Appalachian Creasy Greens and THE Worm

Well, it's fall again in my part of the universe. I awoke this morning with memories of seasonal changes in food in my native county of Hancock. I don't assume these food changes are any different from other parts of Appalachia or other Southern regions because the culture is a widely shared one. Fall always meant getting the crops in and finishing up the garden before the first good hard frost. 

 

By September and October the food focus at our house had moved from fresh beans, corn and cucumbers to a variety of fresh greens, including mustard, turnip and wild creasy greens. The sweet potatoes had been dug and were being put away for the winter. These sweet potatoes were a perfect combination with crowder peas which, incidentally, are not the same thing as black-eyed peas.  Our daily menus changed with the arrival of each new season and were always welcomed. In October Mama and Aunt Ruby could be found roaming through the cut corn and tobacco patches in search of creasy and other wild greens. As soon as one of them discovered a new patch of wild greens they ran across the road to announce their find. As a child I often went on wild greens searches and soon became quite adept at knowing a weed from these delightful delicacies.

 

Once these wild greens were brought inside for cleaning and processing a whole new conversation emerged around making sure the greens were ready to be cooked. Cleaning was VERY important. It really boiled down to washing off dirt from the broad leaves and a search for small green worms that were often hidden somewhere on the leaves.  Mama loved to give lectures and demonstrations on how to find these small worms. She always stressed the importance of finding them so they would not be cooked with the greens. 

 

Also, there was one or two stories sprinkled into these lectures about somebody in the neighborhood who was not 'clean' with their greens, and how during a meal a dead worm was discovered floating around while eating the greens.  It seemed to me that this story was there for the 'gag and fear factor' to the whole process.  Often a comment was made like, "Why, I wouldn't eat a meal at HER house at all because so and so said they found a worm in the greens."  This comment appeared to me to be the ultimate cooking insult. Honestly, this comment is absurd to me now because it would take a lot of effort to find this so-called worm, and the search for it would be pretty obvious to the host and everyone else. I mean, isn't the the meaning behind, "Quit picking in your food! Just eat it, for God's sake!" a warning so that the host won't be offended? As much as I love fresh greens in the fall of the year, I still live in fear of serving them to my guests because someone might discover a worm I overlooked. 

 

Incidentally, Mama believed she NEVER cooked a worm in her greens, EVER; and that Aunt Ruby probably cooked several of them because she was not careful ENOUGH. This was one of many ways she distinguished herself as a superior cook to Aunt Ruby. As a psychologist I understand that the second child (Mama) always tries to unseat the first child (Aunt Ruby) from the throne. Or maybe this was nothing more than two mountain women living out life in a culture that is constantly in search of cooked worms in fresh greens.

 

www.patsylawson.com 

 

 

A Much Larger World

Growing up as an isolated child of Appalachia, I knew little about the larger world around me until my three much older brothers enlisted in the Army and Air Force. By the time I was 5 they were college graduates; by the time I was 6 the Korean War was on, and by the time I turned 8 all three had enlisted or been drafted. My Mama never did crying 'fits' like other women were prone to do when children left home because she kept her emotions tightly in rein, but when each of the three left for military service I saw her real tears and felt her worry in an intense way.

Their college degrees allowed each of them to serve the military in other ways besides battle. They traveled extensively in Europe and other places with their military assignments. As they traveled each of them remembered us back home and sent many dolls, clothing, and toys from each country they visited. What a thrill it was to receive a package from them at least once or twice each year!  On furloughs they came home with slide shows for the family and neighbors as well.  We made a screen out of an old sheet hung on the side of our house and placed lawn chairs in a semi-circle around it. During these outdoor summer slide shows I got to hear stories about the countries they visited, their people, customs, foods and interests. These slide shows were the only world geography lessons I ever remember receiving.  School had given me US geography and pictures of our national parks, but no facts about other countries overseas.

Eventually my brothers returned home, then moved away to take jobs in other cities, and got married.  Occasionally, there would be some conversation about their military experience or how their current job connected to what they did in the military, but I don't remember us talking much about their European travels after that.  Once back in the US they took new vacations and traveled a lot with their new work. The conversation now was about those trips.  

Within ten years of their return from the military I also was ready to leave the nest and my Appalachian home. By this point my father had died so I chose a college within two hours of home and visited Mama as often as I could.  I married a week after graduation and moved away to new cities beyond Appalachia. I always felt proud of my roots, my Appalachia, and the experiences I had in the mountains.

As I look back on choices my husband and I have made for ourselves and our sons I now can see the enormous impact of my brother's travels on my life.  For as long as I can remember, I have longed to see a much larger world than where I lived at the time.  Our first child had his first birthday celebration on the road and now works in the travel industry. The second son has done service projects all over the world. During our summer, Christmas, and spring breaks we were in an airplane or car headed for a new adventure. Now in retirement I struggle to get to all the wonders still awaiting me before I become too old to travel.

Mama never understood my love for travel and preferred I spend my free time all with her.  I did the best I could to balance my own wandering side and her need to stay in the same place.  A long time ago I remember one of my brother's saying that our father had wanted to travel and move away from Appalachia when he was a newlywed, but Mama refused to leave her birthplace. While this was a sad story shared only with my brother, I have kept it close to my heart. I know that he made a choice to stay home.  Perhaps he was able to survive and to get his travel needs met through the slide shows, the stories, and the gifts from foreign countries just like I was. I think there will always be a piece of my father and my brothers that travels with me wherever my husband, my kids, and my grandchildren roam. The influence of my brothers travel, the outdoor slide shows, the conversations about countries far away, and my father's desires to travel has had a powerful impact on my life.  Daily I'm thankful for their gift of wanting to see a larger world.

Keeping THEM Alive

For the last 10 or more years I have been lost in the world of storytelling.  It began when I confronted one of those career crises that people have when they get a bad boss for several years and you're too far into the career to quit or retire so you decide the answer is to 'ride it out'. The new question becomes, "How will I ride this out and keep my sanity at the same time?"  In the middle of this mess I decided to take a weekend to go to the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN.  I had heard that this is was one of those events you must experience before you die.  Totally convinced that nothing could really be THAT great, I went rather than stay home and rant about my mess at work.  

By no means was I a stranger to storytelling because that was all we ever did when relatives visited our house. Every relative shared some true story about every other relative, and many times the stories were repeats from several months or years back. The odd part about this was that none of the family members ever said, "Are we going to talk about Uncle Link, AGAIN?!" Or, "You told that story last year."  It simple was never said, and amazingly, we seemed to enjoy it just as much the fourth time as we had the first time.  Even now this attitude of listening catches me by surprise.  What were we doing and why were we doing this ritual?  We talked about living relatives, dead relatives, odd neighbors, stupid decisions and actions, everyday life, illnesses, church gossip, family gossip, etc.  I have no doubt that most families have talked about all of these things as well.

As a family we loved to laugh.  The funnier the story the better we liked it so eventually some relatives were always called upon to tell their best or funniest story.  During the telling new insights into humor would be gained and the stories just seemed to get better each year. Every now and then someone had a new catastrophe to share which was a real highlight.  This new story would then be added to the collection. By the time I was grown I knew my 16 aunts and uncles, my grandparents, my parents, and a few great uncles and aunts who had 'interesting' personalities by the stories about them. Many of these people died before I was born or before I could remember so stories were the only way I knew them.

So I attended the storytelling festival that escape weekend, expecting to be entertained, but not swept away.  I was deeply moved by the tellers, the stories, and the healing that began to happen as I listened to each new teller. I found my laughter again and the hurt moved out. I became re-acquainted with my roots, my heritage and my life before work, kids, marriage and career took over. I left the festival having touched my roots in a deep way. 

Back in my so called 'real life' I knew I was reconnected to the family I left years ago in East Tennessee, and I had found a voice within me that could not be quiet. I simply had to share this former life somehow with my students and my world now.  So the journey began with awkward attempts to write stories, then storytelling workshops, books about storytelling around the world, more storytelling events, and more storytelling festivals.  Finally I found the courage to write one reasonably complete story, then another, and later I stumbled through the first telling of a story.  

It's now been fifteen years since the discovery of my life as lived through stories. I survived the bad boss, the thirty year career, my kids launch from sports into career life, and their marriages. For some reason the last couple of years my focus has been on Mama, Aunt Ruby, Daddy, relatives, and our neighbors. Their voices, advise, and 'truths' constantly visit my thoughts in random ways. In time each of these find their way into a story.  Sometimes I often reflect on the 'why' of this process and so far the only answer I have found is that these memories, the stories, the humor, the insight is simply my way of keeping THEM alive after they are long gone. I suppose, in turn, they are still a huge piece of my life source now. I'm simply amazed that their nurture is still supporting me.

Becoming a Woman

If you have followed my blog with any regularity you already know that Mama was not good at talking about sex.  She had a major hang up with the topic. I suppose I haven't reached forgiveness with her yet on this one.  Yes, I understand that this failure comes from her generation's understanding that talking about sexual issues only promoted sexual activity.  Today educated folks accept that nothing could be further from the truth.  Here's another blog dedicated to Mama and Sex.  

Around the age of 11-12 I, like all my girlfriends, wanted to find answers to all our sexual questions.  Some of the younger mothers were honest and shared information which eventually found it's way down to the rest of us who had older Mamas that told us nothing. What facts we could not find out, we guessed at.  Sex was the number one topic in 6th and 7th grade. Some of the 'early bloomers' already had their periods so the rest of us 'late bloomers' got our information from them.  I got lucky one day while looking through a magazine and found a Kimberly Clark advertisement for a booklet titled, "What Every Girl Needs to Know About Becoming A Woman".  For me, this ad was like discovering gold.  I ran home; read the ad fully; copied the address carefully on an envelope, and sent it off along with my dime which was to cover 'postage and handling.' The ad promised to send the booklet in a plain brown envelope.  


My next big problem to solve was how to retrieve the plain brown envelope from the mailbox without Mama knowing I had sent for it. I dedicated myself to being the person who got the mail each day until that brown envelope arrived. It seems like a month before it arrived, but, on the day it arrived I hid it and myself in the barn till I could get it read and understood.  


It was amazing with diagrams, pictures and ANSWERS I could understand.  I must have read it six times that day!  In the front of the booklet there was an explanation of why girls have periods and how to know when to expect your period. There was information about how to manage cramps. Toward the back of the booklet was a list and pictures of Kotex products to use during that time of the month.  There were sanitary belts, a variety of sanitary napkins, tampons and pictures explaining where they were placed and answers to such questions as, "Can a tampon become 'lost' in your body?" Here were all the answers I wished my Mama would give me. After I read the booklet several times I shared it with my friends at school.  

About a year after the booklet arrived I had my first period.  It was there one morning when I awakened.  As excited as I was to have finally arrived at womanhood, I still had to tell Mama about it. How would I tell her that it had occurred when we had never discussed the process?  Mustering up all the courage I could find that morning, I walked into the kitchen were Mama was scrambling eggs at the stove.  I simply said, "I've started my period." She looked shocked, stopped working with the eggs which then burned as she walked away saying, "I'll take care of it."  She walked into her bedroom.  I stood by the stove and the burned eggs.  About ten minutes later she came back with a pair of my panties to which a thick layer of clean cloths had been pinned into the crotch.  Handing them to me she said, "Here, put these on.  We will need to change the rags daily." That was it!  I was horrified! What was this??? I had imagined a sanitary belt and a Kotex pad, at least. Recovering a bit from my shock, it finally occurred to me that she had prepared for me the same solution she had used herself to manage her own periods. Later that day I told my Dad that I needed to go to the drug store to get some stuff.  I didn't know what he knew, and didn't care, because it was something I had to manage on my own.  I bought a sanitary belt, a box of Kotex, and from that point on Mama and I never had another conversation about the issue for the rest of my life. This was an important lesson for me personally because I took control of my own body from this point forward. 



As a college professor for over 30 years I shared this story with my students each semester when we covered body changes across the lifespan. I used it to launch a discussion about the importance of teaching children about sexual matters and body changes. Now as an older woman well past menopause, I look back on this story still trying to glean the many lessons from this small chapter in my life.


Now I present this story for you to reflect on how you managed your own body changes related to menstruation and other sexually related topics.  When did you take charge of your own body and sexual issues?  I would love to hear your comments.

Daddy, The Apiarist (bee keeper)

As the long, hot, humid days of summer drag on I'm reminded of bee stings. The one thing that was certain each summer for me was getting at least one bee sting if not two or three. I loved to go bare footed, or mostly bare footed with my flip flops.  Our yard was full of clover; bees make a lot of honey from clover blossoms; and I usually managed to step on one or more of our honey bees as I ran through the yard.  Somehow the connection between clover and bees never occurred to me until it was too late.  Being very allergic to bee stings, one sting on the foot could set me up for five to seven days of total misery.  Mama was certain that a good wad of chewing tobacco placed on a new sting would "draw the poison out".  It never did.  We never seemed to make that connection either.  Summer after summer the bees did their work while I continued in my blissful ignorance of the danger. Actually our summer yard had two major risks, bees and fresh chicken poop. Neither work well with bare feet.

Our yard was full of honey bees because Uncle Rec, short for Rector, had convinced my father to be an apiarist, or beekeeper.  Uncle Rec kept bees and was a good salesman for anything he believed in strongly.  So Daddy got the gear for beekeeping: the hat with attached veil that tied around an upturned shirt collar, the smoker that looked like an accordion which burned old rags and briefly paralyzed the bees while the honey was being removed from the hive. He also got special gloves that tied over his shirt sleeves. Uncle Rec said that no special pants or shirts were needed if you were careful to use pants and shirts made from thick and strong fabric.  Bees could not sting through thick fabric. Uncle Rec somehow managed to also convince my father that he could be a good apiarist if he just relaxed and appeared confident when he was working with the bees. Daddy bought it all and remained confident during the 'lessons' when Uncle Rec joined Daddy as they robbed the hives together. I watched from inside the screened in porch of our house and was amazed at Daddy's confidence. I thought he was so brave! 

Eventually Uncle Rec said Daddy could manage this on his own. He gave Daddy the recommended 'robbing schedule' when the bees could do without some of their honey and he wished him luck.  Daddy got the hang of it, sorta.  He could add the artificial cone to the hives.  He learned the three honey seasons and the correct amount of honey to remove without starving the bees. The piece Daddy never seemed to get was the part about appearing confident and relaxed when working with the bees. 

Robbing the bees was the hard part because it had to be done during the warmer seasons of the year when the bees are most active. During cooler seasons the bees were not very active and usually not good at stinging. For many summers I watched Daddy rob the bees. Mama and I dreaded the days when Daddy announced that he was going to work with the bees because he appeared as apprehensive as we were.  

After he got all of his gear on, he would fire up the smoker after over-stuffing it with fabric.  At the point when he removed the top layers of the white hives there were moments when we could not see Daddy at all for the smoke. From where we watched he was not visible through the thick cloud that enveloped him. Not only were the bees temporarily paralyzed, but Daddy was stumbling around almost as paralyzed as the bees. We held our breaths and eagerly waited for the ordeal to be over. When Daddy finally emerged from the smoke there was nothing triumphant about his walk or behavior. He practically ran back to the house. Usually he somehow managed to collect his tools, the pans of honey, and to stumble back to the screened porch. Always a few lesser paralyzed bees chased him to the door.  The task now was to get Daddy in the house with the honey and without the accompanying bees.  It was a very tense ordeal for all of us. While Daddy never said he was afraid of the bees, he didn't have to because you could see it all over his body.  


It was a red letter summer when I overhead Daddy tell Uncle Rec that he didn't care much for beekeeping.  Uncle Rec never bothered to comment.


Patsy Hatfield Lawson shares stories about her Appalachian heritage with corporations, non-profits, assisted living facilities, museums, and private events.  www.patsyhatfieldlawson.com  Visit her website for more information and available dates.

The Greene-Jones Feud

While I am on the topic of feuding I might as well reveal the rest of my family history by stating that along with being a Hatfield descendant, I am also a descendant of the Greene - Jones feud (1880's) which occurred in Upper East Tennessee (Hancock County) about the same time as the Hatfield-McCoy feud.  Like the Hatfield-McCoy feud, this feud lasted many years and stemmed from the same issues; end of the Civil War, many psychologically wounded soldiers returning back to their mountain homes only to confront those who had fought opposite them in battle, a young and poorly managed court system, and competition for land and resources. Also worthy of mention is the fact that East Tennessee chose to fight with the Union while the rest of Tennessee fought with the Confederates.  Throughout the war many families,  neighbors, and relatives fought for opposite sides. It was the making of a perfect storm.

The Greene-Jones war is largely tied to my Great, Great Uncle Link (Lincoln) Greene, a very odd man with a lot of distrust and grudges to settle. I only knew him through the family stories told about him. Uncle Link was ‘odd’ which meant he ‘acted funny’ in many business and social situations.  He was considered violent, mean, and quite strange.  One story describes him making his own coffin for later use and showing off how well he looked in it when visitors came by. Other ‘Uncle Link’ stories involved him asking relatives to chain him up during the full moon so he would not kill anyone. Another involved him dressing like Jesus and having a group of ‘disciples’. Still another focused on him refusing to talk to some of his children for 20 years. During the 1929 depression Uncle Link was the only person to get his money out of the Sneedville Bank because he got word that banks were failing and immediately arrived at the bank with shotgun in hand and demanded his money. It was handed over. 

Uncle Link was considered to be the "Devil Anse" of the Greeme-Jones Feud.  He was noted for stirring up trouble and getting even.  From the 1880's until the 1920's this war claimed a total of 70 lives and resulted in Hancock County  being placed under Marshal Law for a period of seven year.  While many of the events of the Greene-Jones war parallel the Hatfield-McCoy feud the one thing that distinguished these feuds from each other was that the New York Times did not report on the feud as it had in the Hatfield-McCoy feud, therefore, the Greene-Jones feud went relatively unnoticed by the rest of the world.

As an adolescent hearing these stories from our family historian, I hardly knew how to process the facts.  Also I did not know how to manage my last name of Hatfield when everyone mentioned that feud.  There was a long period of time when I hated saying my last name, and by the time I married I was more than glad to be rid of the name for good. As it turned out I ended up marrying one of the "Greene's" and learned from this same family historian that we were distant relatives.  It has taken me the better part of fifty years to try to understand who I am and how historical events and isolated geographical areas shape personal lives.  As my husband and I try to explain all of this to our now grown children, I sometimes feel that they are pretty bewildered by it all as well. One thing that no longer surprises me, however, is understanding that I probably chose psychology and psychotherapy as a career in order to learn how to solve problems without shooting my relatives. 

 www.patsyhatfieldlawson.com

The History Channel and The Famous Feud

It's FINALLY over!  The History Channel's Hatfield-McCoy Feud went on as long as the feud itself.  I was worn out before I got through the first episode; never mind the other two.  True to it's subject, this 'historical drama' nearly killed me.

Months before it aired a neighbor knocked on my door; all excited he told me about the upcoming feature and told me to put it on the calendar. I followed his advise.  Then about a month out I started seeing the previews daily. Next I was in New York City and saw it promoted on several Times Square billboards. Then after coming home I sent emails, text messages, tweets, Facebook announcements, and told everyone I knew to watch it.  I also bragged that I am a descendent of this famous feud and also a descendant of another less famous feud, the East Tennessee Greene-Jones feud.  I thought about how finally the world would get to understand all of the factors leading to the feud.  Finally everyone would understand, and I would be spared the brief summary conversations trying to explain the multiple issues of 50 years. After this Kevin Costner version of history, I've decided I'll never bring up the feud again.


In a nutshell, the History Channel botched this piece of history in a major way.  It turned into nothing more than 6 hours of violence, guns, and invented Hollywood drama. The story was so poorly told that after every episode the average person couldn't keep the characters, the connections, or the summary of events straight from one scene to the next. The first episode attempted to summarize the factors leading up to the feud, but without any factual statements or chronology the viewer had to put it together from short scenes portraying the events.  Knowing these facts already I could see where the film was going, but most people viewing the film did not know these basic facts. I did see one local entertainment writer in my area who cared enough to write about them and to help clarify the episode.  Everyone should have had these facts.  http://www.examiner.com/entertainment-in-nashville/jonathan-pinkerton?CID=examiner_alerts_index

If you were looking for a million ways to explore violence and it's aftermath, this would be your film. I suppose the acting was brilliant if you focused on violence; otherwise, I saw little acting that was focused away from violence. The bare chested characters looked like they they worked for Gold's Gym (particularly Johnse Hatfield), all had perfect teeth (no one had access to dental care in these mountains), the sex scenes were easily understood (far better than any other part), and the viewers were probably more confused about how all this happened than they were before the series aired. At the end I prayed for a summary statement explaining how the feud ended and how each character died.  Yes, it was there, but before you could read the tiny print about one character it switched to another one, then another one. These sentences appeared obligatory rather than helpful or thought provoking providing that you were a fast reader.

In short, please don't purchase a copy of this History Channel installment.  Prior to its airing, I looked forward to the offering and believed The History Channel presented accurate, factual history well. Maybe I'm the stupid person here, but this piece has raised many questions about how this and other history is portrayed, the accuracy of facts, and the quality of script writing used by The History Channel. Not all actors can direct films even if they are in their field of expertise.  I suggest Kevin Costner stick to acting and The History Channel present itself as fictionalized history.   


I would love to hear what each of you thought about the Hatfield-McCoy feature.