I mentioned making tamales last week, but I failed to explain how.  If you all would like, we will do that now.

          Someone needs to get a hand full of corn shucks.  We used to go to farmer Brown’s corn patch or corncrib to get our shucks, but now we just stop off at H.E.B. and buy a package.  When you get home, put them in a pot of water and boil for a short while to make the shucks soft and pliable.

          Now we have two choices for the meat for the tamales.  Traditionally the Santos family, our neighbors at the farm which you met last week, cooked a pork head in a big pot, and then pulled all the meat off for the filling of the tamales.  We did not have the grit to go that far.  We just went to the grocer and bought two pounds of beef hamburger, and made a pot of chili.  The Santos family gathered spices from their garden to flavor the chili.  Our garden does not have all the spices needed so we usually bought a package of “Wick Fowler’s Two Alarm Chili Mix.”  While you are in H.E.B. for the shucks you may as well get the hamburger, and chili mix.  If you don’t have any Crisco and yellow corn meal at home, get those items also.

          Now it is time to cook the chili.  Don’t follow the instructions on the box.  In a big pot cook and scramble the meat until it turns gray, and then add 2 quarts of water and all the dry contents of the chili mix.  Simmer until done.  This will produce a watery chili.  That is just what we need.  Drain the liquid from the meat and reserve the liquid to make the masa.

          I don’t guess I mentioned the masa did I?  That is the light colored stuff that the meat of the tamale is wrapped in.  The Santos family made their masa by first making hominy, which is a task in its self, then grinding it by hand with a stone pestle on a stone base.  We have learned to take the easy way and use yellow corn meal for masa.  This next step is the most important part of making tamales.  Measure 4 cups of the reserved juice from the chili into a pot.  Bring to a fast boil and slowly add 2 cups of the corn meal, stirring briskly all the while.  The masa will stick to the sides of the pot you are using. Add Crisco shorting while stirring and cooking until the masa pulls away from the sides of the pot.  There, that does it. It now takes on a well-cooked mass of corn meal we call masa.  Add salt to taste.

          Call friends and family in to help with the next step.  Take a wet, soft shuck and spoon onto the large end of the shuck a layer of masa about 3 inches by 4 inches and about one fourth inch thick.  Pass this on to the next helper who will add a finger size portion of chili meat in the middle of the masa.  This is passed on to the next helper who rolls the shuck around the emerging tamale.  The guy at the end then folds over the small end of the shuck and places it into a steamer.  If you don’t own a tamale steamer we need to beat it back to H.E.B. and buy one.  Steam the tamales for a couple of hours.  Alice makes a big salad at this time and wrangles me to set the table.  Chips, crackers, and pinto beans make a great side dish for a meal of tamales. 

          If you get lost, or turned around following these instructions, call me.  I’ll be right over.

Making Tamales

          When my Dad was a young man he worked on a farm in the eastern part of Burnet County.  One of the crops that most farms grew was oats.  Oats were an important crop for they were needed to feed the horses that pulled the plows, that cultivated cotton, that was the cash crop of most of the farmers in that area.  Harvesting oats was an important social event for the farmers.   Before the days of combines the oats were harvested with the use of a monster machine called a thrasher.  The machine was expensive, and required many men to make it work.  The oats were cut with a mower pulled by two horses, raked into rows by two more horses, then bundled by men, and stacked in the field to dry.  Then came the thrasher down the dirt road, huffing and puffing, making a glorious noise with its iron wheels grinding the road base, going from one farm to the next at about three miles an hour.  The thrasher set up in the oat field and the neighbor farmers came and worked all day separating the oat seed from the chaff and straw.  It took a crew of about 8 to ten men to operate the thrasher.  At noontime all was shut down for the ladies had an enormous dinner ready for the working hands.  It was a point of pride for the lady of the host farm to spread a full, hearty dinner, with plenty of iced tea, and milk for them to drink.  After the dinner she brought out the cakes and pies, served with good hot, black coffee.  This was the social all looked forward to in the threshing season.  Then it was back to the fields to finish the work, then make its way to the next farm to thrash that farmers oats.

          The next farm over was the Senior Eduardo Santos family.  Mr. Santos was a big man with a silver main of hair and a handsome mustache. He had a gentle voice that carried authority and respect from all. And he was a good farmer.   All the farmers in the neighborhood wanted to help harvest the Santos oats for the ladies served the best dinner in the area.  Mexican food was as popular then as it is today, but difficult to find.  Mrs. Santos made the best tortillas, beans, and hot tamales in the world.  The tamales are what caught my Dad’s fancy.  Only modesty kept him from eating to many of the delicious tamales.

          After the harvesting season, my Dad visited the Santos family and asked Mrs. Santos to teach him to make tamales.  Dad spoke no Spanish and Mrs. Santos spoke little English. Some how the common language of food was able to bridge the space between the two cultures and Dad became a champion “Santos Tamale” maker.

          Over the years Dad made tamales about two or three times a year. We all looked forward to those days.  He usually picked a cold, rainy day when the temperature hung at about 35 degrees, and a light breeze from the north at ten to fifteen miles per hour.  He would send me to the country to find corn shucks to wrap the tamales in, while Mom was dispatched to the meat market for fresh, fat, hamburger to make the filling for the fabled food.  All the family was called in to make the tamales and whet their appetites.

          Who would have thought the harvesting of oats would lead to learning how to make “Senora Carmen Eduardo Santos tamales.”  And that is one of the traditions we keep in our family…cold, wet days, hot, tasty tamales. 

          The “Three Girls,” Connor, Kenna, and Hannah sat on the edge of the bed with their heads in their hands; dejected, and lost.  They had worked so hard for weeks, had a pile of Christmas gifts to deliver, and no one to help them.

          “This is Christmas Eve, and I don’t see what we can do,” said Hannah.

          “ I so wanted to see their faces when we brought them a gift on Christmas Eve,” said Kenna.  “It’s already getting late.”

          Suddenly Connor jumped up and with an excited squeal said, “I know.  We will go see MC II; the old magic carpet in the attic.”

          With a rush all three raced up the attic steps and flipped on the light, and found MC II rolled up, leaning against the wall. 

          “Hurry, lets get him unrolled and see if he will help us.”

          “What!  Who is it?  Oh, it’s you three girls again.  What do you want now,” MC II, the magic carpet said.

          The girls explained what they needed.

          “Young ladies I am getting old and tattered.  I am not sure I can do all that.  See that tear?  And the worn hole here in my body. I don’t know about that,” the magic carpet grumbled.

          “You just lie there MC, I am going to dads shop and I will be back quick with a roll of duck tape and we will fix you up like new,” said Connor.

          They duck taped him all over in spite of his grumbling.  “There,” said Connor,
” I bet you can fly now.”

          MC fluttered, finally rose a few feet off the floor and fell back with a thud.  “Well I could carry you three girls, but I don’t think I can lift a load of gifts,” said the magic carpet.

          “OK, MC, take us to Mrs. Diane Yarbrough’s house out county road 288.  She can repair anything from China dolls to magic carpets.  She will have you repaired and flying like new in little or no time,” said the three girls.

          They fley along, hardly above the treetops, to the Yarbrough’s just as the sun was about gone from Christmas Eve.  Mrs. Diane invited them in and heard their problem. 

          She said, “John you get these girls a treat while I sew this old rug’s tattered tail, and repair the worn spots.  We will have him flying again soon.”

          With a hearty laugh MC II lifted the girls up easily, made a couple of swoops around the Yarbrough house and yelled “Thanks Mrs. Diane. I feel great.”

          They soon had all the gifts loaded on the magic carpet and away they flew to the first delivery.  What a thrill it was to see the joy in the face of “Old Man Smith” as the girls handed him a Christmas gift.  And Mrs. Jones, the next stop, was so excited she forgot to say thank you.  Away they flew and soon all the gifts were delivered.

          The girls were excited at having completed their project successfully they burst into song, “O Little Town Of Bethlehem.”   On the flight back to their home, they looked down on their “Little Town” and marveled at how pretty it glistened in the frosty air with   Christmas lights.

          “Hey, look at that,” said Kenna.  “There is a car stalled on the side of the road.  The hood is up and steam is swirling around.” 

          A mile or so further on they saw a young couple briskly walking along the road.  They were unusually dressed in full flowing, brightly colored cloths that were draped around their bodies and over their heads.  They looked for all the world like “Mary and Joseph.” 

          MC flew down and stopped with a screech at their side.  The girls asked if they had trouble and did they need any help.

          “Our car could go no further, and we are supposed to be in the Church play tonight.  Could you get us there?”   

          “Hop on and hold tightly,” said MC II.  “I think I can handle the weight if you all will sing some more.”

          On the way to Church, they sang, Oh Holy Night, and Silent Night, and Away in the Manger, and all the lovely Christmas songs.  Even MC joined in, singing with a hearty bass.

          Flying home, MC made a grand fly-over of down town Main Street, singing out with three silvery voices and one deep bass, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all good night.”

            The days of the week just flew by for the ‘Three Girls,’ Connor, Kenna, and Hannah.  They were busy baking cookies, making pecan pralines, and sewing aprons and hot pads. These were to be their gift packages they were making to give as Christmas gifts to older folks and those unable to get out easily.

          Well, that is what they were trying to do.  Connor’s first try at making a hot pad from terry cloth was frustrating.  She broke the needle on the sewing machine.  Then the bobbin ran out of thread.  However with a little help from Mom, she was sewing pot pads like a pro.  The making of aprons came more easily.  And the brightly colored fabric was fun to sew.

            Kenna had enjoyed laughing with Connor about her problems.  The laughter soon faded when she burned her first batch of pecan pralines.  The girls all pitched in and helped fan the smoke from the kitchen. The next pan of pralines was a little better– just scorched.  Soon she had the cooking of pecan pralines reduced to a science.

           Hannah’s making cookies went well.  She burned a few batches of ginger bread men until she discovered the correct timing needed to cook them.  Making the icing for the cute little men was another problem. Under cooking the icing made it runny, Hannah soon learned— and over cooking changed the taste.  “And you can use too much cake coloring in the icing and make a mess,”  Hannah discovered. 

            “Look at all the stuff we have cooked,” Kenna said. 

            “And I have a pile of sewing completed,” said Connor.

            “What are we going to do now that all the kitchen space is covered with cookies, candy, and sewing?”

            “We have to find some way of packaging out gifts.”

            “I know,” said Connor, “We can get a bunch of paper grocery sacks from Parkers Food Store and make neat little gift packages.  We can use some of last years Christmas cards to decorate the bags.”  Mr. Parker was pleased to share some sacks with the “Three Girls’ when he learned what they planned to do with them.  So they carefully cut the brightly colored cards into shapes of hearts, circles, squares, and ovals and glued them to the grocery sacks. A little red and green ribbon made the packages festive.

            “Now,” said Connor, “That is a pretty stack of gifts we have scattered all over moms kitchen.  I wonder how many we have made?”  Eagerly they counted the packages. To their surprise they found 18 grocery sacks of Christmas gifts.  “Wait,” shouted Hannah, “Here are three more I had put on top of the refrigerator.”

            “Oh no,” exclaimed Connor.  “How are we going to deliver all these Christmas gifts?  Dad is on duty Christmas Eve and Mom is busy with a church meeting.”

            The girls sat on the edge of the bed in silent thought—how can we deliver all these packages we have worked so hard to make?

To be continued. 

 The three girls were all excited about the coming Christmas Holidays.  With Christmas carol music in the air, and all the windows decorated brightly, and TV advertisements showing off all kinds of things kids want only heightened the pleasure of the season.  Each day new advertisements came in the mail filled with pictures of pretty clothes and toys three young sisters could hardly live without.  Connor, Kenna, and Hannah were busy making lists for “Santa” so he would know what they wanted.   They made long lists of clothes and toys they wanted and really needed, only to erase some items, cross out others, and then add new ones.  The lists were

growing longer daily.

          Then one day Connor got to thinking about Christmas.  “Hey, sisters, do you get the feeling these “lists for Santa,” might not be the real spirit of Christmas? That maybe there is more to this Holiday than “getting?”

“Well, now that you mention it, Kenna and I were just thinking about that very thing this morning,” said Hannah.

“But what can we do?” asked Cindy.

Then in unison they said to each other, “I know, we will do the giving!”  

“But what can we give?  What do we have that we could share with others?” they asked each other. 

“We could bake cookies,” Hannah said.

“And I know how to make pecan pralines, and muffins,” said Kenna.

“I bet mother will let me use her sewing machine!  I can make hot pads, cup towels, and aprons,” said Connor.

          In their excitement they forgot about making “Lists for Santa,” and started making lists of materials and groceries they would need for making gifts to give.  In their excitement they thought of other things to make.  They could make special decorated tree ornaments. “And we could write poems, and short stories of Christmas, and draw pictures of baby Jesus,” they said.

Sleep came slowly that night.  The thought of really doing something for someone else filled their heads with joy.  Christmas Joy.  Just as they were drifting off to sleep, Connor sat up in bed and said, “And we could make gift cards to give of our time to help clean house, wash windows, and any task that they might need done.”

“Hey, Connor, that is a good idea.  I bet most folks would find that helpful,” said Kenna.  “Now will you let us get some sleep before we have to get up and go to school,” said Hannah.

To be continued. 

Thanksgiving

          My, don’t we have a lot to be thankful for?  The recent rains that have returned our land to green, head our list of things to be thankful for.  We are thankful for our neighbors, our families, and our husbands and wives, and our children, grand children, and great grandchild.  And I am thankful for the memories of past Thanksgiving Days.

          Our daughter, Jeannette, arrives early and decorates the kitchen.  She unfolds a bright red spread for the table, and places a candle display in the middle.  She insists on using the best china; that we have been saving for company, which is proper.  Her decorating sets the scene for a festive day.

          Alice always puts the turkey in the oven the day before and let it cook all night.  She goes peacefully to sleep, but I fret all night fearing it will get too done, or not done enough.  She is always right; it comes our perfectly every time.  Alice also has been kind enough to learn to make my Mother’s sweet potato pie.  It is similar to the traditional pumpkin pie except it has grated zest of lemon for the favoring.  That takes me home in memory.  She also bakes a special pineapple cake.  I don’t know how, but she has it fall in the center allowing most of the pineapple frosting to flow to the middle.  Just to show how thoughtful Alice is, she will let me eat the juicy center first.  Our daughter in law, Vicky has become famous in the family for her prize winning chocolate pie, made with a homemade crust.  She usually makes two, but hides one for Greg and me for later.  While she is in the pie-making mode, Vicky makes an apple pie with that fancy lattice top, and everything.

          Well, as you can see all the work has been completed the day before.  Thanksgiving morning all that has to be done is to cook the mashed potatoes, make the brown gravy, open a jar of sweet pickles, brew the iced tea, make a green bean casserole, chop up oranges, apples, pineapples, grate some coconut for the fruit salad, and not forgetting the jar of Maraschino cherries, which I will sample as the day goes by. Some like giblet gravy, and someone usually makes it, but I manage to sit at the other end of the table to avoid looking at it. Did I mention cranberry sauce?  No?  And yeast rolls to sop in the gravy?  And make the after dinner coffee?  As I said, all the work is done the day before.  Except the corn bread stuffing.

          Alice has developed a way to make the stuffing into an easy task.  The day before Thanksgiving, she makes a large pan of corn bread to which she adds plenty chopped onions and celery.  With a lot of pepper and sage in the pan of corn bread  sure makes the house smell great.  Thanksgiving morning, the turkey is done, Alice adds the drippings and juices of the turkey into the crumbled cornbread.  Now this is the best part, she calls me to sample to make sure there are enough pepper, sage, salt, onions, and celery in the mixture.  It takes me several tries, but I get it right; sooner or later.  She then bakes this mixture in a granite pan and serves it as a special dish.  It always earns the blue ribbon of the day.

          But, you know, even without all the turkey, stuffing, pies, cakes, casseroles, hot rolls, Thanksgiving Day, with the family would still be my favorite holiday.

Hollis Baker  22 November 2009

          Seventy years ago most little towns were visited by traveling “Medicine Shows,” during the summer and fall months. They consisted of a flatbed truck with plenty of signs all over the fenders, doors and panels announcing “Doc Bailey’s Medicine Show, with free entertainment of magic, music, jugglers, and mysterious sights never seen before by human eyes.” What they didn’t say was that Doc Bailey had concocted a mess of sugar water, cake coloring, alcohol, and various spices, bottled and labeled with an impressive list of uses “Guaranteed to cure ingrown toe nails, rheumatism, head aches, sore mussels, sleeplessness, mumps, measles, and anything that ails mankind.”  The Doc and his crew would set up in a vacant lot as close to the town square as the Sheriff would allow, and about dark began their spiel. Loud music was the sirens call to us town folk, and we came in great numbers to see and hear the sights.

          We laughed at the clown, applauded the musicians, and marveled at the contortionist. The magician was a favorite, and how he put the pretty lady in a box, stuck numerous swords, through openings in the box and she came out unharmed, still puzzles me today.

          But the best thing on the bill of fair was the announcement that a local talent show would begin right after “Doc Bailey’s Elixir Medicine” pitch and sale.  And the “medicine” sold fast at only fifty cents a bottle.  Many folks swore it was the best cure-all they had ever used, and kept a bottle handy at all times.

          Us locals signed up for the talent show early.  Well I didn’t for they had no category for playing hooky from school.  But guys and gals signed up for hog calling, high jumping, singing, and playing the harmonica.  They all did their “Thing” and we enjoyed them all.  One Pretty Little Blonde girl, with cowboy hat and pink boots, picked the guitar, and sang “Red River Valley,” to uproarious applause.  Then my Grand Pa came on stage, with his baggy wool suit, run down shoes, and shaggy beard, to do his offering; an Irish Jig.  I think most of the family was a little embarrassed with his act, but he did a good job.  What the rest of the family did not know was he had enlisted all his grandsons and grand daughters to be at the show and applaud loud and long.  It came down to a run off; the Pretty Little Blonde Girl with her guitar, and Grandpa and his Irish Jig.  Doc Bailey had the Pretty Little Blonde girl do a verse of her song, and then Grandpa a few seconds of his Jig.  He then called for applause from the audience for each one in turn.  The Pretty Little Blonde Girl’s response was long and loud.  Doc then called for an audience response for Grandpa’s Irish Jig; the applause was longer and louder thanks to all the grandkids and other assorted family members.  Then Doc Bailey announced the Pretty Little Girl as the winner! 

        There was a little fuss but Grandpa took the loss with grace and good sportsman manner.  In fact, I think Grandpa liked her talent presentation better any way.

 

            You remember a few weeks back we discussed an unusual rock house James Mather found on a newly acquired parcel of land way out County Road 214? Neither James nor anyone else I spoke to knew anything about the structure.  At that time I promised to visit the Exxon station more regularly, hoping to find the answer to the riddle.  In my imagination I could just see a rugged, bewhiskered old man wearing scruffy boots and patched jeans, with a sweat stained hat, having coffee there.  And in my fancy I would approach him and he would have the answer to our riddle.

             Well to my astonishment last Thursday, as I promised, I was having a cup of coffee with a bunch of gentlemen at the Exxon, when in came that very man I had imagined. I introduced myself, and he offered me a calloused hand that had done a life of hard work, and said he was pleased to meet me.  “Sir, we have a mystery here in Liberty Hill that you may be able to shed some light on.”  I shared with him the house James had found and the fact that no one knew anything about it.  “No, he said, I am afraid I can’t help you with that.  I am from out west and I don’t believe I have ever been in these parts.”  You can imagine my disappointment as the old man paid for his coffee, got into his battered pick up and drove off to the west.

             Gary Spivey was sitting at our table.  Gary Spivey, our historian.  He said,  “I overheard your questions to the old man and the riddle of the newly found building.  What do you want to know about that house?”  Well, Gary did not fit the description of the man I knew would reveal the answer to my quest.  In fact, Gary was wearing Nike running shoes, walking shorts, purple Liberty Hill tee shirt and a baseball cap.  Hardly the sage I was expecting.  However he did have the answer to my question.  “The building was a stage stop on the road from Austin to Lampasas and further northwest,” he said.  Gary stated in the 1830’s as roads were spreading to the north and west, a stagecoach could only travel from 10 to 20 miles, before the horses had to be changed.  And the passengers needed rest also, so the stops were placed that far apart.  The stage road northwesterly from Austin came to what was to become Liberty Hill and made a fork; one going west, another going north.  The north fork of the long ago road is where our stage stop is located.  So I found a Texas map and laid a straight edge on the map from Austin to Lampasas and sure enough, the line passes close to our mystery stage stop.  Gary said one early stop was at Jollyville, just north of Austin.   Others were placed along the route northwest. 

             So there you are.  Mystery solved.  If you have a question, hang around the Exxon station until a wrinkled, battered, whiskered, booted old man comes in for coffee.  Then ask Gary.  Odds are you will get the answer.  

 

               A lot of guys go to the Exxon station for coffee each morning, and sometimes have breakfast.  The ladies in pretty green smocks make a mean taco and good coffee.  Besides you can hear a lively story there once in a while.  Sometimes it is the same one from last week, but it is still good.

            I saw James Mather there a few weeks ago.  He had just bought a parcel of land out county road 214 where the community of San Gabriel River Ranch is.  He was excited about finding on his land what has become a mystery.   He asked if I wanted to go see it.  I jumped at the opportunity.  In the thick live oak, Spanish oak, and cedar covered land there stands a most unusual stone building.  The structure is about 20 feet by 25 feet with a fireplace in the north end of two feet thick walls.  The fireplace opening has a keystone to carry the weight of the rocks above.  The masons that built the house shaped the stone with carefully cut limestone rocks.  They obviously knew how to build a stone fireplace.  Openings on all four walls where windows would normally be are only about one foot wide by 20 inches tall.  There is a doorway on the east side as well as on the west side.  The lintels over the doorways have fallen away or were removed in later years.  All around the house are the remnants of rock fences to keep something out or keep something in or both.  

            The mystery is, why is it here?  Some one labored long and hard to cut and haul the stone.  It is built stronger than most buildings of that era.  There does not appear to be any signs of an old road in the area.  Could it be a forgotten stagecoach stop?  Or perhaps a Pony Express relay post?  Or was it a home built on the far frontier.  With two-foot thick walls it is apparent it was built for defense.   The window openings appear to me to be made for shooting from.  The fireplace offered a bit of comfort as well as a place to cook meals.

            I spoke to Imogene Stanford, a long time citizen of the area, but she did not know of the building.  I called Raymond Hodon, who lives, with his wife Edna, on the North Gabriel to see if he could shed any light on the mystery.  His guess was it might have been built on a long forgotten trail between the Baghdad community and the gristmill at San Gabriel Mills, some 5 miles up the river.  I scanned the book, “Land of Good Water,” by Clara Scarbrough looking for a clue, but found nothing.

            So the building remains a mystery of our area.  My mind brought up thoughts of the early days of hard working men and women pushing the frontier further west.  It is hard for us, in these days of easy living, to understand their courage, tenacity, and strength to build such a structure.

            I think I will visit the Exxon station more often.  Maybe I will have breakfast with black coffee.  Who knows, one morning, an old, wrinkled guy with scuffed; overrun boots will have the answer to our mystery.  I will let you know.  I might even buy his coffee.