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by Mike Nelson
Spring means food, as well. Things are fatted and "put down," sawed into pieces convenient for stewing or boiling. There are "rashers" of things, items are pickled and "put by," and children delight in the flavor of freshly pulled taffy, the excess of which is made into head gaskets for the several old Ford tractors that litter the back forty. My mother used to make something she called "stomperjack biscuits," originally enjoyed by grizzled, New Richmond twine makers. Though memory fades, I believe the ingredients are flour, salt peter, rock salt, flour, and salt. Bake them for a while and enjoy a New Richmond original! I'm stuck on a Satellite this year, but a large percentage of you aren't! Get out and enjoy spring! Go! [posted 3/98] |
It's almost
spring! Spring, when the world, as I understand it, is
puddlewonderful, and, to the best of my knowledge, the
little lame balloon man whistles far and wee. It always puts
me in mind of my springs spent in New Richmond, Wisconsin,
my family and I scraping the mud off our shoes, hats, backs
and from between our toes. Getting the layers of caked-on
mud off the cows, tractors and fetal pigs. Farmers love
spring, because it means more work. Time spent alone and
sullen, when the whack of your scoop shovel against the
hindquarters of a Guernsey is all the therapy you need. And
the smells of spring! Whey and silage mix with the odors of
offal and large, mean stock animals. Even your own smell
comes into its own. Blossoms, if you will.