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Burningtown News, Sunday, November 15, 2015
Good Evening to All the People All Over the World.
Thanksgiving
Alter Table at Burningtown Baptist Church
PRAYER REQUEST
Please
remember the following in your prayers this week.
Donna
Wheeler Lucy Mason Ken Shepherd Nell
Duvall Welch Lori Impagliatelli Harry
Henry Melba Martin Melba West Meredith
Jones
Clarence Scott Linda Campbell Pamela
West Bob Bryson Sue Martin Oweila
T F Sue West Beatrice Deweese Wayne
Powers Charles West
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Rev.
Brian Holland will bring the message Sunday morning. We hope you will
be able to attend. Also, make plans now to attend the Thanksgiving supper
at Burningtown Baptist Church on Wednesday, Nov 18th at 6 o'clock. There
will be plenty of food and thanks giving!
HAPPY 97th Birthday to Mr. J. C. Jacobs!
Below: J. C. Jacobs and his daughter, Janet Jacobs Greene
From Macon County Library
Wed.
Nov. 18th @ 2 & 6 in the MCPL Meeting Room "Far From the Madding
Crowd" with Carey Mulligan & Matthias Schoenaerts:
Based on the Thomas Hardy novel: In Victorian England independent, beautiful
and headstrong Bathsheba Everdene attracts three very different suitors.
This timeless story of her choices and passions explores the nature
of relationships and love - as well as the human ability to overcome
hardships through resilience and perseverance. Rated PG-13 for some
sexuality and violence; 1 hr. 59 min.
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Fri. Nov. 20th @ 2 in the MCPL Meeting Room "The Big Clock"
with Ray Milland & Maureen O'Sullivan: A career oriented magazine
editor finds himself on the run when he discovers his boss is framing
him for murder. 1 hr. 35 min.
Kristina Lynn Moe
kmoe@fontanalib.org
Macon County Public Library
facebook.com/FontanaRegionalLibrary
ARTICLES, LETTERS, POEMS, PICTURES AND THINGS
This is the song that was on my mind this morning. With so much sadness
over all that's happening in the world, I take comfort in knowing God
is in control of not only today but tomorrow also. I also found a wonderful
verses to share, Psalm 66:7-9(KJV)"7 He ruleth by His power for
ever; His eyes behold the nations: let not the rebellious exalt themselves.
Selah.8 O bless our God, ye people, and make the voice of His praise
to be heard:9 Which holdeth our soul in life, and suffereth not our
feet to be moved." How appropriate are those words for today?!!!
I may never understand why things happen to the way they do but I put
my trust in the One who is still in control. Have a blessed week, pray
for the lost. Donna Mathis :)
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
By: Nita Welch Owenby
When I was growing up here in the beautiful mountains of Western North
Carolina, things were a lot different than they are today. Mamma and
Daddy only went into town once a week, and that was to buy chicken feed
and our eating necessities, such as salt, sugar and coffee, when they
were available in the stores. When coffee got scarce or too expensive
for their budget, they, like most everyone else, had to buy chicory
to take its place. Chicory didn't taste as good as the real thing, but
it was better than nothing. Daddy might buy scraps of leather or used
shoe heels for half-soling our old shoes, and Mamma would sometimes
buy another precious spool of thread for quilting. But even if the fancy
boxed and frozen foods had been available, they would not have been
able to afford them. We always had three full meals a day, but mostly
it was what we grew on the farm. Mamma never had the easy convenient
foods of today, but fixing a meal from the cans in the basement was
just a way of life back then. And the bountiful spreads Mamma put on
the table were like meals for royalty, many being fried from pork grease.
No one knew it wasn't healthy, but it sure was a delicious means of
seasoning.
Days started out early on the farm. My folks would be up by 5:00 a.m.,
and we kids could hear the comforting homey sounds of a fire being built
in the cook stove, and the rattle of pots and pans. Mamma would head
for the smoke house to cut slabs of thick bacon from the salted down
pork belly that was stored there. Or she would go to the basement and
get sausage that had been canned back during hog killing time. We always
had biscuits for breakfast, and Mamma kept the flour in a drawer in
a cabinet near the sink. The flour had to be sifted since it wasn't
fine enough to suit Mamma, and of course, she sifted the corn meal too.
She made the biscuits in the middle of a bowl filled with flour, never
measuring anything. So as not to waste, she would pour the left over
flour back in the drawer, and it sometimes has a few dried flour balls
in it that she had to sift out the next time she made biscuits. She
saved the grease from the bacon to make bread, and she always used buttermilk
to make the biscuits and corn bread. Of course, she had made the buttermilk
by letting regular milk turn (or sour) and churning it. She would save
up until she got a churn full of regular milk, and then set it near
the stove where it was warm and the milk would turn faster. She would
then churn it and make the finest butter one ever tasted, which she
would shape in a round wooden mold. The first time I helped her make
butter, I forgot to put in the salt, but we ate it anyway. That homemade
butter sure tasted good on her hot biscuits. And it was even better
with some syrup that had been made from the cane that was grown on the
farm. Breakfast would generally be a platter of fried eggs and bacon
or sausage, and a bowl of some of the best sawmill gravy that ever tickled
anyone's pallet. Here again she never measured the ingredients that
went into it. She knew just how much grease, flour, salt and milk to
put into the pan, and she would brown it so it always turned out just
right. There was usually a big bowl of steaming hot oatmeal or rice
that had been sweetened, and the butter set them off pert near perfect.
It was like putting candy in a baby's mouth.
When it came to putting dinner and supper on the table, Mamma often
had to do them in a rush because she spent a lot of time working in
the garden and fields. And, of course, they were made from scratch,
as usual. The potatoes were stored in a cool, dark area under the porch,
and Mamma would take a bucket and get enough for at least two meals.
These she had to wash and peel. Sometimes she would make mashed potatoes,
but usually she sliced and boiled them since that was quicker. Potatoes
were our food staple, and it would have been a sin not to have them
for dinner and supper. And sometimes we got them fried for breakfast
if we happened to be running a bit short on meat. We also had a good
supply of other vegetables summer and winter, as Mamma could can just
about anything, and did. There was even wild lettuce and mustard that
she would chop onions on, and pour hot grease over them so they would
wilt. This gave them added flavor, and of course, made them taste even
better. This was country salad at its finest. We would have a big pot
of green beans that would last for several days. And we occasionally
got a good mess of leather britches (dried green beans) or pickled beans.
Mamma had a way of keeping meals interesting and giving us a variety.
Corn was sometimes boiled on the cob, but mostly we got it creamed in
a bowl, which was also good with a slab of that chilled butter. And
sometimes, on rare occasions, Mamma would cut the corn whole kernel
and pickle it in the can.
In the summer and fall there was always a platter of sliced tomatoes,
cucumbers and peppers on the table for dinner and supper. We missed
them in the winter, but we would get whole canned tomatoes made into
a pudding, and just about any kind of pickle or chopped mixed-pickles
that you could imagine. And since tomatoes are of the fruit family,
we also got a good diet of various types of other fruits with some meals;
apples and grapes being the most plentiful. A big bowl of cooked apples,
here again with lots of that good ole' butter was one of our favorite
"desserts". Mamma would cut up and can them after cooking,
or she would make apple sauce and can it. But some of our best apple
treats were when she dried them, or smoked them over a sulfur fire.
These were good just cooked, but we especially loved them made into
pies and cobblers. Drying and making sulfur apples was a lot of work,
but Mamma took pride in everything she made for us, and in the fact
that she knew how to make them. The apples had to be peeled, sliced
and laid on a piece of screen which was placed out in the sun. They
had to be turned every day or so until they started turning brown. They
would get sort of tough and crinkle up a bit, and then they were considered
dry enough for cooking or canning. To made sulfur apples, Mamma would
make sort of a teepee out of sticks and wrap it in an old tarp with
an opening at the top to slowly let out the smoke. She would place the
sliced apples on a screen, and then place it in the teepee about two
feet or so from the ground. Then she would build a small fire on the
ground under the apples and pour sulfur on the fire, which would create
a thick white smoke that, yes, smelled like sulfur. I can't remember
how long she smoked the apples, but when she canned them, they held
their shape and were white as snow. These she would also cook up to
eat as a side dish, or make them into pies. With the grapes, she would
mostly can them and pour off the juice for drinking in the winter time,
and she'd squeeze the grapes through an old folded sheer curtain and
make jam . We kids loved it. Mamma never did make any wine, but I do
remember my older sister and me getting into the canned juice once when
we were left at home alone. We got hold of a can that had spoiled, and
I'll have to admit it did make us feel pretty good for a while.
Of course, we always had yellow squash, okra, turnips, beets, greens,
peas, and white and red sweet potatoes; not to mention pumpkins and
a few other things that I have probably forgotten. We would always pick
strawberries in the spring and black berries in the summer to supplement
what was raised. It took a lot of work to raise all those items, but
when there were several children in the family, it was a necessity if
one didn't want the family to go hungry. There were not a lot of "out
side" paying jobs available back then, so when the money became
scarce, people had to find ways to make ends meet. Some times the weather
didn't cooperate and there would be slim pickings in the garden, but
Mamma always planned ahead and canned enough to do for two or three
years. We kids thought it was a lot of hard work on our part, but we
grew up knowing what the word work meant. And what did I do when I retired
from my paying job years later? I headed back home to the farm and found
a productive spot for a garden. I thought that was a good idea, just
in case our Social Security runs out, which is a very good possibility.
Being raised on a farm back then was thought to be a lowly life by some,
but today it is looked upon much more favorably. The Bible speaks of
people running to the rocks and the mountains, and those times are upon
us. Owing a piece of land big enough for a sizable garden could surely
mean the difference in life and death. So, as we did in the early days
of our lives, we still hold our heads high and are proud of the precious
dirt of the earth that still exists beneath our feet and runs in our
blood. Some of us are just as blessed today as we were when we were
born on the priceless farms of the mountains so many years ago. God
bless America; farms, gardens and all.
--
"Why, That's
A Deacon In A Gorilla Suit"
Larry Alan Reeves, Region A Long Term Care Ombudsman
Southwestern Commission- Area Agency on Aging
Fred and Jim just loved to have a good time. You were never sure when
they were going to be up to something mischievous and fun. While they
took their faith, their families, their church, and their roles as Deacons
of the church seriously, they did not take themselves seriously. They
were good friends; buddies even. They knew how to smile, and believed
it to be their calling in life to help others smile as well. Fred was
in his late 30s. Jim was in his late 50s. It was a good thing that Sandy
insisted that Fred sit with her during worship services. Likewise, Wanda
insisted that Jim sit with her. Had these two been able to sit with
each other the potential for something to happen during the worship
service that would result in giggles, snickers, and hilarity was an
eventuality.
It so happened that Halloween fell on Sunday. Being Baptist, you could
count on the church having an evening worship service. Trick or treat
was not going to happen! The folks had hymns to sing, scriptures to
listen to, an offering to be taken, and a sermon to endure (Oops! I
meant to say "enjoy".). Everything was reverent, solemn, still,
and quiet. When it got to the place in the service for the offering,
a couple of the ushers passed the plates throughout the congregation.
As soon as the ushers had reached to back of the auditorium they turned
and nodded to the music leader, immediately "The Doxology"
began to be sung as the ushers brought the offering back down the center
aisle to the altar area. With the sounding of the first notes of "The
Doxology" the rear doors swung open and two people, dressed in
Halloween costumes came in following the ushers down the aisle to the
front. You know who it was, do you not? Yep. It was Deacon Fred and
Deacon Jim. Deacon Fred was dressed in worn out/tattered clothing, sporting
a scruffy beard, and carrying a burlap sack full of something. He was
a sight to behold! On the other hand, Deacon Jim was dressed from head
to toe in a gorilla costume. While you could not see his face, his six
foot-six inch, 245 pound frame gave him away. (Besides that- he was
with Fred. Who else would it be?)
As they processed to the front of the sanctuary folks all over the congregation
began to laugh and point, point and laugh. There was an outbreak of
grins and chuckles from everyone; almost. It was obvious that Deacon
Fred and Deacon Jim had decided to throw the young pastor for a whirl.
They just knew they would get the best of him. He, resisted their efforts
with steeled determination. As soon as the offering plates were properly
placed on the Communion Table, the pastor read his scripture lesson,
had a brief prayer, and then got right into the sermon. The pastor did
not so much as look at Deacon Fred and Deacon Jim. The pastor knew better
than to do so; for the fear of getting tickled was real. As the sermon
proceeded, Deacon Fred would glance around and would wink at members
of the congregation; gleaning return winks and smiles as a reward for
his efforts. However, Deacon Jim had not thought about the fact that
wearing that gorilla suit was going to be a "heated endeavor".
The longer the sermon, the hotter the gorilla became. Sweat was soaking
the suit from the inside out. He was getting hotter and hotter with
each passing moment. In desperate attempts to cool his face and to enable
him to breathe deeply, Deacon Jim would gasp the bottom of the face-mask
in his hand, pull it out from his face a little bit and inhale, exhale,
and sigh loudly. He became more and more and more uncomfortable with
each passing minute. Throughout the congregation folks were getting
more and more amused at both of the men.
It took a while but finally the pastor brought the sermon to an end.
He asked the congregation to stand for the benediction. And, without
hesitation he called on Deacon Jim to have the prayer. It was something
to see and hear as he prayed one of the most beautiful prayers ever
verbalized in that church. Just before saying his "Amen" Deacon
Jim said, "Thank you God for loving this Deacon in a gorilla suit".
--
Larry Reeves
Long Term Care Ombudsman
Region A, Southwestern Commission
125 Bonnie Lane
Sylva, North Carolina 28779
(828)586-1962, ext. 223
FAX (828)586-1968
www.regiona.org
larry@regiona.org
BEST DRINKING BUDDY A SAILOR COULD HAVE
By: Roy Owenby
Way back in 1961, while my Navy squadron was on temporary duty, four
of us enlisted guys got together and bought a car. There wasn't much
excitement in Key West, and we soon grew tired of walking. We found
an old car on a lot just north of town, and negotiated with the salesman
to buy it. After considerable dickering, we paid the man $100, or $25
each. When it came time to make out the papers, we learned that the
buyer had to be at least twenty-one, and none of us had yet reached
that age. We found an old derelict walking down the street. We offered
him ten dollars to sign the title, and he willingly agreed. The man
owned a car that he never saw again.
Now, we had transportation to get to Miami where all the action was;
at least, that was what we had heard. The car didn't look like much,
to say the least, but it ran, and that was all we expected. With a couple
of roadside repairs, we made it to Miami and back on several occasions.
One weekend, I had the car all to myself. I couldn't get anyone else
interested in going to Miami, so I started out alone. Some twenty miles
north of town, I passed a car parked on the side of the road. A woman
was lying on her back under the car with nothing sticking out but her
legs. Naturally, I turned around and went back. When I walked up to
her car, I heard a muffled voice say, "It's about time somebody
showed up. Now, crawl under here and hold this muffler up while I attach
the clamp." I laid my hat on the ground and crawled under in my
dress whites. When we finished and crawled out from under, I immediately
concluded that she was of Irish descent. She had curly red hair and
enough freckles to cover a ten-acre field. After a few minutes conversation,
I asked her if she would like to go to Miami with me. She looked at
my car and then looked at me.
"Sure," she said, "but I'm not riding in that junk heap.
Let's take my car." We found a place to park my car and hit the
road. By the time we arrived in Miami, we had both agreed that the other
person was interesting. We were both starved, so we found a smorgasbord
that advertised "all-you-can-eat" for ninety-nine cents. Now,
I'm a big eater, but Maggie was a serious competitor even though she
weighed no more than 110 pounds soaking wet. Afterwards, I soon learned
that she knew Miami like the back of her hand. She also knew the location
of every wine shop and music store in that city. At the end of the day,
we checked into adjoining rooms at a small motel on Miami Beach. Just
before turning in, I heard a knock on my door. Maggie stood there with
two glasses of wine that she had carefully chilled in her room.
"Want to sit on the patio for a little while," she asked?
Resisting the temptation to tell her I was too tired, I went along.
We must have talked for three or four hours. When I went back to my
room, I realized my brain was as tired as my body. Later, she told me
that she wanted to find out if I could carry on an intelligent conversation
before she allowed our relationship to go any further.
Next day, she conned me into buying two bottles of premium wine and
several jazz records. She promised to pay me back with home cooked meals.
Little did I know that her promise would be repaid many times. Since
she was primarily a vegetarian; we would comb Key West for bean sprouts,
tomatoes, mushrooms, peaches, apples and other delicacies. We would
then take them home, and she would perform her culinary magic. I asked
her if her mother had taught her to cook, and she said "no, I taught
myself to cook." That's when I found out she was ten years older
than me although she looked younger than I did. She claimed that her
vegetarian diet kept her looking younger.
At that time, Maggie was one of a handful of nurses in Key West. Like
all nurses, she worked odd hours. She could work all night, come home
and prepare a full meal and then spend the day riding around and shopping.
She never seemed to get tired. My co-op car was often bunky, and I would
have to pull over by the road and fiddle with it. Maggie said that was
nonsense. Next day, I parked the car in her yard, and she removed the
carburetor. I drove her car to town and bought parts. She rebuilt the
carburetor, and it never acted up again. After a few weeks, Maggie started
picking me up at the base since I was only part-owner of the car.
Maggie was a wine connoisseur, collected jazz records and performed
mechanical magic on everything from refrigerators to lawn mowers. She
lived in a little white house about two blocks off Duvall Street in
Key West, and she had a shed with enough tools to build a battleship.
She wasn't afraid of getting her hands dirty. She could come into the
house looking like a grease monkey and an hour later, come out of the
bathroom looking like Julianne Moore. Her collection of jazz records
was second to none. The music of Bennie Goodman, Duke Ellington, Louis
Armstrong, Artie Shaw and Fats Waller, to name a few, graced her shelves,
and she knew a lot about all of them.
She didn't have a wine cellar because there weren't any basements in
Key West. She had a small room that she kept cool with an old air conditioner
she had found at a yard sale. After some modifications, it worked like
a charm. She searched constantly for good wine buys, and at any given
time, several bottles of fine wine graced her racks. She knew the difference
between Cabernet and Chardonnay, Barbera and Grenache or Merlot and
Pinot Moiré. Often, she could recognize the type of wine by its
smell or taste. She was, by any measure, an intellectual tomboy. She
didn't like gossip or small talk. She thought people should discuss
important matters like music, the arts, astronomy, race car drivers
and the New York Yankees. Too this day, there are thing I know that
she taught me.
In the coming months, we spent a lot of time together when I was off
duty, and she was off work. When we wanted to do something important
together, I would switch duty with another sailor or she would do the
same with another nurse. Time raced by, and I was sent back to San Diego.
When I said good-bye to Maggie, I didn't know that I would never be
dispatched to Key West again. We wrote each other regularly. The quality
of my letter writing improved significantly quite simply because I wanted
mine to be as good as hers. One day, I received a letter from her saying
that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer, and she was moving back
to Minnesota. I never heard from her again. I sent a letter to one of
my buddies in Key West and asked him to see if she had really moved.
He found an empty house and a for-sale sign. I hope that she had a good
life. If she had children, I'd bet they became jazz and wine aficionados.
And she probably taught them how to repair cars, lawn mowers and air
conditioners.
--
ACTIVITIES OF THE WEEK
Below is a picture
of the Burningtown Baptist Church Women's Missionary Union women after
they finished packing shoe boxes for the Samaritan's Purse ministry.
The women are thankful for the church for supporting giving to the less
fortunate at Christmas.
Pictured are: Lucille Fouts, Dana Clements, Tammie Holland, Mary Green,
Mandy Carr, Sharon Taylor, Ruth Simonds, and Shirley Land.
LF and I went to
town on Tuesday, ( I think). The first place we went was up to Lori
Impagliatelli's Office. She had a bag of money to give me. The bag had
five five quarters, twenty one dimes, twelve nickels, and thirty one
pennies. Lori is doing pretty good. She keeps her head down looking
for big money but hasn't found any lately. Thanks Loir for all that
money. Then we went to the Kubota place to try to get a canopy for LF's
Kubota. Then we went to Wal Mart, Frog Town Market to eat, to the grocery
store and then we came on back home.
I did make it to Sunday School on Nov 1. Alan Allman gave me a piece
of peppermint candy when I went in. John Henry Fouts gave me a one dollar
bill and two quarters when we went into the Sunday School Class. Since
then, Jim Fouts brought a lot of money up here from his jar at the shed.
Henderson Huggins sent me $38.95 plus four Canadian quarters and 3 other
other foreign coins. They look kind of like two of our pennies and one
of our nickels. Marie Duvall sent a bag of money to me by Bernard Huggins,
who gave it to Jim, who brought it to me. The bag had six quarters,
twenty-one dimes, twelve nickels, and twenty-eight pennies! Also in
Jim's jar was nine dollars, 13 quarters, 8 dimes, 6 nickels and 42 pennies.
There may have been others who donated to the poor man, but Jim said
Marilyn Roper, Larry Fouts, Bernard Huggins, Sara Wilson, Denny Holbrook,
Darrel Ledford, Tom Welch and Jim had contributed. When LF and I went
to WalMart this week, we found a dime in the parking lot.
It has been an exciting week here on Burningtown. I got a new blanket
for my bed. It is a fuzzy, warm blanket that folds out to 90" x
90". If shore is nice to have a new blanket with cold weather coming
on. Here is a picture of the blanket.
We hope you have a wonderful week.
Remember the poor man and his angelic little wife on Lower Burningtown.
MF, Editor
LF, Operations Editor
ST, Circulations Manager
RO, Feature Story Author
NWO, Feature Story Author
AM, Arts Illustration Editor
RP, Photographic Editor
JK, Assistant Photographic Editor
DB, Copier
JB, Assistant Photographic Editor
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