Since it is almost persimmon time, I decided to pass along a couple persimmon recipes, neither of which I have tried. But they sound uncomplicated enough for anyone who knows a skillet from a stewer. One is for Persimmon Marmalade, and it calls for two cups persimmon pulp, once can apricots (seeded and mashed), two oranges (juice and peel). Mix ingredients and add one cup sugar to mixture. Cook until thick and transparent.

The other is for Persimmon Jam, and it calls for one pint pulp, five cups sugar, one can crushed pineapple, one can orange juice concentrate. Mix all ingredients and allow to set one hour. Cook in small amounts in heavy skillet (two cups usually will give the best results). Ladle into jars and freeze or seal the jars. Have the jars very hot if you can the jam.

My uncle and I already have in mind some close-by persimmon trees that we plan to visit once the weather gets cold enough… they are really better if they are encased in ice while still hanging from the tree limb.

During the growing up years this field (Pringle Field) out the highway from our house had a huge persimmon tree and also a low swag in the middle where water always stood for a day or so after a big rain. Along with other East Side youngsters I have spent many an hour down there slipping and sliding around on frozen rainwater and climbing the tree to gather persimmons. It was always fun to hand an orange, but still very green, persimmon to some unsuspecting youngster and watch as their mouth began to pucker.

When we froze out, Mrs. Vesta Pierce would let us (boots, wet gloves and all) inside her house, a little frame house on the South side of the highway, and back up to King Heater long enough to thaw out, leaving little puddles of water around on her linoleum floor covering.

Along the same line as jams and marmalade, how many can remember home-made syrup? Mama used to make syrup in an iron skillet out of sugar and water, and flavor it with whatever she had, mostly vanilla. Boy, was it ever good poured over pancakes while both were still hot, then flop a big wad of home-made butter on top and let it melt and run down. We used to have that a lot for supper in the Winter.

Another suppertime favorite was a big bowl of hot mush. I liked mine with salt, pepper, and butter, but most of my family preferred sugar and butter.

Loren and Alma Brown from Doniphan, were by the office one day last week after it turned chilly and he asked me, “Is this good cotton picking weather?” I knew he was just making conversation, because he couldn’t have been reared in the country around Corning and Palatka and not be well informed on how cold October and November mornings can be, how hot and dusty a cotton patch can be at mid-day and how wet with dew a person can get crossing a cotton patch, with pick sack thrown over the shoulder in the early morning… or the good times and the forming of lasting friendships that take place in the cotton patch. We all grew up under the same set of circumstances… poor as Job’s turkey and didn’t even know it because everyone around us was in the same boat. We had hard-working, strict but loving parents and a lot of fun get-togethers such as dinners on the ground, ice cream suppers and play parties back then. Loren’s sister, Maxine, was in my grade at school and after graduation she went to Kansas City where she has stayed. I think she has some kind of banking position unless she has retired.

This seems to be the “falling” season in our neighborhood. I’ve had reports of seven of us, all women, falling. One neighbor, Mrs. John Gleghorn fell at work and is still being treated in the hospital at Paragould; Valetta Sumpter fell in the street in from of her house and some kind-hearted motorist stopped and helped her inside her home; Mrs. Roxie Hatley fell inside her home a few weeks back; I fell at Wynn Park and bent my thumb backward and so it goes right on up the street.