Wednesday, September 26, 2007

DOUBLE THE TROUBLE ---DOUBLE THE FUN !!


The friendship and kinship between German brothers-in-law Ed Merz and Edd Heitmueller was unique in several aspects. Not only did they share a common given name ( with an extra “D” added to Edd Heitmueller’s name), but so did their wives, Eda. Ed Merz was married to Edd Heitmueller’s sister and the two couples were great pals throughout their long married lives in the Vinemont Community of Cullman County.

Nothing pleased each couple more than playing a prank or joke on the other couple. Throughout the past year a record of these pranks was posted on a calendar hanging on the kitchen wall of the quaint German Merz homeplace. These amusing antics were individually recalled with gusto each New Year’s Eve when the family gathered around the glistening, oak table in the tidy, cozy Merz kitchen. Not only were they there, with other family members, to usher in a brand new year, but to celebrate Ed Merz’s birthday.

Both men were members of Cullman’s original German Band, Ed in a musical capacity and Edd, who was a great jig dancer but played no musical instrument. However, he became the “official” buggy driver for the group (self appointed I am sure). One crisp, fall evening in the 1930’s the band played until the wee morning hours near The Odd Fellow’s Home, known today as Childhaven. They, as normal, consumed vast amounts of “spirits” throughout the evening. Eventually the tired, tipsy group loaded themselves and their instruments onto the buckboard for the short journey home. As the exhausted members nodded blissfully Edd Heitmueller attempted to direct the sleepy horses to their destination. At such an early morning hour a fall frost had settled over the large meadow across the road from where The Cullman Stockyard is presently located. In his state of inebriation Edd abruptly halted the weary horses and loudly suggested to his disheveled friends that they all “dive” into the lovely LAKE----- so they all stripped and dove!!

On another occasion the band members gathered at the Merz farmhouse one evening to practice their playing and marching. As the hours progressed and the group partook of “refreshments” the atmosphere became quite jovial. Ed Merz was very proud and protective of his newly constructed hen house full of nesting hens. Suddenly, Edd Heitmueller leading the band, flung open the double front doors of the hen house and amidst cackling hens, fluttering feathers and flying fowls the group proceeded to march proudly through the house and out the back doors of Ed’s prized possession. Screaming in protest with ire and fury Eda Merz attacked the entire melee as she brought up the rear with mop flaying wildly!

Another memorable incident occurred one dawn in the same hen house. Ed and Eda Merz’s tranquil sleep was suddenly interrupted that blustery winter night by strange sounds coming from the hens. Snuggling closely the frightened duo, she in flowing flannel nightgown, he in snug longhandles with a flopping “northern exposure” crept cautiously toward the hen house. With oil lantern in one hand, shotgun in the other and Eda peeking timidly over his shoulder, Ed silently eased open the door. At that precise moment “Snitz”, Ed’s faithful birddog , chose to inspect the area right before his COLD nose. That spot being the exposed skin of Ed’s hindquarters! Startled by this unexpected greeting Ed sprang forward, dropped the lantern and shot both barrels of his trusty double barrel shotgun through the roof of his cherished hen dwelling. Seems Ed’s main concern, almost immediately, was how promptly he could repair the damage he had incurred—for he knew what unmerciful “joshing” he would have to endure if Edd

Heitmueller ‘s eagle eyes spied the holes and questioned their creation!

Oh, how these two German buddies loved to “argue” politics, one being a staunch Democrat, the other just as die-hard a Republican. No matter what the subject of the discussion there was no budging by either man. Although this political gulf was vast and deep it never intruded upon their devoted friendship, nor changed each other’s mind.

One spring day, while both men were in their seventies, a noted “discussion’ arose between the two pals. They were working together erecting the rafters on a new wash house on the Heitmueller Farm. All morning the sweaty pair debated the fact as to whether or not the tin roof should be put on the rafters, because Ed Merz claimed the rafters were a quarter of an inch off on one side. As the two Eda’s served a typical German lunch of steaming, tasty stew and homemade bread the argument continued with as much gusto as the consumption of the meal. Following lunch and the traditional German naptime the discussion resumed and it was finally decided that the wise thing to do was to simply “measure” the rafters and once and for all settle the argument (Impossible). As the two Eda’s observed, peeking through the freshly starched kitchen curtains, the reckoning took place. As Ed Merz climbed down the rickety ladder the twinkle in his aging , humorous eye left no doubt to the two wives just which of their husbands had won the debate. However, another argument abruptly erupted when Edd Heitmueller, stubborn soul that he was, claimed that there was a flaw in Ed Merz’s ruler!

Both the of these colorful men have long since passed away, but have left a long and enjoyable trail of amusing antidotes which is, even today, enjoyed by family, friends and neighbors. In my heart of hearts I truly believe that even as you read this those two great friends are, no doubt, bringing a chuckle to the angels and St. Peter as they resume their antics in Heaven.

By Jane-Ann Merrill Heitmueller 1998


**Photograph courtesy of Tri County Weddings Page

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Shugah 'Lasses



We have a saying in our family: "You are just sweet as shugah 'lasses!!"

What does that mean you ask? Well, it means you are really sweet, and makes reference to sugar molasses, or most often sorghum molasses.

Sorghum molasses is a sweet dark syrup made mostly in the south and really mostly in Ky, as after my research I realized that 500 to 3000 acres of Ky farmland is dedicated to the sorghum plant.

This is my late Papaw Smith's molasses jar. This sat on the table and he loved to dip his hot biscuit or cornbread in a pool he would pour on his plate, after he had finished his meal. If these breads weren't available then he would use "lite" bread (sliced white bread).

I don't keep molasses in the jar because it is very hard to find up here in Ohio.

~~~ooOOoo~~~

Historians note that throughout history, crystal sugar refined from sugar cane or sugar beets was too expensive for country folks and that it was also made and used during the Great Depression era as a substitute sweetener when sugar was rationed.

The sorghum plant was harvested and then stripped. It was then squeezed out in juice using a horse-powered press. A long pole would be attached to a horse and the horse would walk round and round in circles.

After pressing the juice, it was strained into deep flat cooking pans. A wood fire underneath heated the juice to a rolling boil, at which time family members take turns stirring and tossing the syrup with special long -handled pans. They would skim it off and it would make a thick brown syrup. This generally takes a week and is usually done the last week of September or first week of October.

My Mama remembers going to many gatherings of my Papaw's family, where this was done and the Uncles would strip a sorghum cane and whittle it like a pencil and give it to each of the children to chew the sugary sweetness.

As for me, I just remember my Papaw's love of it and an occasional molasses popcorn ball for Halloween or Christmas.

~~~ooOOoo~~~

Have a "sweet" day!

Written by: Tammy @ Gentle Retreat

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Hummingbird Cake

How 'bout some Hummingbird cake? This is straight out of Fannie Flagg's Cookbook (you can find it in our Country Store)

Hummingbird Cake

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

2 cups sugar

1 tsp ground cinnamon

3 eggs, beaten

1 1/4 cup vegetable oil

2 tsp vanilla extract

1 8oz can crushed pineapple

3/4 cup chopped pecans

1/4 cup chopped walnuts

2 cups chopped bananas

Cream Cheese Frosting

Pre-heat oven to 350° . Combine first 5 ingredients in a large bowl; add eggs, oil and vanilla. Stirring until dry ingredients are moistened. Drain pineapple. Stir in pineapple with nuts and bananas. Pour into 3 greased and floured 9in cake pans. Bake for 25-35 minutes until done.

Ice with cream cheese frosting. Refrigerate. Fannie says this is even better the next day.

Now, that is a piece of South in your mouth!

Sandi

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Ted's Montana Grill "Half Sour" Pickles


Here at the Dew we receive numerous hits on a daily basis where people are looking for information on Ted's Montana Grill's Half Sour Pickles that are served at the beginning of every meal. People love those pickles.

I myself devour them whenever I go to Ted's.

So I thought I would try to provide the Dew readers with a little more information.

I sent a note to Ted's corporate headquarters and received a nice little note back from Lesa Lee at Ted's . It's always nice when a big corporation actually answers your email.

I didn't actually get the recipe for ya'll, but I have a little information for you.

Lisa's reply below:

"Thanks so much for your e-mail. Unfortunately, we are unable to release the “Half Sour” pickle recipe as it is an old family secret recipe. However, I will tell you that Ted’s Montana Grill purchases the pickles in 5 gallon buckets from United Pickle (company in the Bronx , NY). The contact person for United Pickles is Marvin Weishaus and he can be reached at (718) 933-6060."


Wednesday, September 12, 2007

THE BARN



Kerosene lamps, old organs, coffee mills and wagon wheels are only a few of the things that can be found at THE BARN. THE BARN is my daddy's furniture and cattle sale establishment where we sell, buy or trade just about anything one can imagine. Although this is primarily a family operated business, there is one outside person who works for us. As long as I remember THE BARN I will remember this person. He is about five feet five inches tall, has stooped shoulders, dark shaggy eyebrows and a face full of deep wrinkles. His name is Scott Peterson Bell. Although Scott doesn't exactly know how old he is, we imagine that he is in his late seventies. Scott can't do much manual labor because of his crooked, paralyzed left hand. He claims that he injured it with an axe while chopping timber for The Alabama State Highway Department. Scott's bushy, gray hair flops down over his wrinkled forehead in the summer, but is usually held back in place by a faded, red baseball cap during the cold winter months. Also, when it is cold he wears two pairs of green Army socks, a pair of infantry boots, two pairs of tattered wool pants and an old, ragged leather jacket. Naturally, beneath all this garb is a snug, warm pair of "longhandles".

Scott's favorite pastime is talking. I'll always remember how he slumps in his rickety old chair, props his enormous feet on the edge of the black, potbellied coal heater and talks to everyone who comes into the office. When he talks he always half closes his eyes, cocks his head back and speaks in a loud, bellowing tone. One never knows what new word Scott may say next. During the 1956 presidential election he informed us one day that "Eisenhouse" was going to be the next president. One Saturday, while working at the store, I overheard Scott say to one of our customers, "Did you know that "Cramp" Waldrop broke up a shicky still at Brushy Pond last night?" I nearly laughed aloud when I heard the way he pronounced our county sheriff's name, which is really Crant. Although he is slightly disabled himself, Scott realized that many others have problems because he says that he really does pity the "caphandied" people. One night when Daddy came home from work he told us that that day he heard Scott ask one of our insurance men if he had one of those new Thundermugs...naturally, he meant a Thunderbird car. I suppose Scott just hears a word, adds it to his vocabulary and then uses it when he speaks, disregarding how odd or strange it sounds to others. Scott's language is contagious. One day when Daddy was loading a stove on the truck he asked my brother to hand him a "strop" to tie the stove securely. My brother laughed and replied, "I'll hand you a strap, Scott is the only one who uses a strop!"

Although Scott's strange appearance and odd language make him rather unpopular with the ladies, he continuously talks about "Gettin' him a woman". One day he ambled up to Daddy and said, "Mr. Fred, would you please write me out an ad to put in the paper so I can get a wife?" Daddy wrote the ad just as Scott wished and the next week we read these words in The Cullman Tribune:

I am interested in meeting a woman between the age of twenty-three and forty. I am a dependable, honest, hard working man. I am a Christian and have
been superintendent of a Baptist Sunday School Department.
Phone: 210 , Scott P. Bell

Scott got several replies to the ad. One letter was from a Mrs. Jackson who wrote that she had been a widow for two years. Since her husband left her with a sixty acre farm to care for she needed a good, hardworking man like Mr. Bell to help with the work. She asked Scott to visit her at her farm the following Sunday afternoon. Scott was thrilled with the letter, so when Sunday came he put on his good suit and tie and excitedly rushed to visit with Mrs. Jackson. Our family could hardly wait until Monday morning to see Scott and hear all about his date. However, with head and shoulders drooping low, he sadly informed us that his date has been a real "flop". He said, " That woman has sixty acres of land...all grown up in weeds and her farmhouse is a one room shack! All we did was sit on the front porch and eat apples out of a bushel basket."

Several times pranksters wrote letters to Scott, telling him to meet them at a certain place for a date. The poor, gullible, old fellow would eagerly dress up and rush to such places as the bus depot, post office, or courthouse to meet his future bride. Sadly, following endless hours of waiting, he would trudge back to THE BARN . The closest Scott has ever come to getting a wife was the day he accompanied one of his prospects to Stiefelmeyer's Department Store to purchase a wedding gown. Just prior to entering the dressing room the woman began laughing and announced to the poor, dejected, old man that she was merely playing a joke on him. She reported to Scott that she had no intention of marrying him since she already had a husband and four children to care for at home!

Scott amuses us each day with his unique actions and ideas. Before we began selling furniture we had a cattle sale at THE BARN each Saturday. One dreary, rainy, Saturday afternoon just as we were preparing to close for the day, an agitated, rain soaked young man dashed breathlessly into THE BARN. As rain dripped off the brim of his saturated felt hat and stood in puddles on the worn plant floor he said to Scott. "Oh, Mr. Bell, please come quickly and help me get my calf into the cattle trailer. I can't get her to move out of the street!" Scott eased out of his comfortable seat by the warm, cozy fire reached deep into his tattered jacket pocket and withdrew a glistening, sharp, three inch safely pin. The duo then exited THE BARN, trudged across the soggy barnyard and came to a halt when they reached the shivering, mud spattered, white calf. With one powerful, swift motion Scott plunged the sharp safety pin into the hindquarters of the startled calf. Instantly, the calf leapt forward into the cattle trailer. After thanking Scott for his assistance the delighted, though soggy, young man eased his precious cargo carefully along the rutted, slippery roadway. One day my brother asked Scott to run an errand for him. Since poor, old Scott doesn't have too much common sense he didn't realize that it would be impossible for him to bring Freddie a bucket of steam. However, he innocently grasped the five gallon bucket by the handle and tottered off down the street to fulfill my brother's request. Freddie had told him that there were two places where he might be able to get the steam. King Pharr Canning Plant was Scott's first stop, but all he received there were numerous sniggers from the workers. The second destination was Adam's Service Station. Once again Scott was unsuccessful, so he had to amble back to THE BARN and admit to Freddie that he had failed in his attempt to secure a bucket of steam. Scott has one very unusual idea concerning the U.S. Government. He says that the United States is getting so big that there should be two capitols, one on each side of the Mississippi River. I'll always remember what Scott said the day Mother fried a skillet of fresh okra for him. She proudly delivered the steaming, odorous okra to Scott at THE BARN. Instead of thanking her for her kind deed, Scott suddenly threw back his gnarled shoulders, stood surprisingly erect and loudly bellowed to Mother," Miss Ruth, I'll eat anything a hog will eat and a hog WON'T eat okra!" I'll never know where Scott got the idea that hogs won't eat okra, or many of his other ideas for that matter; but now, whenever okra is served at our house, we all snigger as we recall Scott's firm pronouncement.

Someday, when Scott passes away, THE BARN will be a very different place for all of us. We will miss the unique character who has brought so many smiles and joys into our lives. We will miss seeing his stooped shoulders and hearing his loud, bellowing voice. We will all have a host of memories of this human being who has brought so much into our lives.

Written by:
Jane-Ann Heitmueller

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Clematis terniflora


The weather finally broke today and all I can say is God bless us southerners. It's been an extended period of heat and drought for those who don't know how to stay cool, and even those of us who pay out the wazoo to do so. Today, September 11, is the first time it's been decent enough to venture outside and play, and boy did I ever. Me and the dogs enjoy the out of doors more than anything but the extremes of temperature just give us a fit.

I've got this banged up grill that a friend left here that works just fine with instant light charcoal to cook enough meat for a day or three. We fired it up this afternoon and slapped on some chicken and sirloin, plus a pack of jumbo hot dogs. Food fit for a king, ya'll. It's nice to walk the yard again taking in the sights and sounds of early autumn. My total yield on apples this year was two, and the horses got one of 'em sliced up, eaten straight from my hand this evening.

A few years ago Mama and Daddy gave me a pot of autumn clematis for my September birthday. I planted it up against the wooden fence that surrounds the propane tank and boy did that sucker take off the next year! It seeds and flowers with such gusto that I've shared it with many others since then. Prune it hard in early spring and it will delight you from April 'til October. This vine needs something to climb on, so give it some support. If you're an in-the-box kind of gardener, you'll wear yourself OUT trying to keep it off of neighboring vegetation. The only other vine, other than kudzu, that takes over with such a vengeance, is Virginia creeper. Oh yeah...and trumpet vine. And grapevine. And poison ivy.

Y'all be careful out there, ya hear?

Sunday, September 9, 2007

So to Speak

By Cappy Hall Rearick

On the very day the movie came out, the DooDah Sisterhood trooped en masse to the Island Cinema to see the highly touted, much anticipated, "Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood." Our panties have been in a wad ever since.

Mary Grace was livid. "I ask you, has there ever been a more nauseating sound than Hollywood Southernese?"

Between bites, we were holding forth on mushmouth Southern dialect forced upon moviegoers by the idiot non-Southerners in Hollyweird.

"Up Nawth, they think we really talk like that!" Peggy Sue's eyes were the size of sunflowers. "Have you evah, I mean evah, heard one single solitary soul pronounce words like they did in the movie? That gum chewing character sounded like she had a mouth full of dry grits."

Timing, as they say in the movie world, is everything and since for a brief spell I lived in the middle of that cesspool of human flesh called Hollywood, I felt obliged to add a micro-bit of learned movieland info. "Peggy Sue," I said, "pretty much all production people are transplanted Yankees."

Sister heads nodded in unison. "Uh huh" and "You got that right," were said in harmonious accord.

"Just tell me one thing: Did Sissie Spacek die and forget to call it in to the Hollywood Reporter? I want to know how come they didn't put her in that YaYa movie." The question came from Alma Jean, who considers herself a Southerner even though she was born and raised in West Texas. I've tried to explain that Texas is Roy and Dale, LBJ, Dubya and Lolly, cactus and prairie dogs. She doesn't get it, but we love her anyway.

I spoke up, hoping she could hear me above the disgruntled Southern chatter. "Alma Jean, we all love Sissie to pieces even if she's not a real Southerner, being from Texas and all. You're right. She'd have fit right in with the Luzzanna YaYa gumbo. I personally think Andie McDowell should have been Siddalee. She has my undying respect because she told Hollywood to kiss her you-know-what when they commanded her to hire a voice coach and learn how to talk right."

"You gotta admire that in a person," Mary Grace breathed, pure reverence dripping from her mouth.

Murmurs of respect filtered down the table of drama queens gathered under a collection of Elvis Presley's black and white glossies for our weekly lunch date.

Ladye Gail, having learned the importance of timing when she walked in on her third philandering husband, sat up straight, took a deep breath and waited patiently for a chatter lull. Ladye Gail adores movies. When not talking a mile a minute on her cell phone, she's slapping down ten bucks at the ticket window even though it nearly kills her to turn the phone off before the feature begins.

"I still can't figure out why they went all the way to England to find a Scarlett O'Hara," Ladye Gail complained. "Not that Vivian was bad, but," she lowered her voice, "I heard her talk once when she wasn't dropping her 'r's' and fanning herself." She shook her head and sighed deeply. "She was downright pitiful. The next thing to a Yankee."

Nancy Faye spoke up. "Well, pitiful sho' nuff describes Maggie Smith masquerading as a YaYa. I could have ridden to Atlanta on the bags under her eyes. 'Course, Lord only knows when I'd have gotten there if her dragged out drawl was my only mode of transportation."

About that time, Kathy swooped out of the kitchen to take our lunch orders. Though not a true Southerner (having spent way too much time in New York City), she tries hard not to sound uppity when she talks. Her words, always crisp and solid however, leave no doubt that she can find her way around Bloomies blindfolded.

She was standing with one hand on one hip when she blew the silver plated whistle she uses only on the DooDahs. "Listen up!" she began. "There's nothing in the kitchen today that any of you princesses would eat. I suggest either the Eggs Benedict or McDonald's down the street."

To my knowledge, we have never argued with Kathy. She is a woman who takes charge of her territory and the DooDahs respect that in a person, even if she did live in New York City for too long.

I thought the chances of my becoming mayor of Cholesterol City by nightfall were looking good, but I looked up at Kathy and nodded my head anyway. "Eggs Benedict," I said. "That is egg-zactly what I've been craving since I woke up this morning."

Kathy raised an eyebrow and gave me a look. "Let's not get carried away, Scarlett."

She had no sooner left the Elvis Room than Gloryjean piped up with, "I can't get that dang YaYa movie off my mind. I think we should protest, lodge a formal complaint to those California Yankees. They are intent on making us all look like village idiots."

I figured that last sentence of hers might qualify for some serious speculation.

"Hollywood doesn't give a rat's patootie what we think, Gloryjean," I offered. "The bottom line is that YaYa will make BooCoo bucks."

But Gloryjean was on a tear. "If I prepare a document on my new Dell computer, will y'all sign it? It'll say, 'As proud Southerners, we deplore the way non-Southern actors speak when playing characters of quality born below the Mason-Dixon Line."

"That oughta make 'em stand up and said howdy," I said with my tongue firmly planted in my left cheek. "It was Bette Midler who produced the YaYa movie. Well, think about this, Sisters: what if she had played the lead?"

My question brought a hush to the group. The silence was like a sudden death while we tried to picture Bette with a drawl. Just the thought of her saying, "Just who do you think you're talking to? I'll knock you into the middle of next week," caused group shuddering to course through the veins of every DooDah Sister seated underneath Elvis's 8 X 10 black and white glossies. Even the three token Southerners twitched.

"It could happen," I said as though I had predicted the end of the world as we know it.

"Gloryjean." Mary Grace's voice was solemn. "How long will it take you to write up that letter of displeasure?"

"Not too awfully long." Her voice was a mere whisper.

"Then get cracking," Mary Grace ordered. "Timing is everything."

Glasses of sweet ice tea were raised, eye contact was made, and a bunch of drawling Southern voices began to chant, "DooDah! DooDah! DooDah!"

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Road Trippin' - Gulf Coast Style

With a long Labor Day weekend and our son's 18th birthday to celebrate, we decided to take a road trip to New Orleans. We had not been to New Orleans for a visit since Hurricane Katrina and were curious to see how the city was doing.

We decided to stay and be tourists in the French Quarter. We knew what the 9th Ward looks like from accounts on television and magazines and with the political corruption still rampant there, nothing will be done for quite some time. If you want to travel there and help the city, go be a tourist and spend your tourist dollars with the local merchants and artists, struggling to keep themselves in business.

Even with a holiday weekend, the crowds were small. We stayed at the W New Orleans - French Quarter. It is a terrific place and the location is wonderful for walking the French Quarter.

We noticed with sadness that the French Market is gone, except for the entrance archway. Also, Central Grocery was closed, so we weren't able to get our craving for their muffalottos filled. We were able to buy the Italian Olive Mix at Frank's though.

We ate two fantastic dinners at Bacco, the restaurant at the W Hotel. It is owned and operated by Ralph Brennan, of the legendary restaurant family. The food is described as Italian with a Creole fusion. Top notch cuisine.

The French Quarter is open and ready for your visit. It is very clean and we were not bothered by the panhandlers of the past days. There is also very little of street musicians or vendors. Lucky Dogs are still available, though.

The weekend was also Southern Decadence weekend. Southern Decadence celebrates gay pride. The highlight is the Sunday afternoon parade. The crowd was big for that event and no incidents of note occurred to dampen the mood of the crowd. Only a few protesters were visible with large placards proclaiming God hates fags, and the like. Police security kept them back and away from the crowds. It was the campy side of New Orleans and a bit of normalcy for the French Quarter. Everyone had a good time. Beads were thrown and the costumes were a sight to behold.

The view from the expressway into and out of the city shows lots of rebuilding and signs of everyday life. The people are still warm and welcoming. They are happy you are in their city.

Go.