RAISING CANE Spirals of blue-gray wood smoke drift through valleys adding mystery to a landscape already painted by Indian Summer. Warmth of the afternoon sun make the horses lazy as they walk in continuous circles around the old cane mill squeezing out every precious drop of golden nectar. The tempting aroma has children from near and far running toward the smell in hopes of being allowed a taste.. As the syrup starts to thicken and the foam rise to the top of the huge vat of liquid gold, children are then allowed to dip pieces of cane into the mixture. The smell of cooking sorghum, horses, woodsmoke and happy laughter of sticky faced children on this late autumn afternoon make this an unforgettable event in my life... the memory of sorghum making time in Kentucky. |
WAY BACK WHEN I am a survivor the last of a dying breed on the farm I raised a large family had six hungry mouths to feed. Worked in the fields from dusk to dawn rolling those bales of hay working sometimes well into the night then get up and start another day. I could cook a six course dinner with a child riding on my hips still have time to freshen up for that special kiss on the lips. True this was a tough life for a very young girl to survive but I would give all I have now to go back again to that time. |
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