Well now let me see, if I can recollect just what all "Ol Skeeter's" been up to for the past couple of months. Now as usual I've been doing a good bit of huntin' and there is plenty of meat in the freezer. I've seen a good many young bucks, but so far I haven't had an encounter with any "rocking chair" racks yet. I guess that's why we call it huntin'.
We did have a big hog killin' a couple of weeks back and the fresh sausage has been "larpin" good. Now being around a fire and an old black wash pot boiling brought back some fond old memories. And since most hog killins' went on in Grandmother and Granddaddy's backyard, some of those thoughts were about Jet and Lucille. I don't know how Granddad got the nickname "Jet" because there were no jet airplanes around back then and his name was William Jefferson, so you figure it out. Grandmother always called him "Jet" and he referred to her as "Cille".
Back in those hog killin' days, I probably was no older than nine or ten and no younger than four or five, so it was a big happening for me at the time. Killin' Day always started off before the sun came up with a big breakfast of coffee and biscuits for the grownups and surp and biscuits for me. Now we ate a lot of sorgum surp, but my favorites were Diamond Joe or Golden Eagle soppin surp cause Joe Roomore said they was good on the radio. Breakfast complete and its off to the barn to gear up the old mule and hitch him up to the ground slide. You see the hog pen was bout a quarter mile from the house, so after the hog was administered a dose of hot brain dissolver and a knife to the jugular, he was rolled onto the ground slide and away we went. Of course, I got to sit on the hog and ride too.
Now while me and Jet was off doing the fun stuff, others were tending the wash pots and throwing more split scantlings on the fires, preparing for the scalding and scraping. Now for those of you that don't know, the water temperature has to be just right. You see if the water is not hot enough the hair won't "slip", but on the other hand if it is too hot you "set" the hair and that would make Jet cuss! Usually before we got through with the scraping, Mr. Herman Green would show up, you see Mr. Herman was the neighborhood butcher and had all the knives, saws, and knowledge that went along with gutting, quartering and the general dissection of a hog. Just about every part of a hog was used. Granddad always said the only thing wasted was the squeal!
After all the meat was cut up for sausage, hams set aside to be salted and cured, organ meat for souse and liver loaf there was still plenty of fat left to be rendered into lard. This was done by cutting the fat into small cubes, placing it in a clean dry wash pot, and cooking slowly until it melted. To this you could add the pork skins and cook until they fluffed up. They could be dipped out and drained on brown paper sacks. As soon as they cooled a little we commenst to do some powerful smacking. They were never quite as soft as the store bought kind, but boy were they tasty and we all had ourselves a "bate of em"! Of course, the head was never wasted, but split in half, brains removed and put in the frigerator ready for eggs the following morning for breakfast. After that the head was cooked and used for "hog head cheese" or Brunswick stew.
By this time us young uns are getting pretty wore down and some have a bellyache from too many pork rinds. By now I've quit blowing the pig's bladder up over and over and over again. You see Jet would take the bladder, rinse it out real good and insert a small piece of cane, then tie with a string. You could put the cane in your mouth and blow up the bladder to about the size of a volleyball. At this time you were supposed to slip the cane out while tightening the string resulting with something the resembled an inflated balloon. Now granddad said when he was a chap they kept these until Christmas, placed them one at a time under a plank, then stomped on ‘em....POW....what fireworks!
Well it's getting close to sundown, everyone's had a long day, but there is still work going on, the ladies are grinding sausage on the kitchen table, the men are cleaning wash pots and salting meat. Granddad is still busy and says "HEY PEEDROW" how bout tossing down some hay to those ol perish gutted cows and give the ol mule seven or eight years of corn....
Skeeter

By Skeeter

Skeeter was raised on old world ways of hunting, fishing and gathering to survive. His stories are about those experiences and what ever else may strike his fancy.