Newspapers, Syrup Makin' Time..., LaSalle Parish, La. Submitted by Jack Willis Date: 11 Oct 2004 Source:Grass Roots and Cockleburrs Date: 29 Sep 2004 ************************************************ Submitted to the LAGenWeb Archives ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** *********************************************** Syrup Makin' Time... It was the waning days of summer as we motored down through the north environs of Point Coupee Parish, and to either side of Highway 1 were miles and miles of miles and miles of sugar cane waving in the thermal breezes. To the north, a scant 50 miles, the sweet gum trees were beginning to show a little yellow, and to those that take the time to denote season changes, those occurrences meant fall of the year was not far off. The fall season just happens to be my favorite time of the year with the onset of many activities usually having to do with crop harvesting. This season marked by kaleidoscopic hues of gold, yellow and brown bespeaks of maturity, coming of age, being gathered in, and once upon a time, the reuniting of family relationships that would endure until eternity took note. The green, lush South Louisiana cane fields were nothing like the verdant Blue Ribbon cane thickets of childhood in North Central Louisiana, when your best friend was your Kabar pocket knife which was used to peel and shuck the covering off juicy cane joints, then splitting it four ways so you could chew the quarters until the juice ran down your chin. It was also time for the "village elder" to begin refurbishing the syrup mill prior to cooking off this years cane harvest resulting in half-gallons and gallons of sweetness destined to be enjoyed at suppertimes on a cold winter's evening in the community. The early models of syrup mills in the later 30's and 40's were crude affairs usually sequestered under a shed for shade and other weather protection. The base to support the cauldronic pan, which was about four feet wide and eight feet long with 10-inch high sides, was constructed out of red clay into a U-shaped pattern, with walls being about three feet tall. The open end of the pan foundation was where firewood, usually litered pine and pine knots, could be thrown into strategic places beneath the pan proper, in a noble effort to maintain an even, consistent heat to all parts of the pan bottom. At the opposite end, the pan base was formed into a red clay chimney much like the farm homes in the area, to exhaust the smoke from beneath the pan. Sometimes the flue of the chimney was made out of a corrugated metal culvert, but the red clay insulated, concrete-like outer walls had to be repacked every year due to wintertime erosion. The syrup making process was an engineering marvel and Detroit could have taken note of its ultra smooth operation to upgrade their assembly line processes. Raw juice was poured into the pan on one end and the finished product, ready for a hot biscuit, was siphoned off on the other end. The juice wound around strategically placed vertical sheet metal dividers and slots during the "cooking off "operation. It was the tedious, time consuming task of the Master Syrup maker to keep the liquid moving in proportion to the heat generated, in order to avoid scorching and thus ruining a batch of syrup being created at the time. Once the juice was poured into the pan it had to be processed that day, because if left over night it would sour. During the cooking process the operator was continually "skimming" the surface of the fiery liquid with a long handled perforated tool to remove pieces of chaff and other impurities that would be elevated to the surface by the heat. Stray hogs and dogs were always nosing around the operation, so the operator would deposit the hot skimmings on their backs to run them off. Wasps and yellow jackets were a constant nuisance to reckon with from daylight to dark, also. My folks, as part of their dedication to be self-sufficient and wanting little, decided to start raising their own sugar cane crop, along with other crops like sweet potatoes, peanuts and the like. The old standard Blue Ribbon cane had gone the way of the dinosaur, being susceptible to sugar cane boring insects, so we planted a variety called POJ that was a real juice producer, but hard as a broom handle to chew. Having nothing better to do, me and some of my buddies raided our patch one Saturday night just before harvest, and loading up a goodly number of stalks, proceeded to drive up to the rear of the auditorium of Jena High School, took our seat on the back steps and in an act of defiance we strewed sugar cane peelings and chewing's all over the rear of the building. Needless to say, early Monday morning, J. "Dragon" Brooks, the high school principal, got on the school intercom and pitched a fit with a hole in it. He said, in effect, if he ever found out who made such a mess, they would be indeed sorry! No one squealed, so we got out of that. One yarn that bears repeating is one about an old boy who got a hankering for and set out to purchase a gallon of fresh made syrup. It seems that he had heard that one of his father's old cronies whom he had heard him tell about helping him to make white lightening, had finally repented from running a homemade distillery, and had gone to making syrup. He had also heard that he was demanding and getting $2.00 for a half-gallon and $3.50 for a gallon for his fresh made biscuit delight. So he drove out into country and up to the mill that morning, parked his truck and noting the mule going around in his perpetual circle powering the juice-squeezing device, he ambled over to the operator's station to make himself acquainted with his father's old friend. After the usual small talk, with the old gentleman indeed recalling past whiskey making and drinking experiences, the potential customer armed up a can of fresh syrup, and expressed his desire to purchase the gallon of finished product. The old syrup maker reared back, and while wiping the tobacco juice off his chin with a red bandana pulled from the confines of his blue jean jumper, he said, "I'll tell you what, son...since me and your ol' daddy was such good friends for years...just give me $8.50 and go on down the road! " Later while traveling down the farm-to-market road back to town, and occasionally casting a baleful glance down at the gallon of fresh syrup resting on the floorboard of his pickup, he thought to himself, "I'm glad daddy didn't know that old croot any better!" Recalling events of yesteryear, like syrup making, takes older generations back to the "good ole days", and serves to cover up and erase how really hard and difficult it was in those times too. GR&C(9-29-04) JMW