Month: August 2022

Good-bye, Audrey!

by
Audrey McCarver

In the late spring of 1969, I was working as a reporter with The Gadsden Times in Gadsden, Alabama. One morning when I came into work, the city editor said he had hired a new proofreader then, moments later, he introduced me to a smallish, bright-eyed, dark-haired, very pretty, nineteen-year-old who gave her name as Audrey Brooks.

“Audrey?” I replied. “That’s my mother’s name. Why did you come to work at the times?”

“I want to be a writer,” she said.

So, over the next four years, Audrey became a respected member of The Gadsden Times newsroom and I saw her at least five days a week. During those years, I knew everything about her life; whether she was sick, her car in the shop, she was fighting with her boyfriend, she was short on money…. whatever. She became like a member of my family.

The editors would send her out for coffee, to answer the phone and to open the mail, but mostly her job was proofreading. Audrey was an excellent proofreader. Every day, when I had to check the newspaper’s front-page proof, I always had made sure Audrey was at my side. She could spot a misplaced comma, a misplaced typeface or an improperly headline in the twinkling of an eye.

All the editors loved her, but they were always playing jokes on her. One afternoon, the state editor sent Audrey to the composing room to fetch a left-handed monkey wrench. One morning the city editor put a rubber snake in her desk drawer and, upon discovery, a loud scream went up from Audrey. The executive editor sent out a memo on that one and it never happened again.

All the editors had their pet names for Audrey. The city editor called her “Our little elf.” I called her “Tawdry Audrey.” The Sports editor called her “Our Miss Brooks.” The Sunday editor, an Irishman, called Audrey “Our sweet little elf from the sylvan glades of dear old Ireland.”

Audrey would laugh at their playful teasing, but take it all in stride.

During those years, I got to know Audrey’s family.

Every winter, her father Auburn would kill a deer and bring it in his pickup truck to The Gadsden Times so I could make a photo and put it in the paper.

In many ways, I was better friends with her younger brother Auburn, also known as “Bubba,” than I was Audrey. Before I moved to the newsroom, I worked in the dispatch department at The Times. When I left a vacancy in the department, Auburn was hired as my replacement. Naturally, I would visit the dispatch department to see my old friends. As a result, I became good friends with Auburn.

During the fall and winter of 1969 and 1970, I was the coach of the Gadsden Times basketball team. I formed a team of Gadsden Times employees and we would play other company teams in the gymnasiums in East Gadsden, Attalla and Walnut Park. During those years, Auburn played guard on my basketball team. He wasn’t all that good, but he loved to play and we became even closer friends.

Every Christmas, Audrey would bake a huge chocolate cake and bring it into the newsroom. One Christmas, publisher Frank Helderman Sr. asked Audrey to bake a caramel cake just for him. When Audrey brought in the cake, Mr. Helderman came straight over from his office to the newsroom for a slice. Audrey was delighted.

In January of 1973, I left The Times and began working as a reporter with the Birmingham News in Birmingham. When I resigned from The Gadsden Times, I never dreamed I would see or hear tell of “Tawdry Audrey” again. But I never forgot her!

***

Around 2010, I joined Facebook and quickly began reconnecting with many old friends. This included Paul Meloun, who was executive editor at The Gadsden Times during the years I knew Audrey.

One day in March of this year, while I following Paul’s comments on a post, I saw a comment from someone named Audrey McCarver. In the post, she announced that she had been a proofreader during Paul’s tenure at the Times.

Instantly, I knew it was “Tawdry Audrey.”

I sent her a FB message, reintroduced myself and asked what she had been doing over the past 50 years. She said she had been married, raised four children, and was living in Ripley, Mississippi with her husband. I explained I had been a reporter all those years; been a computer tech for a while and was writing novels now.

“You never became a writer?” I asked.

“No. I’ve been too busy with my family.”

She asked about my latest book and I told her about A Quiet Madness, my new book on Edgar Allan Poe. She said she would order it on Amazon.

Four days later, I saw a beautiful review of my book on Amazon and Goodreads. Over the next five months, Audrey would buy, read and review 16 of my books and post glowing reviews on Amazon and Goodreads for each and every one. I was so thankful!

In late July, when I told her I needed a guest columnist for my new website, she was eager to jump in. From the end of July until last week, Audrey wrote a total of thirteen articles for my blog on subjects ranging from Sacred Harp Singing and how to make chicken and dumplings to Alabama’s legendary Goat Man and Noccalula Falls.

Early on, I had to do some light editing on her articles, but after the first three or four, she was writing like a pro.

On Monday night, August 22, she posted an article about her father’s favorite peanut brittle recipe for the blog and said she would send another piece the following morning about Lester Flatt and Early Scruggs.

As part of that message, she wrote:

“John I, you’re brought so much joy into my life these past few months. I’ve finally realized my dream of becoming as writer.”

I told her I enjoyed working with her and was happy to help her. I explained her articles had helped bring traffic to my website.

Then came a stroke out of the blue!

On Tuesday, the following day, just after noon, I received a Facebook message from Liz Sundy Stanford, Audrey’s niece in Brewton, Alabama, who told me Audrey had collapsed at her home from a massive brain hemorrhage. She said Audrey was in the North Mississippi Medical Center in Tupelo and I could reach her husband by calling Audrey’s cell.

Instantly I called the hospital and spoke with Audrey’s husband King.

“She is unresponsive,” King said sadly. “Doctors say her injuries are not survivable.”

My heart flew into my mouth at his words.

The following morning, on Thursday, Audrey’s niece sent me another Facebook message saying Audrey had passed away.

My soul was weeping as I read her words.

My most excellent friend Audrey Elaine Brooks McCarver will be buried in the morning, August 30, 2022, at 9 a.m. local time at the Beech Hill Church of Christ Church in Ashland, Mississippi.

Me, along with thousands of friends, relatives and Facebook followers will sorely miss her!

Thanks for being my friend all these years, Audrey!

Thanks for all of the wonderful memories!

Thanks for the great love of humanity you carried in your heart!!

You were always happiest when you were serving others.

Good-bye, my dear friend!

Link to Audrey’s articles – https://johnisaacjones.com/way-down-south/

Link to her obituary – https://www.mcbridefuneralhome.com/obituaries/Audrey-Mccarver/?fbclid=IwAR2YOt9HvrL9NyJNDByPi7NL_PQZ-DYTF_SvZ3R58DnVuHhNsNLi42zpti0#!/Obituary

 

 

Daddy’s Peanut Candy Delight

by

As a small child growing up in the hills of North Alabama, there was always one thing that would always make my ears perk up. That was my Daddy’s announcement that he was making his special peanut candy.

“When will it be ready, daddy?” I would ask.

“About thirty minutes,” he would reply. “I’ve got to shell peanuts first.”

With those words, my stomach would prepare itself for one of my favorite childhood treats.

Although my father Auburn Brooks was a man’s man, he was also quite handy in the kitchen and, while serving in the military, proved himself to be a capable baker. One of his favorite recipes he came away with from those days was the one for his famous peanut candy.

“Quick, easy and tasty,” he would say.

The final product looked and tasted like peanut brittle, but it was much softer and chewier than its time-honored counterpart.

With great fondness do I remember those days I would sit in the front porch swing nibbling away at his fresh peanut candy and watching the world go by.

The following recipe is published exactly as he wrote it so the ingredients and amounts are included in the body.

Auburn Brooks’ Peanut Delight

First, shell one pint of peanuts, then put peanuts in a flat pan.

Put in oven at 350 degrees; let roast for 15 minutes. While peanuts are roasting, use a four quart or larger boiler. Put in 1 1/2 cups sugar, 1/2  bottle of 16 oz. white Karo syrup and 1/2 stick of butter.

Bring to a boil and let boil for 10 minutes, no longer. When this is done remove from heat and put in 1 teaspoon soda; stir in very well. Next pour in peanuts and mix very well. 

Tear off a piece of foil larger than the cookie sheet you plan to use and place in pan. Butter the foil thoroughly.

Let candy set in boiler no longer than 10 minutes.

Pour out on buttered foil. I use a butter wrapper to flatten it out and spread.

Allow to cool for 30 minutes.

Break it apart and place in your serving dish.

Thanks for listening… and keep on smiling.

Audrey Brooks McCarver, August 22, 2022

Interesting Facts about William Faulkner

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Did you know William Faulkner, the Mississippi native and famous American novelist, bragged to his friends and acquaintances he had been wounded in battle during World War I when, in fact, he never saw combat.

Did you know that the Nobel-winning author was an avid golfer who loved to spend hours searching for lost golf balls? Or that he was the worst campus postmaster in the history of Ole Miss?

These are just a few of the interesting new facts I discovered recently after reading Carl Rollyson’s new book, The Life of William Faulkner, The Past is Never Dead 1897-1934, Volume 1, and conducting a sit-down interview with the author.

Rollyson is Professor Emeritus at Baruch College, The City University of New York. He has published many biographies of celebrities and literary figures, including Walter Brennan, Marilyn Monroe, Sylvia Plath, and Norman Mailer. His article and reviews have appeared in many national publications.

Now back to Faulkner’s military shenanigans.

In June of 1918, after Faulkner’s high school sweetheart married another man, “Bill,” as his friends called him, deserted his home town Oxford, Mississippi, then went to Canada and joined the Royal Canadian Air Force.

To enlist, he used a forged letter of reference and, once he was signed up, traveled to Toronto to begin basic training. Although he had hoped to learn to fly a plane, most of his time was spent mopping floors, peeling potatoes and washing dishes.

Bill loved military life. When one officer saw him busily digging a trench with great concentration, he ordered the recruit to snap to attention.

“What are you doing there?” the officer said.

“Learning to fly, Sir!” Faulkner replied.

When the war ended before his training was over, Faulkner returned to Oxford in December 1918 looking every inch the war hero. He was wearing a spiffy RAF officer’s uniform, carrying a swagger stick and hobbling on a cane.

When friends and relatives asked about the injury, he launched into wild tales about being engaged in frenzied aerial dogfights with enemy planes. The truth was that Faulkner had never received cockpit training or had ever flown a plane.

***

Even as a youngster, Faulkner loved the idea of flying. As an eleven-year-old playing in his back yard, he put together a model plane out of several pieces of junk. Once finished, it was ready for a test flight. With the help of two friends, a disabled coachman and a one-armed yard man, the three heaved the plane into the sky.

The craft, of course, promptly crashed and broke into pieces.

Faulkner cried like a little baby.

***

Bill loved to drink whiskey and often played being drunk, remembered one long-time friend. That way he could act out his frustrations, evade responsibility for his actions or dramatize the despair of being the returning veteran and lovesick poet. Oftentimes, family members indulged Faulkner and these antics.

Once when he was on a drunk, his mother Maud diluted his whiskey with iced tea until there was little or no alcohol content. That afternoon, while her son was still drunk, she asked if it wasn’t time for him to go to work.

“I can’t,” said Bill. “I’m drunk.”

“If you are, you’re drunk on iced tea. That’s all you’ve had for the last twelve hours.”

“Then I believe I’ll get up and go to work,” he replied.

***

From childhood, Faulkner was always concerned about his appearance. At an early age, his mother made him wear a back brace to further straighten his already perfect posture.

In one of his letters home he wrote:

“I might be ragged and full of fleas, but my pants, thank God, don’t bag at the knees.”

***

In the fall of 1921, Faulkner told a friend he was going to New York and “be famous overnight.”

Two weeks later, he wrote the same friend: “Oh, yes. I have already stopped traffic in the streets; fame, in fact, has alighted early upon my furrowed brow. A traffic cop gave me a talking-to because I ignored a stop sign that caused a trolley car to almost run over his feet while another brushed the skirts of his coat.”

***

Bill was an adept golfer and was often seen on the course near his home helping the groundskeeper, Thomas Clark, work on improving the course.

Clark appreciated the assistance, but suspected Bill wanted to retrieve lost golf balls in the course’s three water hazards to “replenish his own slender stock.”

“Nothing thrilled Bill more than finding a golf ball some errant golfer had lost.”

His golf course experiences probably provided material for the golfing scenes in the novel The Sound and the Fury, a work many consider his greatest.

***

In the late summer of 1923, Faulkner took a job as campus postmaster at the University of Mississippi. Although he signed on to work, he spent most of his time writing poems for his book, The Marble Faun.

In September of 1924, Postal Inspector Mark Webster had three pages of complaints against him. These included: failure to deliver mail, mishandling stamp money, failure to attend promptly to customers at P.O. window and an overall lackadaisical attitude. Only days later, he was fired.

Years later, after The Marble Faun was printed, Faulkner sent a signed copy to Webster, noting in the inscription:

“It is to you that I owe extrication from a very unpleasant situation.”

Bill was more than ready to leave the post office job.

***

In 1923, Faulkner went to New Orleans to live in the French Quarter and hobnob with the South’s so-called literary elite. When he first arrived, he became close friends with author Sherwood Anderson.

One night, Faulkner arrived at Anderson’s home wearing a heavy, bulky overcoat with the sides bulging out all around. Instantly, Anderson wondered what the problem was.

“I want to leave some things with you,” Faulkner said.

“What do you want to leave?”

Faulkner pulled back the heavy overcoat to reveal six one-gallon jugs of moonshine.

“You can leave them if you’ll give me one,” Anderson said.

Thanks for listening…  and keep smiling!

Audrey McCarver. August 19, 2022

The Joys of a Front Porch

by

I am retired now; that is, I am retired from working with the public. 

However, I am not retired from life and I am relishing  the freedom to harken to a whim and go sit out on the front porch with a cup of coffee or a glass of cold iced tea, a good book in hand, and just sit and soak up the sights and sounds of my surroundings.

From my earliest memories of growing up on Lookout Mountain in North Alabama, the front porch played an important role in everyday life.

It was the first place we went to in the morning to relax, a place to get out of the sun for a while when working in the garden and shelter from a sudden downpour.

At the end of the day after supper, when the dishes were washed and the food safely put away, it was our reward for a long day of hard work and play.

 Those hours spent on the front porch are never about wasting time, it was about observing life.

When I was a barefoot child in the mid-fifties, I sometimes stepped on a sharp piece of rotted wood while playing with my sisters. The front porch was the place my Daddy would always take me to remove the splinter from my heel.

Then he would attack the splinter in my swollen heel with an alcohol-sterilized pocket knife while I wailed in pain.     

“Sing!” he would say. “The more it hurts, the louder you should sing!” 

Even to this day, I can still hear myself singing “Way down upon the Suwanee River, Far, far away…” at the top of my range.

The porch was used as a place to eat when the indoors was full of company, or stifling heat made the outdoors a comforting place to rest in the cool of the evening.

For me, the front porch is far and away the place to get lost in a canyon with Zane Grey; the light is the best there and the wide open vista represents a clean slate for the imagination to conjure up the scenes he is describing.

Further, the front porch is the primary vantage point from which a person could protect his or her property from mischief.

And what a perfect spot to sit with a date in the swing at night, near enough to the folks inside to satisfy convention, but also not easily seen (unless your little brother went out the back door and ran around the house to spy on you.)

A porch is a common individual’s psychological clinic. It’s a place to get away to for a few little while, if only to think, or reason, or plan…or reboot.

Front porches are found all over the world, in many shapes and sizes, plain or grand, tiny or tremendous. The word “porch” come from the Old French word “porche” and the Latin porticos “colonnade”, and is known by many names: Arizona Room, screened porch, sleeping porch, rain porch, loggia, veranda, lanai, sun porch and stoop.

All these designations refer to a covered shelter projecting in front of the entrance to a building. A Southern porch is often at least as broad as it is deep.

My porch is not a very deep one, but it can comfortably hold four chairs, a bench and a glider (all of which I have painted several times). When I go outside, I often “set up shop,” armed with a book, a phone, an iPad, a Nintendo DS loaded with the game Bookworm.

While enjoying my “porch time,” I am always alert to what is going on around me, especially if it involves wasps or hornets. I keep several hummingbird feeders ready for the season and I delight in watching them consume the free food.

If I have flowers blooming, the birds will just as likely drink from them. Hummers must feed about every ten minutes, so their waking hours are spent flying and eating.

The king of the front yard is the mockingbird. Atticus Finch had it right when he told Scout that it was a sin to kill a mockingbird. They don’t harm, but they provide exquisitely lovely and intricate song patterns that consist of whatever they hear: other birds, other animals, hammers striking, someone whistling for a dog.

The male sits high in a tree and tells the news to all, changing directions so that his warnings and admonitions can be projected in every direction. 

Blue birds are often seen in pairs and their undulating flight calls attention to their presence.

The cardinal males are bright red, showy birds, while the female is a muted color. Redbirds often gather in large groups and eat seed that falls from trees or are scattered by the wind.

Then there are those birds who are only passing through briefly, the Indigo Bunting, the Gold Finch, the Cedar Waxwing, the Baltimore Oriole. Count yourself lucky if you get to witness a brilliant flash of blue or gold as dozens of these birds lift up into the sky, or if you see a small tree completely covered in Waxwings. 

There are so many woodpeckers and I love them all. The Pileated is seen more in deeper woods than out in the open, but what a sight when he swoops down and around, looking like some long-extinct ancestor.  If you sit with a pair of binoculars and a bird book, you might get especially lucky.

Butterflies abound and all have a beauty of their own. Rarely you might see a hand-sized moth and more commonly the Luna moth. You will see the spiders, mosquitoes, dragonflies, but every thing living has a story and you can learn a lot just by observing each and every one.

When baby birds are being taught to fly, it is a common sight to see the parents attack a cat or dog or squirrel that wanders into the vicinity. Rabbits foraging for food are not unusual and a fox or deer shows up occasionally.

If I get up and walk a little ways, I can see the elephant ears–their broad leaves flapping in the gentle breeze–standing staid and flamboyant in the flower bed.

For me, the best time to be on the porch is during a rain. It soothes the senses and causes a deep feeling of well-being. However, when the lightning flashes and the thunder claps boom, its best get up and go inside.

Did you know lightning can jump ten miles on a clear day?

Thanks for listening….and keep smiling.

Audrey McCarver, 9-16-22

Baking Bread to Relieve Stress

by

Believe it or not, baking bread can help relieve stress.

Since the day I started cooking as a teenager, I have loved working with yeast. Perhaps you do, too. It’s not difficult, but the yeast needs to be in date or it will result in a useless effort.

In this article, I am going to provide an easy recipe for bread that is not only delicious but will calm and soothe your nerves during the baking process.

My Daddy was a great story teller, probably because most of his stories were totally true. What follows is one of his favorite anecdotes, and one of mine, too. The episode he relates occurred over ninety years ago.

While stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia, Daddy worked in the base bakery part of the time, baking bread and pastries. One day a fellow baker was assembling a recipe for several loaves of bread when he realized he had put in much too much yeast.

Greatly wishing to avoid the trouble he knew would come to him when the boss discovered his mistake, the man rushed outside with the yeast, infused it with a large batch of dough, then threw the huge doughy glob into a big pile of sawdust behind the bakery building.

Hours later, the head baker came storming into the bakery and demanded to be told where that little mountain outside in the sawdust pile came from.

Both my father and the errant baker denied any knowledge of the “little mountain in the sawdust pile” and the head baker never learned the truth.

I suppose bread-baking history could be breath-taking or boring, depending on who’s talking or who’s listening. For the purposes in this article, however, a few remarks will suffice to satisfy our need for knowledge on the subject.

How did those intrepid pioneers of yesteryear manage to produce this life-sustaining loaf? Starting around 1850, they began using a baking kettle, a deep cast iron pan with three legs and a rimmed, close-fitting lid.

Then, in 1856, the bread baking process rose to a new height with the development of a soda-like ingredient made from lye and wood ashes, or baker’s ammonia. Pearlash consisted mainly of potassium carbonate, which produces carbon dioxide quickly and reliably. However, being difficult to make, it was also caustic and smelly. If yeast was being used and it was good, then “a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.” If the yeast was finicky, then the diner would be forced to devour flat, dense dough.

Then something wonderful happened—baking powder came to be in existence and started to appear in everyone’s cabinet. It simplified a heretofore tedious, onerous undertaking and opened the baking process up to new and easy possibilities. 

Happily, for the modern cook, we don’t have to know the complete history of baking to produce a delightful dish. Further we can enjoy working with yeast because we know there is a backup plan in case our first efforts fails.

FOR THIS BREAD YOU WILL NEED:

>.  2 cups warm water (110 degrees)

>.  1/2 cup white sugar

>.  1 1/2 tablespoons active dry yeast

>.  1 1/2 teaspoons salt

>.  1/4 cup vegetable oil

>.  5 to 6 cups flour ( either bread flour or all purpose)

INSTRUCTIONS:

First, I find it essential to put on an apron and some good music. Neil Diamond is encouraging and the right tempo, however, you might want to avoid “Morningside” because it is very sad.

1. Using a large bowl, dissolve 1 TBSP of the sugar in warm water and then stir in yeast. I use my heavy duty Kitchen Aid mixer with the dough hook. The dough hook is your new best friend and will save you a lot of time and hard work. Allow this to  proof until the yeast looks like a creamy foam, about 5 minutes.

2. Mix remaining sugar, salt and oil into the yeast. Mix in flour one cup at a time. I have my dough hook running on low speed as I add the flour. Dough will be tacky and clean the sides of the bowl, except a small part at the bottom. If you use too much flour the bread will be dry, so have a little extra warm water in case you need to thin the dough.

3. Knead the dough for 7 minutes. This is what the dough hook does, this is its reason for existing. Let it work for you. Place the dough into a well-oiled plastic or glass bowl, and turn dough to coat. Cover with  damp paper towels or cloth, nothing heavy or the bread won’t rise.

Allow it to rise until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

4.  Punch down dough. Herein lies the stress relief I promised. Knead for 1 minute and divide in half. Shape into two loaves and place in two greased loaf pans. Allow to rise another 30 minutes, or until the dough is one inch above the pans.

5.  Bake at 350 degrees for 30-40 minutes.

Cool, brush with butter or slice and add softened butter and honey. 

Thanks for listening……..Keep smiling!

Audrey McCarver. 8-15-2022

Southern Mac and Cheese

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Don’t most people like macaroni and cheese?  Seems so to me. Somewhere long ago some forward thinking cook decided to combine two of my favorite ingredients–macaroni and cheese–to make a delicious and simple main dish or side dish.

By itself, macaroni is just about tasteless, but combine it with other ingredients and it can become a magical, flavorful, mouth-watering experience.

I prepare Mac and cheese the usual way with the good results. However, I also make a Mac and Cheese casserole that will serve as the center of a meal; just add desired extras. 

This dish can be started, finished and ready to eat in an hour.

This dish does not depend on precise measurements and amounts, so play with it and develop your new favorite go-to Mac and Cheese recipe.

INGREDIENTS

Macaroni

Hamburger (at least a pound)

Butter

Milk

Cheddar Cheese Soup or Cream of Mushroom Soup

Ritz or Town House Crackers

Salt and Pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

Brown the hamburger in a skillet and break into small pieces. Add onion to meat when it is nearly done. Drain grease and set meat aside.

Boil the macaroni by the package instructions. When ready, drain in a colander.

In a large bowl, mix hamburger and onion, macaroni, soup and milk enough to make a good mixture. The macaroni will absorb much of the liquid, so add a little extra. I add melted butter just because I can.

Have a greased casserole dish prepared, add the mixture then top with shredded cheddar cheese. 

Put a few of the crackers at a time in a plastic baggie but don’t seal. Use either a rolling pin or your fist to pound the crackers to small bits. Spread this over your cheese. Repeat this step until the dish is completely covered. 

Melt more butter, a half stick or more. Drizzle crumbs with the butter.

Cook in a 350 degree oven until lightly brown, usually 30 minutes.

The final step is to ring the bell and call out: “Dinner’s Ready. Come and get it!’

Thanks for listening… and keep smiling.

Audrey McCarver August 12, 2022

 

 

Old-Fashioned Butter Rolls

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Many years ago my mother made a book of recipes to be handed down to her children and grandchildren.

The book was a treasure trove of recipes from generations past, many concocted in order to utilize the ingredients on hand and produce tasty dishes.

During hard times, such as the Great Depression, my mother and her mother used these to produce fortifying, tasty desserts, seemingly from nothing.

One of those desserts was the butter roll.

“Back during Mama and Grandma’s time, they used what they had to make a meal,” my mother recalled. “We always had good meals, sometime seemingly out of nothing, but we always had a dessert. I have never seen this butter roll anywhere except at my home. I have made it many times for my family.”

Here is that recipe:

Pastry:

Put 2 cups plain flour into a bowl, sprinkle with salt and work in 2/3 cup shortening until it resembles meal. Stir in just enough ice water to make a stiff dough. Put on floured board (here I find a clean countertop better for rolling this), and use a floured rolling pin.

Roll, turn over on more floured space until it is very thin. Use small saucer and cut rounds around the saucer. Spread each round almost to the edge with softened butter, sprinkle generously with sugar, roll up tightly and place in a buttered baking dish.

Bake at 400 degrees until the rounds or rolls are browning slightly.

DIP:

Heat 1 1/2 cups milk with enough sugar to be sweet, add about a teaspoon vanilla. Have this very hot, but not boiling. Pour carefully over the rolls, return to oven for 10 or 15 minutes.

Better served warm.

P.S. This tip is mine: for a delicious variation on this recipe, combine dark brown sugar, cinnamon and finely chopped pecans. Sprinkle this over the buttered surface before you roll them up. 

Thanks for listening…. keep smiling!

Audrey McCarver August 10, 2022

Alabama’s Famous Noccalula Falls

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For the past seventy-five years, residents of Etowah County, Alabama have used Noccalula Falls, a 250-acre campground high on Lookout Mountain, as their primary gathering place for Sunday picnics, family reunions, office parties and social club events. 

When I was young, my family often went to “the Falls” to admire its grandeur and to hike both above and below the falling water. The unfenced grounds were open to both the fearless and the fearful. We were kids. We knew little fear.  

It was an exciting adventure, to go down the steel staircase, counting each step until your lead foot touched the ground. Then it was a cautious walk-run race to see who would be first to get to the cave behind the waterfall.  

Usually there would be people clambering around the rocks or sitting and feeling the spray of the water, some enjoying a picnic meal in the shadowed, dank recess of the cave. On hot, sweltering days the misty, cool interior provided respite from the baking heat above.  

There was easy access to the time-worn trails through the floor of the canyon, many people jumping off the huge rock into the soothing coolness of the natural pool at the bottom of the waterfall. 

If the visitor wanted a more rugged experience, there was a trail down the other side. This trek was more demanding physically and vigilance was required for the rocky, often perilous climb down. And believe me, the climb up was no picnic either. 

In hot, dry times, Black Creek becomes little more than a trickle, but in a rainy season, it cannot be contained within its banks and floods much of the area on either side, rising to the level of the footbridge and cascading wildly over the rocks, creating a noisy, frothy, glorious torrent. 

For several years my husband, my sons and I lived within a quarter mile of the Falls and directly across the road from Black Creek. There was a large area near the falls that had never had a home built on it, so when someone built a home there, locals expected the worst.  

Sure enough, when the rainy seasons came, the creek overflowed its banks and reached the road and the houses. Those stranded were rescued in a boat and brought to drier, higher land. 

The park has fifteen miles of hiking and biking trails, of different degrees of facility or difficulty. Trails wind past caves, an indigenous fort, pioneer homestead, an abandoned dam, and civil war carvings.  

Further, there is petting zoo. Sadly, last year the barn caught fire and burned and many animals did not survive. The barnyard animals were all saved. Plans are underway to construct a new barn and bring in more animals. 

Created in 1946 and operated by the City of Gadsden Parks and Recreation, Noccalula Falls Park is on land owned mostly by former Gadsden Mayor R.A. Mitchell.  

In 1909, aware that the land was going to be subdivided for houses, Mitchell bought 169 acres of land, intending it for a park. 

In 1940, his daughter inherited the land and offered it to the city for $50,000. Eventually the city bought the property in 1946 for $70,000 and more acreage was added in 1959. 

In the second half of the 19th century, the Gadsden Land and Improvement Company ran a dance hall and tavern in a cave behind the waterfall. In an attempt to increase the flat area inside by using dynamite, they created a cave-in. 

Underneath the falls was a wooden dancing platform which was used during, and maybe, before the Civil War through the early 1900’s. The dance floor was so near the waterfall, that dancers were enveloped in its mist. 

There is evidence that Col. Joseph “Fighting Joe” Wheeler and his men were there during the Civil War. 

The reader who is unfamiliar with the area might ask how the name is pronounced. “Knock-a-lew-la” with emphasis on the third syllable is correct. 

At the top of the Falls there is a nine-foot bronze statue of a young Cherokee woman, perched eternally ready to plunge into the water below.  

In the time-honored story, the Princess Noccalula was ordered by her father, the chief, to marry a man she did not love, in order to solidify the two tribes.  

Rather than obey, the maiden took her own life by jumping into the abyss below.  

In 1969, probably every Gadsden resident of accountable age was aware of the drive to raise money for sculptor Suzanne Silvercruys to create a statue commemorating Noccalula’s historic jump.  

School children collected pennies. Volunteers collected donations on city sidewalks and social clubs, including The Gadsden Woman’s Club, held charitable functions to raise money. 

For visitors, the park features a host of amenities. These include cabin rentals, campsites and hookups. Several pavilions and meeting rooms are available for rent. On the paid admission side, the visitor will find a beautifully landscaped oasis, including a Botanical Garden, Animal Habitat, and historical buildings built in the late 1700’s and 1800’s. 

When the train is operating, it goes on a mile-long journey through history. The campgrounds have two full bath houses with restrooms, a laundry room, library media room, a pool, and a meeting room. 

Some of the principal celebrations held throughout the year are: Christmas at the Falls, Art on the Rocks, Smoke on the Falls, and the Barbarian Challenge. 

For those coming on 1-59, take exit 188. For times and prices, check the website. 

Thanks for listening… keep smiling! 

Audrey McCarver, August 9, 2022 

Honore de Balzac… the Greatest Novelist?

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In the early sixties, a group of well-known literary pundits got together to decide who were the greatest novelists of all time.

Their conclusion was that Leo Tolstoy wrote the greatest novel in “War and Peace”, but they also decided that the French novelist Honore de Balzac was the greatest novelist simply because he produced so many good novels in his lifetime.

It was a well-deserved honor. Balzac not only had an incredibly prodigious output but a fire and ambition as a literary artist which is seldom seen in human history.

Born in Tours in 1799, Balzac’s father was a member of the upper class and had been a regional administrator during the French Revolution. The father had hoped that Balzac would enter the legal profession and, as a young man, he studied law first at the College de Vendome and later at the Sorbonne.

Despite his father’s wishes, Balzac was too restless and ambitious for such a staid profession and, in 1819, at the age of 20, he announced he wanted to be a writer. With that, he moved to Paris and installed himself in a shabby garret at 9 rue Lediguiéres.

As a chronicler for local magazines on social and artistic subjects, Balzac’s early writing attempts met with mediocre success although he did receive some recognition for the novel Les Chouans, a historical potboiler in the tradition of Sir Water Scott, in 1829. During that period, Balzac unfortunately tried his hand at business and bought a publishing house which failed to bring in printing.

After this and several other business ventures failed, Balzac was left with a heavy debt burden which would plague him until the end of his career. “All happiness depends on courage and work,” Balzac once said. “I have had many periods of wretchedness, but with energy and above all with illusions, I pulled through them all.”

In 1832, he began corresponding with a beautiful, wealthy Polish woman (she claimed to be a countess) named Eveline Hanska. Early on, he became enamored of her and asked her to marry him. She replied that she would marry him only if he became rich and famous.

With that, Balzac set off on a furious pace to write as many novels as fast as he could. His work habits were legendary. Balzac wrote standing up, dressed in a monk’s robe, drinking pot after pot of Turkish coffee. Many days, he would write for 15 hours straight, sleep for a few hours and then write for another 15 hours.

Balzac was close friends with French novelist Alexandre Dumas and he often visited their home to discuss literature. In the wee hours of the morning, Balzac, hungry and dog-tired, would visit and ask for food and a place to nap. Dumas’ wife would fix up a concoction of whipped butter and sardines that Balzac loved, then he would lie down for a nap.

Before he started to nap, he would tell Dumas’ wife: ”Now I only want to sleep for one hour, then wake me up.” After an hour, Dumas’ wife, knowing how he had pushed himself beyond the bounds of human endurance, would let him sleep for two hours.

When Balzac would wake up, he would see the time and curse Dumas’ wife and exclaim: ”You crazy woman, you let me sleep for 2 hours. I could have written a novel in that hour.” With that, he would storm out of the house and return to his garret to write for another 15 hours.

Over the next 17 years, he wrote an incredible 90 novels. About the time he proposed to Eveline Hanska, he decided to encompass all of his writings under a larger framework entitled “The Human Comedy”. This massive undertaking would include more than 2000 characters in 90 novels and novellas.

The overall series would present a sprawling portrait of the habits, social customs and atmosphere of bourgeois France during his lifetime. The most famous titles in the series were La Peau de chagrin (1831), Eugénie Grandet (1833), Le Père Goriot (1835, his most famous novel) Les Illusions perdues (1837I, 1837; II, 1839; III, 1843), La Cousine Bette (1846) and Splendeurs et misères des courtisanes (1847).

By October 1848, Balzac was world famous and wealthy and traveled to the Ukraine to try to win the hand of Madame Hanska again. Finally, after seeing that he was everything she had hoped for, she agreed to marry him. They were married in March of 1850.

Shortly afterward, Balzac wrote a friend: “Three days ago I married the only woman I have ever loved.” Two weeks later, he triumphantly returned to Paris with his new wife.

But the years of overwork and stress had caused his health to fail and, in mid-August of 1850, Balzac lay on his deathbed. French literary greats Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas were at his bedside as he lay dying.

It has been said that, as he lay dying in one room at their Paris home, his new wife–the woman he had spent his life trying to win– was in an adjacent room in bed with some stable boy she had picked up on the street. So much for true love.

At the funeral, Hugo delivered the eulogy. The great novelist noted: “Today we see him at peace. He has escaped from controversies and enmities….. Henceforward he will shine far above all those clouds which float over our heads, among the brightest stars of his native land.”

Review of A Gathering of Old Men

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A Gathering of Old Men by Ernest J. Gaines examines the complex relationships between whites and blacks during the early 1970s in rural Cajun Country Louisiana.

Gaines’ portrayals of his characters come across as earthly, warm and as human as the Louisiana countryside itself.

The title of each chapter names the person who is narrating it and the story unfolds logically and gracefully as a result of this technique.

Each story sequence is plotted completely and the cinematic narrative style is uniquely Gaines. A rich, glorious story of human as well as race relations.

Next I will launch into his Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman.

Well worth the read!!