From the East Wing with Saint David, And the Coming of Spring, Leeks and Ramps, Cooking Coon, Sophia Watcing the Blair House Summit

Greetings to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing.


With the current tax filing season (for 2009 income) well underway I spend less time just doing enjoyable things around the house. Things like walking in the yard, or playing with the 2girldogs and the cats get less of my time than they deserve. Leaving home before 8 o’clock in the morning and sometimes arriving back home after the last 8 of the day, they know I’m short changing ‘em. But pretty soon we’ll play in the sunshine of spring, the little brown eyed friend of mine will return again, and there’ll be peace in the valley for me, oh Lord I pray.

Ya already know ‘bout spring starting at my house on March 1st. Well there are a couple reasons we do that. The main one being we’re so tired of winter we just can’t wait for spring to start. The second being March 1st is Saint David Day. So remember on St. David's day, put leeks in your hat. Leeks in your hat??

Now Saint David is certainly not one of the more popular saints like St. Nicklaus or even Saint Easter Bunny for that matter, but the patron saint of Wales, St. David, was born in the 6th century at Henfynw, Cardigan and his symbol is the leek. Back then they didn’t read and write like we do today, so people used objects to remind other people of who they were. Now using the object concept must have worked, ‘cause today we’re still talking ‘bout St. David and the Leeks. Which is said to have protected him in combat and was worn by his countrymen to distinguish themselves from their Saxon enemies during battles. Now can ya just imagine running around with leeks sticking out from under your hat? Or behind your ears if ya don’t own a hat.

The date of March 1st was chosen in remembrance of the death of Saint David on that day in 589, and has been celebrated by followers in Wales ever since then. The date was declared a national day of celebration within Wales in the 18th century. Both the Anglican and Catholic Church celebrate Saint David Day.

Not everybody knows it, but leeks grow quite well in Indiana, in fact, I have some growing close to the East Wing. These little things are kinda a mix between wild onions and garlic. They are one of the very first plants to pop out of the ground in the spring. Leeks grow all over from South Carolina to Canada. In Appalachian Mountains the Leeks are called Ramps. Don’t know why, they just are, every place else they’re called Leeks.

In West Virginia, Ramps are one of the most popular ingredients in their local cuisine. Course those folks in West Virginia also eat some rather unique meat dishes such as squirrel, raccoon and opossum. Now with that thought in mind, I guess ya need all the Ramps ya can get. I’m sure I’ll hear from West Virginia friends ‘bout the delicate taste of such mentioned meats of the mountains.

I never ate a raccoon, but did see one cooked one time. Went to a home with my dad when I was just a little boy. It was a two room house. One room for all the living and one for all the sleeping. They asked my dad and me to stay for a meal, I think is was to be supper. Back then hillbilly people didn’t eat dinner, we only ate supper. Ya had breakfast, lunch and supper. I didn’t even know ‘bout dinner till I came to Indiana. But back to the coon story.

Now these people were so glad that my dad and I were gona stay for supper, the lady of the house decided to bake a raccoon. Don’t know if it was fresh or frozen, hunted or store bought, but she made a big deal of showing me and my dad the thing before she put it into the oven. It was a big white thing, half the size of Pup Baby James, and the Pup Baby weighs more than 40 pounds, then she placed it into a Giant Roasting Pan along with onions, carrots and potatoes and put it into the oven of a coal and wood fired cook stove.

My dad and the man and woman who lived there enjoyed each other’s company and talked ‘bout stuff as the warm oven started to produce strange and usual smells inside the house. Being a little kid, I thought something bad had happened and no one wanted to say anything ‘bout it, just being polite. As time went on the smell go worse, or better depending on one’s point of view ‘bout cooking a coon, and I say that based solely on the comment of the man, when he said “Boy does that coon smell good”.

When my dad agreed about the smell, I knew I was in trouble with supper, ‘cause there’s no way I’m gona eat something that’s producing the smells in this little house. When ya do all your living in one room, it don’t take a lot of smells to fill the space, and this place was getting filled a lot from the stuff in the oven.

The lady started to cook other stuff to serve with the baked coon. Corn Bread, Home Canned Green Beans, Home Canned Corn, Cole Slaw and deviled eggs. And then she opened the oven. I thought it was bad before. It was worse.

The table was sat with plates, forks and knives, and all the food placed on the table, with the big Roster Oven in the middle of the table, with the lid still in place. We all took our place around the table, I sat on the same side as my dad, the man and woman sat across from us, nobody sat on the ends of the table. It was kinda an odd moment when they asked if my dad could say a prayer for them before we ate.

DUD ! With my dad being a preacher and all, he for sure was used to saying the supper prayer. But I wasn’t sure if this was his first prayer before eating a coon or not. My dad said things like thanking God for this happy family, and blessing their home, and being such good friends and thanking God for all the good things in our lives, and asking God to bless the hands that made the food, and asking God to protect us and stuff like that, my dad didn’t say anything direct of God ‘bout the coon. I don’t think these people said a lot of prayers before they ate meals.

‘Cause while my dad was praying instead of bowing my head, I kinda cheated and looked around a little bit. And sure enough, this man and woman weren’t doing what they were supposed to do either. They were kinda looking ‘round like me, like they were sorta lost. But when they looked at me, I acted like I was praying with my dad.

One good thing ‘bout my dad saying the before ya eat prayers, he didn’t do like some hillbilly preachers I know, pray for half an hour when you’re hungry, and then still never getting ‘round to thinking God for the real stuff. My dad always told me “There’s a time to preach and a time to pray, never get ‘em mixed up”. He could do both with extraordinary ability. A true man of his faith.

When my dad got done praying, the lady stood up and took the lid off the Roster Oven. I was so surprised to see what was inside. That big white coon had disappeared and in its place was a little brown loaf type thing ‘bout the size of 4 cans of Spam, standing up, side by side. And the pan, that Roster Oven Pan, was filled with what could only be called Coon Grease. ‘Cause when the lady used two forks to lift the little cooked coon the size of Spam onto a plate, it dripped just the like when ya take bacon from a frying pan, ‘cept this was a frying pan and it for sure wasn’t bacon.

The lady proceeded to dissect the cooked coon on the plate, pretty much removing the skeletal system and leaving the meat on the plate. Years later when I got into a rather unusual line of work, I thought I should’ve paid more attention to the cooked coon dissecting and would’ve had a jump on the learning process.

The plate was passed around the table, starting with my dad, he took some for himself and asked if I wanted some. I said no, he said ‘that’s ok’ and he passed the plate across the table. I was saved by my dad.

All the other stuff was really good. The Corn Bread and Sweet Milk, a meal in its self. I ate the Corn Bread and Sweet Milk twice. The Sweet Milk was the kind that didn’t come from the store. They kinda cut out the middle man so to speak, they got their milk direct from their cow. That kind of milk has all the cream floating on the top, so if ya like butter, wow, such a special treat. Sweet Milk and Corn Bread for a meal, try it sometime, you’ll be surprised.

We visited for a little while after supper, me and my dad. The man wanted to show my dad his cow. We went outside and walked down the hill and across the creek to his barn where the cow lived. Ya had to watch where ya stepped in the cow lot.

Inside we found the cow. The cow was brown, not brown like the cooked coon, brown like a brown cow. I touched the cow’s head, between her eyes. Cows can’t see your hand when ya touch the front part of their head, ‘cause cows can’t focus both eyes on a single point in front of them, and that’s why they eat grass and not meat. When God makes ya a meat eater, like people, ya can focus both eyes on what ya want to eat, even if it’s part of a cow.

Then we went home. When we got home the very first thing my dad done was tell my mom what we had for supper. They both laughed and laughed as they talked ‘bout that. I didn’t know the joke until years later, when someone asked my dad if he ever ate coon. His answer made me laugh when he said “Just once, but BobbyRay wouldn’t try any”

Later that same day I asked my dad why he ate the coon. He said “Those people prepared for me the very best they had to offer. The very least thing I could do was eat what was prepared.” I learned a lesson that day from my dad. After hearing it put that way, should it ever happen again, I’ll eat the raccoon like my dad.

Ya would have thought the world was coming to an end last week as Sophia The Republican Cat prepared to watch the Health Care Summit from Blair House, ‘cross the street from the White House.

She was beside herself with anger, “Why not in the White House? What are those people doing in there that they don’t want TV cameras to see? I hear they’ve stolen part of the furniture already, just like Bill Clinton, ‘cept Bill Clinton waited till he left to still the stuff, and these people started the second week they were there.. I hear there’s U-Haul Trucks coming up to the White House at night and they load ‘em up with stuff and they take it to Chicago and sell it and ACORN gets the money.” (Damn Republican Cat)

When I accused Sophia of sounding like a combination of Bill O’Reilly and Rush Limbaugh, well the cat was beside herself and threatened to move out of the house. Both Pup Baby and Gray Lady James offered to help her pack. Sarah, the White Angora, asked could she move into the Cat House when Sophia left. The threat of moving out was not working for Sophia, so she just retreated into the Cat House and stayed the rest of the day.

I checked on Sophia that evening before I went to bed, she was curled up asleep with her autographed picture of Herbert Hoover to her right and her autographed picture of Newt Gingrich to her right. Even in sleep, Sophia The Republican Cat wants nothing to do with the left. The next morning Sophia was fine.

Stay safe in Iraq and Afghanistan

From the East Wing with Saint David, And the Coming of Spring, Leeks and Ramps, Cooking Coon, Sophia Watching The Blair House Summit

I wish you well,
BobbyRay