with tons of other states. Supposedly, Nashville will host an NRA Convention in the upcoming future. The Mayor and Chamber were thrilled and ready to do whatever it took to land the deal including building a new convention center to house all the attendees. Again, the issue was about MONEY for the local economy. Really??? We have to dance with the NRA to have a prosperous local economy??
How long will it be and how many more innocent victims will have to die before we wake up and realize that our society can no longer tolerate guns owned at random by citizens who are mentally ill, have grudges, come home from many wars with traumatized brains, and are really no different from the Hatfields', McCoys' Greene's, or the Jones', or the drug gangs that compete for clients and business. I would like to think that we are very far removed from a pioneer society; that we have rules and laws that protect us. Will we ever see that all life is SACRED. We must accept that a more civilized way of living with each other has become a necessity.
Showing posts with label TN. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TN. Show all posts
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Our Version of Krispy Creme Doughnuts
Today I went shopping for a birthday card for one of my elderly aunts. In doing so, I began to think about how blessed I have been to have so many aunts in my life who chose to have an impact on my upbringing. I had daily, weekly, and monthly contact with at least 8 of the 12 aunts. Looking back now many of the skills I have such as cooking, sewing, butchering hogs and chickens, quilting, housekeeping, and entertainment are directly related to these aunts. While Mama's influence is unquestionable, I have to acknowledge that many of my 'skill sets' are the result of one or more aunts.
It seemed to me that each Aunt had something she wanted to teach me early in life. For Aunt Emma, the teacher, it was the love of reading and learning; for Aunt Alice it was her gift of being a seamstress who could make any garment fit a particular body shape; Aunt Hazel taught me how to save money and find bargains when shopping; Aunt Ruby shared her love for conversation and visitors. Aunt Fay taught me joy of trying new things such as cooking new foods.
As I shopped for Aunt Fay's birthday card I remembered the day when she and I decided to make doughnuts. Doughnuts were very popular in East TN during the 1960's because of the several Krispy Kreme facilities in Knoxville. For our family, and most everyone in Hancock County, a trip to Knoxville always included a stop at Krispy Kreme Doughnuts to get a box of the glazed variety to bring back home.
One particular Saturday Aunt Fay and I decided to try making our own doughnuts. Aunt Fay, the librarian, found a recipe, brought the ingredients to our house and set up the process. I was designated Chief Assistant and Advisor. While Mama permitted the process she did not consent without protest. She hated a messy kitchen; she didn't like grease splattered everywhere; the process took too long; there would be powdered sugar all over the floor and counter tops, and "there were 'two fools' in the kitchen who didn't know what they were doing in the first place." All of these 'violations' of her kitchen space just annoyed her terribly, but occasionally you did get a hint that she was a bit curious about the whole process. Once or twice she offered a suggestion or asked a question about why we were doing things a certain way.
The process was long and exceeded Mama's tolerance for time and messiness. As we drowned in flour, sugar, grease, and yeast, Mama's complaining intensified. Ultimately, some 5 or more hours later, we finally used up the dough and fried our last batch, and Mama was at her wit's end. I remember our version of doughnuts to be lacking in both taste and appearance compared to the real Krispy Kreme version. I'm not sure if we ever took time to evaluate our experience, but Mama was more than willing to share her evaluation of what she called, "The Doughnut Mess". For months afterward she was still talking about it.
Throughout my childhood as I learned one skill after the other I had to contend with Mama's evaluation of my learning experiences from these dear Aunts. Sometimes the protest came from me as I was 'encouraged' to learn a skill that I had little interest in learning. "Raising Patsy", a phrase Mama used to refer to all my growing and learning process, was not always pleasant or fun, but luckily I had an abundance of very capable Aunts who took over when Mama bailed out of the process on what she called, 'reasons of insanity'.
I think every child should have involved aunts who can teach ignorant, unlearned children skills they never knew they would need to learn in the first place.
patsylawson.com
It seemed to me that each Aunt had something she wanted to teach me early in life. For Aunt Emma, the teacher, it was the love of reading and learning; for Aunt Alice it was her gift of being a seamstress who could make any garment fit a particular body shape; Aunt Hazel taught me how to save money and find bargains when shopping; Aunt Ruby shared her love for conversation and visitors. Aunt Fay taught me joy of trying new things such as cooking new foods.
As I shopped for Aunt Fay's birthday card I remembered the day when she and I decided to make doughnuts. Doughnuts were very popular in East TN during the 1960's because of the several Krispy Kreme facilities in Knoxville. For our family, and most everyone in Hancock County, a trip to Knoxville always included a stop at Krispy Kreme Doughnuts to get a box of the glazed variety to bring back home.
One particular Saturday Aunt Fay and I decided to try making our own doughnuts. Aunt Fay, the librarian, found a recipe, brought the ingredients to our house and set up the process. I was designated Chief Assistant and Advisor. While Mama permitted the process she did not consent without protest. She hated a messy kitchen; she didn't like grease splattered everywhere; the process took too long; there would be powdered sugar all over the floor and counter tops, and "there were 'two fools' in the kitchen who didn't know what they were doing in the first place." All of these 'violations' of her kitchen space just annoyed her terribly, but occasionally you did get a hint that she was a bit curious about the whole process. Once or twice she offered a suggestion or asked a question about why we were doing things a certain way.
The process was long and exceeded Mama's tolerance for time and messiness. As we drowned in flour, sugar, grease, and yeast, Mama's complaining intensified. Ultimately, some 5 or more hours later, we finally used up the dough and fried our last batch, and Mama was at her wit's end. I remember our version of doughnuts to be lacking in both taste and appearance compared to the real Krispy Kreme version. I'm not sure if we ever took time to evaluate our experience, but Mama was more than willing to share her evaluation of what she called, "The Doughnut Mess". For months afterward she was still talking about it.
Throughout my childhood as I learned one skill after the other I had to contend with Mama's evaluation of my learning experiences from these dear Aunts. Sometimes the protest came from me as I was 'encouraged' to learn a skill that I had little interest in learning. "Raising Patsy", a phrase Mama used to refer to all my growing and learning process, was not always pleasant or fun, but luckily I had an abundance of very capable Aunts who took over when Mama bailed out of the process on what she called, 'reasons of insanity'.
I think every child should have involved aunts who can teach ignorant, unlearned children skills they never knew they would need to learn in the first place.
patsylawson.com
Monday, November 5, 2012
Thanksgiving Hancock County Style
Modern culture gives a great deal of publicity to the Thanksgiving Holiday with shopping being its main focus. While elementary schools still teach the story of the first Thanksgiving, most kids today know it as Black Friday, or the day Mom and the rest of the family goes Christmas shopping.
Sixty years ago in Hancock County Thanksgiving was the deadline for farmers to have their crops put away before the hard frost hit and the time when grading tobacco was to be completed. We did not entertain relatives at Thanksgiving unless they were there to help get hog killing done or to finish tobacco grading. Travel outside the county was rare at this time of year. The only traffic jams I heard about around Thanksgiving were those at the tobacco warehouses as farmers rushed to get their graded tobacco on the warehouse floor for the first sale. This first sale was important because the income from the sale allowed the farmer to be able to spend for the upcoming Christmas and be able to get his debt paid off on the crop he had just harvested. If he missed the first sales of December then he and his family had to wait until after Christmas to celebrate.
Hog killing was THE big deal at our house because it usually took three days to fully process the meat for preservation. Each year we killed two hogs, usually of the same breed, each weighing roughly 400 pounds. We waited to kill the hogs until we had a decent cold spell so the meat would 'keep' (not spoil without refrigeration). The first day consisted of killing, scalding, scraping, and butchering of the hogs. Hams, shoulders, and bacon were salted and hung in the smoke house. Sausage meat, intestines, organ meat and the head and feet were stacked in the smoke house to be ground, cooked or processed the next day. On the third day we rendered lard, canned or froze the sausage, and made souse meat. Relatives and neighbors exchanged help with each other in order to receive help with their own process. If there was any type of meal celebration at the end of the process it was assumed that the meat dish would be some type of fresh hog meat.
Invariably, each year some incident occurred during the processing of the meat to provide us with a story to share. One year the gun used to shoot the hogs misfired, scaring the hogs who had to be corralled and brought back to the hog pin; another year the scaffolding used to hang the hog for butchering broke and the hog crashed to the ground midway through scraping. Luckily no one was injured. The incident that I remember the most from hog killing involved Aunt Ruby who accidentally punctured a hog gut while trimming away the fat around it. The stinch was so bad that we had to leave the house for several hours until the house was 'aired out'. Mama fussed for days over this incident saying, "If Ruby had been paying attention to what she was doing in the first place, it never would have happened!" Mama always was eager to find fault with Aunt Ruby so she could elevate her own visions of herself as 'perfect' at everything.
During my growing-up the words hog killing and Thanksgiving were synonymous. The only celebration we had was in the knowledge that one of the last fall tasks for the year had been completed. As one seasonal song says, "all was now gathered in" and we were ready for the long, cold, dark season of winter. It's hard for me still to think of Thanksgiving as a special holiday like Christmas because of its association with work and preparation for winter. And I don't think I will ever be able to grasp the modern focus of Thanksgiving and shopping frenzies. I suppose that what we all end up celebrating in any holiday is our memories of that holiday from a variety of learned experiences. patsylawson.com
Sixty years ago in Hancock County Thanksgiving was the deadline for farmers to have their crops put away before the hard frost hit and the time when grading tobacco was to be completed. We did not entertain relatives at Thanksgiving unless they were there to help get hog killing done or to finish tobacco grading. Travel outside the county was rare at this time of year. The only traffic jams I heard about around Thanksgiving were those at the tobacco warehouses as farmers rushed to get their graded tobacco on the warehouse floor for the first sale. This first sale was important because the income from the sale allowed the farmer to be able to spend for the upcoming Christmas and be able to get his debt paid off on the crop he had just harvested. If he missed the first sales of December then he and his family had to wait until after Christmas to celebrate.
Hog killing was THE big deal at our house because it usually took three days to fully process the meat for preservation. Each year we killed two hogs, usually of the same breed, each weighing roughly 400 pounds. We waited to kill the hogs until we had a decent cold spell so the meat would 'keep' (not spoil without refrigeration). The first day consisted of killing, scalding, scraping, and butchering of the hogs. Hams, shoulders, and bacon were salted and hung in the smoke house. Sausage meat, intestines, organ meat and the head and feet were stacked in the smoke house to be ground, cooked or processed the next day. On the third day we rendered lard, canned or froze the sausage, and made souse meat. Relatives and neighbors exchanged help with each other in order to receive help with their own process. If there was any type of meal celebration at the end of the process it was assumed that the meat dish would be some type of fresh hog meat.
Invariably, each year some incident occurred during the processing of the meat to provide us with a story to share. One year the gun used to shoot the hogs misfired, scaring the hogs who had to be corralled and brought back to the hog pin; another year the scaffolding used to hang the hog for butchering broke and the hog crashed to the ground midway through scraping. Luckily no one was injured. The incident that I remember the most from hog killing involved Aunt Ruby who accidentally punctured a hog gut while trimming away the fat around it. The stinch was so bad that we had to leave the house for several hours until the house was 'aired out'. Mama fussed for days over this incident saying, "If Ruby had been paying attention to what she was doing in the first place, it never would have happened!" Mama always was eager to find fault with Aunt Ruby so she could elevate her own visions of herself as 'perfect' at everything.
During my growing-up the words hog killing and Thanksgiving were synonymous. The only celebration we had was in the knowledge that one of the last fall tasks for the year had been completed. As one seasonal song says, "all was now gathered in" and we were ready for the long, cold, dark season of winter. It's hard for me still to think of Thanksgiving as a special holiday like Christmas because of its association with work and preparation for winter. And I don't think I will ever be able to grasp the modern focus of Thanksgiving and shopping frenzies. I suppose that what we all end up celebrating in any holiday is our memories of that holiday from a variety of learned experiences. patsylawson.com
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