The Fourth = Freedom, Family, Food & Fellowship!

As we prepare for tomorrow’s mid-week holiday where we celebrate the founding of our great nation, many will do so by observing their own particular tradition. This is what makes freedom what it is, freedom to celebrate in the way you choose, or not to celebrate at all if that is your choice. In our family looking back I can tell you it seemed like all we needed was a really good excuse to have a huge blowout kind of banquet meal. I tell people that while we didn’t have much in the way of monetary means, a few things were always there in my life, typically I was washed and clean, my clothes were clean and usually ironed, and we had food in ample quantities to eat.

I sometimes surprise myself when I remember how unaware I was as a kid. My mom was a clean freak. She believed in her heart of hearts that cleanliness was one of the things that will be on the list in the final judgment. She literally scrubbed the floors, polished the floors, and even though she worked many hours outside our home, she found the time to keep our house spotless. She was a wonderful cook. When we were all at home there were six hungry mouths to feed. She knew how to make our meals special. The food was always something great. I’ll never forget the first time I spent the night with a kid in our new rural setting. Hello! Not everyone keeps a clean house. Not everyone cares enough to put a special meal on the table. Wow! I thought everybody lived just like we did. Today, at 83, she still does her best to do it like she always has, maybe a little bit slower, but that fire still burns.

The 4th of July was typically a biggie for us. Often our uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws and more than a few outlaws would gather for a huge family cookout. We children looked forward to this occasion because we knew there would be so much to eat and so much to do and it would be exciting. Typically, if my uncle was in from Florida, he would head up the barbecue. This required digging a shallow pit, putting stakes in the ground, and stretching hardware cloth. It had to be large enough to hold as many as fifty halves of chicken plus sausage and venison or whatever else could be found.

Back in those days chickens were not grown to weigh as much as small turkeys like they are today. A half chicken back then was not much larger than a plump breast today. I can remember making sure we went to James Red & White market in Leesville to buy up our chickens, 3 for a dollar. They were just the right size and since we didn’t eat barbecue that often, they were a special treat. My Granny Mac made the barbecue sauce from scratch. I still make it today from scratch mostly just like she did, using basic ingredients and tasting. My Grandmother was a taster as she cooked. My wife rarely ever tastes as she cooks but we grew up tasting everything to make sure it would be exactly what we wanted it to be. Granny’s barbecue sauce will put any and all challengers to shame. If you don’t believe it, just ask me.

She and most of the other ladies busied themselves in the kitchen while the men and boys worked on the outside stuff. The older girls watched the younger children and took care of the babies. This was how the division of labor worked back then so don’t get all bent out of shape. My grandparents did not have air conditioning for most of their lives, therefore, the kitchen was typically like a sauna. The aromas coming from that place were like a foretaste of heaven’s banquet and we boys were constantly being told to stay out of their way as we would try to sneak a taste of anything we could get our hands on.

There would be watermelons of course and homemade ice cream. We boys had to do the tough work of sitting on top of the ice cream makers to hold them down while one of the uncles tried to prove he could crank the handle without stopping until the cream began to harden. We, of course, had to have ice. So we drove up to a small nearby town where there was an icehouse. Here we bought blocks of ice and typically this is where we purchased our melons. The owner would always have a few in the icehouse and they were so good. My granddad spent quite a bit of time selecting the watermelons. He checked the stems, thumped them, and inspected them carefully. He always asked where they had been grown. Everyone knew the best soil for melons. Our soil was terrible. It was sticky with clay and the people there called it gumbo. My grandfather used to tell people it was so bad that the gumbo on his place stuck up out of the ground six inches. At any rate, there were sandy soils from other areas and they were very suitable for sweet delicious melons.

It was a busy day. People were in and out of the house. Freezers were churning, kids were running, and the men were all telling each other why their car was better than all others. When it was all ready a veritable feast was laid out on tables that stretched for miles (not really, but you get the picture). The table was spread with barbecue, the pinto beans, potato salad, mustard green salad, field peas, butter beans, fried okra, fresh tomatoes, cornbread, biscuits, cakes, pies, tubs full of banana pudding, along with watermelon and homemade ice cream. My granddad called Jell-O nervous pudding and if you put whipped cream on top, he called that calf slobber. When it came time to pray my granddad as Patriarch always called everyone to attention and then delegated the praying to my grandmother. She could pray up a storm!

Once my older sister had a boyfriend visit on one of these occasions and he later told her he had never seen or heard of people who ate like we did. And, so we did. And, so we do. I can’t think of too many ways to improve on a celebration of our freedom than to enjoy family, food, and fellowship. May God bless and protect those who are in harm’s way on this upcoming 4th on behalf of freedom’s cause. And, may God bless America. More later………….