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June 2005 NewsletterJim Casada
Web site:
www.jimcasadaoutdoors.com Musings on Old Aunt Mag A portion of the Dedication to “The Old Man and the Boy,” a book by my favorite outdoor writer, Robert Ruark, reads: “For all the honorary uncles, black and white, who took me to raise.” As a boy I was privileged to have a bunch of honorary white uncles as sporting mentors, but thanks in large measure to the fact that there were less than a hundred blacks resident in Swain County, North Carolina where I grew up, I was shortchanged when it came to honorary black uncles. It was my great good fortune, however, to have an honorary black aunt who ranks as one of the stellar figures of my youth. Her name was Maggie Parrish, but I never even knew that until long after her death. To me, and most everyone else, she was just “Aunt Mag.” It seemed appropriate, as we approach summer, the time when I saw the most of Aunt Mag, to share some memories of this warm, wonderful woman. I suspect many of you had a similar personage who loomed large in your process of growing up. Aunt Mag and her daughter, Emma, another good and genial soul, lived just down the road from us in a ramshackle old house. Aunt Mag was as poor as Job’s turkey, but proud as the gaudiest peacock. She possessed a truly admirable work ethic and was fond of saying, “a day’s hard work never hurt anybody.” She figured prominently in various aspects of my boyhood, beginning with a time that lies beyond the reaches of my memory. According to my parents, she washed my diapers, back when they were not disposable, in a huge iron pot filled with water and heated over an open fire conveniently situated next to the clothesline in her back yard. Another portion of her expansive back yard held Aunt Mag’s chicken lot, and each spring and summer that shaded area played a prominent role in my youthful fishing activities. A paradise for red worms, it was a place where a quarter of an hour’s digging with a mattock could produce enough wigglers for even the most successful of angling outings. That consideration led to a mutually satisfactory arrangement with Aunt Mag that endured for the better part of a decade—from when I first was allowed to go fishing alone (and dig the worms to use as bait) until I left for college. Aunt Mag offered free worm digging privileges any time the “go fishing” spirit moved me. In return, we had an understanding that I would share my catch with her on an ongoing basis. Periodically during the cold weather months a mess of squirrels or a couple of rabbits kept our agreement solidly intact. On the fishing front, there was only one glitch over the years our arrangement held sway. That came when Aunt Mag walked up to me one morning for a chat while I was digging worms. She knew that I had gone fishing the previous day and that she didn’t have anything to show for it. “Fishin’ must have been mighty poorly yesterday,” she opined. “Nope,” I replied with the carefree indifference typical of youth. “I just caught some little ‘uns and turned ‘em loose.” A frown instantly erased Aunt Mag’s normal grin as she stared at me in shocked silence. After a pause that seemed to last forever, a sure sign that this normally vocal soul was somehow displeased, Aunt Mag addressed the matter at hand in a diplomatic fashion that nonetheless made the source of her dismay all too clear. “Were those fish you caught bigger’n a butterbean?” she inquired. When I replied in the affirmative, she slowly shook her head, looked me straight in the eye, and said: “Well, you know I eat butterbeans.” Her message came across in a loud, clear fashion, and from that point on my fishing always involved “release to grease,” never mind the fact that the day’s catch might amount to nothing but a few diminutive bream or a stringer of knotty heads. She loved to eat fish, and whether I brought a stringer of catfish, a bunch of bream, or, less frequently, a limit of trout, her reaction was invariably one of pure delight. “Well, Lord a mercy,” she’d say, “you done emptied out the river again. Let me get the skillet hot. There’ll be some might fine eatin’ at old Aunt Mag’s tonight.” She was a magician in the kitchen, and the things Aunt Mag could cook on her old wood-burning stove (it was a gift from my family after we got an electric one when I was eight or nine years of age), using streaked meat and some simple vegetables, brought tears of pure joy to the eyes of a greedy-gut country boy. Maybe, another time, we’ll look at a further supplement of adventures with Aunt Mag, but for now maybe the recipes that follow, all of which could have come directly from her kitchen, will let you add soul satisfying food to my shared memories. POKE SALAD Suitable quantity of tender poke sprouts (others tell me you can
use tender tips well on into the summer, but for me this was always
a dish associated with spring) Wash poke sprouts and chop. Parboil at least twice and drain. Fry chopped bacon and onion until light brown. Pour over greens and simmer for 10-15 minutes. Add salt and pepper. Serve with a dash of Tabasco. Garnish with chopped, boiled eggs. WILD BERRY COBBLER It will soon be blackberry pickin’ time, and the delight of wild strawberries has come and gone. Berry picking was a family ritual when I was a kid, and each year we canned quart after quart of what nature offered for the taking. Similarly, Aunt Mag labored mightily in thickets of briars, despite her advanced years, with the same end in mind. This pie recipe will work with almost any type of wild berry, and it’s about as simple and foolproof as you can get. 1 cup all-purpose flour Combine flour, sugar, baking powder and milk; stir with a wire whisk until smooth. Add melted butter and blend. Pour batter into 9 x 13-inch baking dish. Pour berries (amount depends on personal preference) evenly over batter. Do not stir. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 30-40 minutes or until golden brown. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream, whipped topping, or milk. CRAPPIE CHOWDER 1 onion, diced Sauté onion and bell pepper with bacon until bacon is crisp. Combine bacon mixture, potato soup, corn, carrots, potatoes and fish in saucepan. Season with salt and black pepper. Simmer for 30 minutes or until fish flakes with a fork. Stir in milk just before serving. PAN-FRIED FISH Aunt Mag almost always fried fish, although she used stone-ground cornmeal rather than the breadcrumbs of this recipe, and she cooked in lard, not vegetable oil. Her offerings were a cholesterol-laced feast fit for the gods, and I’m sure she worked hard enough to offset any artery-clogging problems. 2 to 6 fish, skinned and filleted or dressed Dip fillets or whole fish in mixture of egg and milk, then dredge in breadcrumbs. Fry in oil (which should be heated in advance) in skillet over medium heat for about two minutes until browned, turn the fish and complete the frying process. Drain on paper and serve with slaw and hushpuppies or cornbread. Thank you for subscribing to the
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