Many years ago, in fact, it was October 1991, I remember the time very well. I decided to try Once a Month Cooking, some call it Freezer Cooking. I assume that most people have heard of this but just in case let me explain. You plan your menu, shop, and cook your dinners and freeze them for the month. For me, this turned out to be a huge money and time saver. You may need more hours in the day or you may need more money at the end of your pay period. This worked well for me. All of my experience with Once a Month Cooking was for a large family. I recently had the opportunity to help a family member put meals in the freezer for her parents who were experiencing some health problems. I had considered recreating my original recipes from the 1990’s and compare prices with today’s prices. I haven’t had the opportunity to do that yet but I may soon. I did have the opportunity to do this for two people. It was a bit of a challenge to figure out just how much food two people would need. Even though most of my family are grown now I still cook for 5 people most of the time and we have leftovers. So this was an experiment.
This is what I cooked.
3 Chicken Pot Pie
3 Chicken Broccoli Casserole
3 Italian Pasta Bake
3 Black Bean Soup
3 Chicken Fajitas and Rice
3 Taco Bake
3 Cheesy Stuffed Shells
3 Cabbage Casserole with beef
3 Beef Veggie Soup
Total Cost Including freezer containers: $118.20
Pretty good! Have you tried freezer cooking? If so share your experiences with me.
When one works as hard as we worked in the cotton fields to earn money, it becomes of utmost importance how that money will be spent. I don’t remember as much about how I used money earned from chopping cotton as that which I earned later in the year from picking cotton, but you can be sure it was not spent lightly. Once, I lost a one-dollar bill, and I was devastated. After looking everywhere I could think of, I lost all hope of finding it. A few days later as I was putting on a pair of knee-length socks, I found a clean, washed, one dollar bill in the toe of one of them (A long sock is a good place to tuck paper money if you don’t forget where you put it!)
A field of cotton was chopped, or hoed, at least twice before being left to bloom and mature. The second chopping was primarily to clean out the weeds, but sometimes one or two good stalks were definitely stronger than the others in a group. Where there were weak, sickly plants that would draw nourishment that could be put to better use by the healthier ones, the weak ones were sacrificed to the chop of the hoe.
The green, healthy plants, when left to grow undisturbed, put on beautiful pink and white blossoms that matured and fell off to be replaced by little green “packages” that were called squares. These squares became larger and rounder until they looked like green eggs that were scored lengthwise into 5-6 segments. (I wonder if Dr. Seuss was inspired to write one of his famous books while watching a stray pig run through a field of green cotton!) These “eggs” were hard and full of tightly packed greenish-white, damp fiber that would slowly dry out inside the green boll and eventually would burst the boll open along the scored lines. As the fibers inside the boll dried and fluffed out, the green shell also dried out and slowly turned brown. It eventually became so dry that it was brittle, and it had very sharp points at the end of each separated segment. These points often inflicted pain upon the fingers that worked at extracting the fluffy, white cotton from inside the boll.
While we rest and let the cotton mature, I want to inform you about an interesting consideration for the farmer that affected the whole community.
The school terms had been similar to the current school terms of nine months, extending from the beginning of September through May. Because the early part of the school session conflicted with children helping with cotton picking, the county schools rearranged their schedules to accommodate the farmer. A summer session of six weeks beginning in July and extending into August was followed by a six-week “vacation” during which most of the cotton could be harvested.
My parents were both school teachers, with Dad being the principal in most of his assignments, and Mother teaching in the early elementary grades. All of their schools were in rural areas, and although they were sympathetic with the farmer, they were dismayed at the degree to which some students were absent before the change was made in the schedule. It seemed to be a good solution for both schools and farmers!
Except for church, school was the center of family life for us. Wherever Dad served as principal, we were provided with a home adjoining the school property. During my eleven years in public school, I only attended two years in a separate facility than the one in which my parents taught. My mother was never my teacher, but Dad taught me in both the fifth and sixth grades! I remember his Palmer handwriting drills that were so neat, but I also remember having to rewrite a paper at least twice before he would accept it. I thought writing tiny and backhanded was cute, but he didn’t!
This is the fourth article of this series written by a grandmother born in the thirties. Times were very different than now, but they were good because we worked together as a family to make a modest living. We experienced what it was like to go without, and we learned to be thankful for little things.
Have you ever eaten lentils? If not, this is your opportunity! I do not remember eating lentils until I was an adult. I have made Lentil Tamale Pie (original recipe below) for years and I have really been wanting lentils. I decided to create a new Lentil Tamale Pie and this is what I came up with.
1 cup cornmeal
1 cup gluten-free flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cumin
2 cups water
2 cups frozen corn
2 cups lentils, cooked
2 cups shredded cheese (Mexican blend, cheddar, or jack) DIVIDED 1 cup for topping
1 cup chopped turkey or chicken (great use of leftovers)
2 eggs
10 oz. red enchilada sauce
1 cup chopped onions
Mix the first 5 ingredients and then add all but 1 cup of cheese. Pour into an oiled pan. I thought this would fill a 13X9 pan but it was too much. I ended up with a 13X9 pan and a 9-inch loaf pan. Bake 350 oven for 1 hour. Enjoy! You may want to top with chopped tomatoes, cilantro, salsa, green onions, sour cream, black olives, etc.
Original Lentil Tamale Pie (from Pam Liebelt)
1 Onion, chopped
1 cup lentils, cooked
2 ½ cups water
2 cups canned tomatoes or tomato sauce
1 can corn (do not drain)
2 eggs beaten
1 cup grated cheese
1 cup cornmeal
Chili powder, cumin, salt to taste
Optional: 1 can olives, chopped; 1 can jalapeno peppers, 1 can green chilies, chopped
Combine all ingredients. Pour into a greased 9X13 pan. Bake 350 for one hour. Serve with sour cream or yogurt, chopped green onions, salsa. Or you may choose to pour into a gallon freezer bag and freeze for later. If freezing remove the bag from the freezer and thaw and then follow the regular instructions for baking.
Let me know if you have another favorite lentil recipe!
We youngsters would be paid by the day, but before I tell you how much, there are some other things you need to know.
Living out in the country was truly a blessing to poor parents who could not afford to have their children longing after the luxuries so readily available in “city” stores. Many communities had their own country store that sold necessities, but it was truly a unique experience to go into town to shop. I remember a “peddling” store making scheduled visits into our neighborhood when I was 5 or 6 years old, and it was from it that we bought many needed items. Mother could buy flour, sugar, salt, etc., and I remember her buying material with which to make dresses. The only nonessential that I recall buying from the peddler was bubble gum. Round, fat pieces of Double Bubble and long cylindrical pieces of “Baloney” (I’m not sure of the spelling) gum cost one penny each. Although we didn’t buy candy bars at that time, I know they were no more than a nickel a piece, and soda pops could also be bought for a nickel.
When I was eleven years old, my dad brought home a brand new beautiful Ford car for which he paid about $800.00. We were extremely proud of that new car, but I was aware of what a hardship it was for Dad to spend that much money, even for a car! So, when I tell you how much money we made for a whole day’s work in the cotton patch, just remember these figures and compare them with the costs of things today.
I seem to recall that I worked for anywhere between $1.50 and $2.75 a day. Farmers had to adjust what they paid their workers based on their predictions for the year and in keeping with the neighboring farmers. When his crops were poor, or some of his other enterprises (chickens, eggs, milk, beef or pork) were not making a good return on his investment, a farmer would not be able to hire help outside the family……he couldn’t afford to pay what his neighbors were paying. Survival for the family depended on everyone pitching in and helping to make it profitable…..
While in the cotton patch, we did much more than just hoe down unneeded cotton stalks and weeds. A lot of socializing went on. The older folks didn’t seem to know that you could keep an interesting conversation going and chop that cotton at the same time! Not a few times they would have to remind us of what they believed it took to do a good job. But, we learned a lot about each other, and I believe we learned to appreciate the differences in people and their various outlooks on life. We learned to disagree with others over religious ideas, moral values, and just plain old every day stuff like what shape that group of white fluffy clouds up there formed!
It was in the cotton patch that I learned not to talk about people! There was a little elderly couple in our neighborhood who was somewhat “odd”. Why the woman (so I was told) even powdered her face with flour, and I found it unbelievable and extremely amusing that anyone would do such a thing. One day in the cotton patch, however, I was discussing this strange behavior with a cousin, who kept acting rather silly. She finally made me understand that I should be quiet. Some of the other workers in the field were related to this poor couple that I had so maligned with my gossip! Needless to say, I have recalled that incident many times over, and the embarrassment and shame that I felt in my young conscience.
Studying our natural surroundings was a constant pastime while we worked. Ours was a beautiful world, and we were out in the open observing so much. There were little critters everywhere, many of them doing their God-given tasks of pollinating the plants, of aerating the soil and increasing the wonder in the children.
This is the third in a series of articles by a grandmother who wants her grandchildren to know who she really is and why she believes in some things that may seem archaic to them. Hers was a rich life with many merits that only those who experienced such can truly understand.
You may remember my sanity garden from last year. ** Well, my herbs are growing again. I actually had the oregano all winter but it is growing and spreading with spring. So happy to see my mint again too. Old friends. Planting perennials is a gift that keeps on giving. Plant perennials herbs, strawberries, apples, grapes, etc.
**In case you missed my post about my sanity garden last spring here it is!
We awoke early, had a good hot breakfast of biscuits, butter, sausage, eggs, gravy, and jelly, all of which were homemade or home processed. There was also good, fresh, wholesome milk to drink. The biscuits and gravy contained flour and a few other ingredients that were “store-bought”, but everything else was made from things grown or raised on Granddad’s and Granny’s farm. I *could* have milked the cow, churned the butter, gathered the eggs, picked some of the fruit (apple, grapes, cherries, blackberries or strawberries) for the jelly, turned the sausage grinder by hand and stuffed the sausage into a “stocking” cover. I *may* have washed and peeled fruit washed the canning jars with water that was drawn out of a deep well with a contraption called a windlass. (A windlass was a big cylindrical wooden drum with a handle). A rope, attached to the windlass, went up and through a pulley in the ceiling of the well-house and down into the well. When a bucket attached to the rope filled up with water, the windlass was turned by hand to bring the fresh cool water up out of the well. It took a lot of buckets of water to make sure the jars were clean and rinsed, but the windlass was fun to let go flying round and round as the bucket fell into the water. The flying handle could be treacherous if you got in its way, but we all learned that scientific fact rather quickly! …But, back to my story…
After breakfast, the adults busied themselves with various chores, while we younger ones watched the sun creep up over the treetops, revealing a very beautiful dew-drenched earth. It was rather cool and damp out on the front porch as we waited for the signal to load up so we could get to the cotton field for a day of work and fun. We youngn’s each wore a straw hat and a long-sleeved shirt to protect us from the hot sun, and we each had a garden hoe, and some of us may have worn cotton gloves so the hoe handle would be less likely to rub blisters on our hands as we chopped at the weeds in and around the young cotton stalks.
Often there was one last ritual before we climbed into the wagon to head for the field. That was hoe sharpening. One or more of the older folks would take a metal file and sharpen the cutting edges of the hoes. In the process of thinning the cotton stalks and chopping out the weeds, our hoes would often strike rocks. It was kinda neat to us youngsters to see the sparks fly when the metal struck against the rocks, but the veteran cotton choppers knew sharp hoe blades would work faster and more efficiently than ones that had been dulled. Hoe sharpening was essential to getting the job done better and more quickly.
Well, the sun, which was finally up, was causing the dew all around to turn into a vapor and rise into the air. Little low lying patches of fog were just as beautiful as the dew-covered plants. No one needed to tell us how beautiful God made the earth…we not only saw it….we felt it!
At last, it was time to climb into the wagon pulled by a team of mules. We bounced up and down on wooden seats as we were carried along the long country lane edged with sweet-smelling pink hedge roses, and not one of us had a thought about being discontent nor deprived of the luxuries that may have belonged to somebody…somewhere….There were songs waiting to be sung, butterflies waiting to chase, and cool shade trees at the end of the long rows of cotton waiting to be enjoyed by hot, sweaty, tired bodies as they shared a gourd dipper and drank from a cool bucket of water.
This is the first article of a series in an attempt to give the younger generation a glimpse into the past that belonged to and helped to shape the ideals and principles of their grandparents and great-grandparents. Not every one belonging to those generations had the privilege of working in a cotton patch, but they all shared a closeness to nature that has all but been destroyed by our modern lifestyles.
Windlass at Cannonsburg Village Murfreesboro, TN
Special thanks to my wonderful mother-in-law, Jo Redding, who agreed to let me share these articles. Thanks to the editors of Redding Magazine for letting me reprint them here. This article was first published in Redding Magazine in 1996.
Last night I cried myself to sleep thinking of all my mommy fails. And today I am thinking of all my fails as a daughter.
What will I do with these failings and the misery I feel from them? I know that I need to reframe them. I know that I need to forgive myself. I know I need to turn loose of these feelings and not let them drag me down. I may need to ask my children’s forgiveness or not. Do I ask forgiveness for being human? Do I ask forgiveness for making mistakes? I look at my children and the beauty and wonder I see in them and know that either I did something right or God was gracious to over-ride my terrible shortcomings. I know it is God’s goodness!
Recently I was sharing in ladies’ Bible class about feeling guilty about not scrapbooking my children’s childhood and other things. I was amazed at what relief I saw in the other women in my class. First, let me say that I think it is an absolutely beautiful gift to give your children scrapbooks and pictures of their childhood. I will add IF you desire to do that and IF you are able to do that. There just was never enough of me to do that! The thing I learned from this was how huge the expectations we place on ourselves. Women expect a lot from themselves and buy into the lie that we have failed as a mom or wife if we don’t do…..a whole list of things. We also assume every woman does the things we find impossible to do. We also try to live up to an image of what the perfect mom or wife is/or does. We all have limitations.
Despite my shortcomings, HE has done something beautiful. And despite the humanness of my children, HE has done something beautiful. Now it is up to them what they do with what God has blessed them with. I also, have to acknowledge that it is up to me to make the best of what God has given me and the opportunities he has blessed me with. Let us love with the love of God. For love covers a multitude of sins and mistakes.
As I continue our story. Our second stop takes us to Tacoma, Washington where we worked with the Lakeview Church of Christ. This congregation was started as an outreach to the military. As was our custom we stayed with members of the congregation for three weeks. I stayed with Sandy and Dave Newman and their two little girls. The church was in the prep stage for building a new building. They shared with us the new design which we thought was pretty exciting. The pulpit was to be in the middle. Floyd Brazil was in charge of our group. Obert Henderson preached a meeting while we were there. He “taught” us a new song to go with one of his lessons, His Grace Reaches Me, which is still one of my favorites. We went door to door sharing the scriptures. This meant we had to do a lot of Bible study on our own too! Morning quiet times and devotionals stand out in my memory of my time in Tacoma. Again we studied with old and young alike. This will not be the end of the story of my connection with Lakeview.
My third stop was to Seattle, Washington. Our team all met up at Mountlake Terrace Church of Christ. Six of us were chosen to work with a new congregation just getting started. West Seattle Church of Christ. We again stayed in the homes of church families. I stayed with Roy and Jo Vaughn. The church shared the building with another church. Roy had an old VW Van which he put a sandwich board sign on top of to tell the church was meeting. Most of our work was knocking on stranger’s doors and asking if they would like to study the Bible. We also helped conduct services of the church. I met many wonderful people some that would remain a part of my life to this day. One dear lady, Betty Coleman, agreed to a Bible study and I went every day with my door knocking partner and we studied through the book of John together. This sweet lady became a Christian while we were there. My life would also reconnect with this congregation a few years down the road. It was time for our group to leave but I was allowed to stay a couple of days longer. Madge Boubonik (I am sure the spelling is butchered) taught me to make communion bread. http://www.redaredding.com/communion-bread/ Les and Mildred’s daughter Mary, took me on my first trip to the Pike Place Market in Seattle where we bought fresh crab for my first taste! It was wonderful of course!
My love for the Pacific Northwest began in 1979 and still impacts me today.
And a little bit of the continuing story………..
Fast forward to 1985 when we move our family from Reedsport, Oregon to Burien, Washington to start a house church. The nearest congregation was West Seattle and of course, we reconnected with many of those same people I had met in 1979 and that connection remains to this day. Also, new family members were added to our friends list and the ripples continue. And I am sad to add that West Seattle closed its doors last year.
Fast forward to 2007. We move to Spanaway, Washington near Tacoma! Only 7 miles from the Lakeview congregation. I walk into Lakeview as a grandma now. The building was completed several years before. Many of the same people I met in 1979 were still at Lakeview when I arrived. It was a wonderful reunion. Friendships continue. Floyd Brazil was still busy about the Lord’s work when we arrived and driving us around on a new door knocking adventure. And a few more years down the road his sweet grand-daughter Stephanie would move to Aberdeen, Washington where we were working with the church there. And the ripples continue.
I have been asked several times where in the world is Redding Mountain? People looking on maps have asked for assistance locating it. Many people have had trouble locating it because it is a place in the heart. It is actually in Scott Depot, WV down a narrow road just off of Scary Creek.
So here is the story as I remember it. Back in the late 80’s or early 90’s I started calling the mountain where Mawmaw and Pawpaw Redding lived, Redding Mountain. We also lived on that mountain. At one time at least 9 of the grandchildren lived there. Several of our children were born on Redding Mountain and a couple buried there.
We have had many many Redding Mountain adventures. Somehow that red West Virginia dirt and the home we call Redding Mountain produces a lot of activity and a lot of creativity. Maybe it is the calmness and time taken to sit under the trees, on the porch, birdwatching, or walking in the woods. Or the busyness of mowing and chopping down trees and working on projects. Anyway, many wonderful ideas and creations had their birth on Redding Mountain. Sawmilling, making tomato stakes, raising chickens, selling eggs, producing a magazine, soap and bread making, running a mini baking business, primitive camping, riding off of the “cliff” on the pulley and cable, learning to drive tractors and fix them or riding around with Pawpaw in his truck and watching the stars from the rooftop! And the snowy winter days! Nothing like them. I loved being “snowed in” on Redding Mountain. Wonderful memories are carried with us from Redding Mountain. Thirteen years ago I started a blog called Redding Mountain. I shared recipes and stories from happenings on Redding Mountain. You can still access it at reddingmountain.com
Now you know how my precious Redding Mountain got its name.
