10. It was sorghum season. The activity around the creek was
vibrant. The family gathered—everyone from the youngest to the oldest. Wagons
laden with cut cane came. Food supplies for lunch, supper and snacks came.
Energy was boundless. Mommy and the other women set up food on tables made of
saw horses and boards. Older kids ran
with abandon, trying to avoid their mothers’ calls to care for their younger
siblings or orders gather fire wood.
Each man’s cane supply was recorded as a later measure of
his share of the sorghum. A horse
hitched to the treadmill began his slow circles. The men fed cane into the
treadmill press. Green bubbly sweet juice poured into buckets. Kids darted in
and out of the area seeking and sometimes getting a section of cane to suck on.
Full buckets were dumped into the big metal evaporation pan heated by a fire
underneath. The juice stirred, added to, stirred and added to.
As food disappeared
from the table more was forthcoming. All afternoon, into the night, lighted by
camp fires and a full moon, men worked, women visited and cared for their men
and children, children played. When the juice reached the desired viscosity, it was
officially declared sorghum , poured
into metal buckets, capped and divided among the families. Everyone gathered around the camp fires for a
last snack before packing up wagons for home.
No comments:
Post a Comment