To contact us Click HERE
William Clyde "Bill" Friday was born 92 years ago in the Rockbridge County, Va. community of Raphine, but he moved with his family to North Carolina as a child -- a historic event that in time would change North Carolina for the better. Friday's contributions to the state can be measured in the progress North Carolina made in the second half of the 20th Century, when Friday's sure-handed guidance of the University of North Carolina system contributed to the state's economic progress, the increase in its college-going rate and especially in his raising the expectations of students from low- and middle-income families that at the 17-campus UNC system, it would always be possible to go to college.
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
25 Şubat 2013 Pazartesi
Don't know if this tree made noise when it fell
To contact us Click HERE
So yesterday I noted that the howling wind from Sandy's remnants was still with us, as it is this morning, but that no trees had fallen. Yesterday afternoon, I rolled in from a trip down to Winston-Salem and saw that I was wrong -- that a three-stemmed (but long dead) locust tree had capsized after taking on too much wind.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
Cooked your holiday ham yet? No? Here's how!
To contact us Click HERE
Well, shoot, lookahere, it's barely two weeks before Christmas and I've been so busy trying to wind up work on a book that I plum forgot what ought to be a Christmastime tradition around these parts: A great recipe for the best ham you ever ate.
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
Bats in Crisis: Nature's Natural Pest Patrol in Peril
To contact us Click HERE
The National Park Service has released Bats in Crisis, three videos about white-nose syndrome, a disease that is decimating bat populations across eastern North America. The disease is found in 10 national parks. Its presence has just been confirmed in Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, and the National Park Service is concerned it will reach more parks.
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Chronic Wasting Disease in White-tailed Deer: National Park Service Requests Your Input
To contact us Click HERE
Chronic wasting disease (CWD) is an infectious pathogen that has been detected in white-tailed deer populations within 22 miles of Shenandoah National Park. CWD impacts the deer’s neurological system and is eventually fatal. Park managers are already planning how they will address CWD should it infect the park’s deer population (you can click here for background information).
The National Park Service is conducting a series of public meetings to present information and gather feedback to help inform its planning process. Attendees may also submit comments in writing on forms available at the meetings, online, or by mail, as described below.
Public meetings:
March 12 – Charlottesville, VA, 7-9 pm
The Educational Building at Ivy Creek Natural Area
1780 Earlysville Road
March 13 – Harrisonburg, VA, 7-9 pm
James Madison University
Integrated Science and Technology Building
nTelos Room #259
March 14 – Washington, VA, 7-9 pm
Washington Fire Hall
10 Firehouse Lane
Submit comments online by April 30
Submit comments by mail by April 30
National Park Service
Denver Service Center
c/o Erin Flanagan
PO Box 25287
Denver, CO 80225
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Chronic wasting disease (CWD) is an infectious pathogen that has been detected in white-tailed deer populations within 22 miles of Shenandoah National Park. CWD impacts the deer’s neurological system and is eventually fatal. Park managers are already planning how they will address CWD should it infect the park’s deer population (you can click here for background information).The National Park Service is conducting a series of public meetings to present information and gather feedback to help inform its planning process. Attendees may also submit comments in writing on forms available at the meetings, online, or by mail, as described below.
Public meetings:
March 12 – Charlottesville, VA, 7-9 pm
The Educational Building at Ivy Creek Natural Area
1780 Earlysville Road
March 13 – Harrisonburg, VA, 7-9 pm
James Madison University
Integrated Science and Technology Building
nTelos Room #259
March 14 – Washington, VA, 7-9 pm
Washington Fire Hall
10 Firehouse Lane
Submit comments online by April 30
Submit comments by mail by April 30
National Park Service
Denver Service Center
c/o Erin Flanagan
PO Box 25287
Denver, CO 80225
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
24 Şubat 2013 Pazar
Bill Friday, Virginia's gift to North Carolina
To contact us Click HERE
William Clyde "Bill" Friday was born 92 years ago in the Rockbridge County, Va. community of Raphine, but he moved with his family to North Carolina as a child -- a historic event that in time would change North Carolina for the better. Friday's contributions to the state can be measured in the progress North Carolina made in the second half of the 20th Century, when Friday's sure-handed guidance of the University of North Carolina system contributed to the state's economic progress, the increase in its college-going rate and especially in his raising the expectations of students from low- and middle-income families that at the 17-campus UNC system, it would always be possible to go to college.
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Don't know if this tree made noise when it fell
To contact us Click HERE
So yesterday I noted that the howling wind from Sandy's remnants was still with us, as it is this morning, but that no trees had fallen. Yesterday afternoon, I rolled in from a trip down to Winston-Salem and saw that I was wrong -- that a three-stemmed (but long dead) locust tree had capsized after taking on too much wind.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
Cooked your holiday ham yet? No? Here's how!
To contact us Click HERE
Well, shoot, lookahere, it's barely two weeks before Christmas and I've been so busy trying to wind up work on a book that I plum forgot what ought to be a Christmastime tradition around these parts: A great recipe for the best ham you ever ate.
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
Bats in Crisis: Nature's Natural Pest Patrol in Peril
To contact us Click HERE
The National Park Service has released Bats in Crisis, three videos about white-nose syndrome, a disease that is decimating bat populations across eastern North America. The disease is found in 10 national parks. Its presence has just been confirmed in Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, and the National Park Service is concerned it will reach more parks.
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Blount County Commission Condemns Backcountry Camping Fees
To contact us Click HERE
On February 13th Great Smoky Mountains National Park officials implemented the highly controversial backcountry camping fee plan. In response, the Blount County Commission passed a resolution condemning the fees during its meeting this past Thursday. The Commission is also asking the Tennessee General Assembly "to carefully investigate this matter and to join in formally opposing the imposition of the backcountry camping fee for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park". They're also asking the counties that surround the park to join in this resolution as well.
Because "a significant portion of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is situated in Blount County", Commissioners Tab Burkhalter and Tonya Burchfield offered this resolution (Resolution No. 13-02-008):
You can read all the reasons the Blount County Commissioners oppose the fees, as well as several supporting documents, by clicking on the February 21st meeting minutes document. This is an 805-page PDF document (12.75 mg). The portion concerning the fees begins on page 276.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Because "a significant portion of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is situated in Blount County", Commissioners Tab Burkhalter and Tonya Burchfield offered this resolution (Resolution No. 13-02-008):
A RESOLUTION TO OPPOSE THE BACKCOUNTRY CAMPING FEE FOR THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK, TO OPPOSE THE IMPOSITION OF ANY FEE FOR THE USE OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK THAT IS NOT DIRECTLY ASSOCIATED WITH THE USE OF AMENITIES OR A COMMERCIAL PURPOSE AND TO DEMAND IMMEDIATE REPEAL OF THE BACKCOUNTRY CAMPING FEE AND ASKING ALL COUNTIES TO JOIN IN PASSING THIS RESOLUTION AND FORWARDING IT TO THEIR STATE DELEGATESThe resolution offers several reasons as to why the commissioners oppose the fees, and then ends with the following statements:
NOW THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED, by the Board of Commissioners of Blount County, Tennessee, meeting in regular session on this, the 21st day of February, 2013, that this body formally opposes the imposition of the backcountry camping fee for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park set to take effect on February 13, 2013; that this body further opposes the imposition of any fee for the use of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park that is not directly associated with the use of amenities or a commercial purpose; and that this body demands an immediate repeal of the backcountry camping fee imposed upon the use of backcountry campsites and shelters in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park;Park Superintendent Dale Ditmanson, who attended the commission meeting on Thursday, stated: “The fact is, we began the civic engagement process almost two years ago. What is completely overlooked in the resolution is the fee is generally improving customer service.”
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED, that the Board of Commissioners of Blount County, Tennessee does hereby ask our delegates to the Tennessee General Assembly to carefully investigate this matter and to join in formally opposing the imposition of the backcountry camping fee for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park set to take effect on February 13, 2013; that our delegates further formally oppose the imposition of any fee for the use of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park that is not directlyassociated with the use of amenities or a commercial purpose; and that our delegates demand an immediate repeal of the backcountry camping fee imposed upon the use of backcountry campsites and shelters in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park;
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED, that the Board of Commissioners of Blount County, Tennessee hereby directs the office of the County Mayor to provide a copy of this resolution to all Tennessee counties and to encourage their legislative bodies to join in passing this resolution and forwarding it to their state delegations;
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED, that this Resolution shall take effect from and after its passage the public welfare requiring it.
Duly authorized and approved on this 21st day of February, 2013.
You can read all the reasons the Blount County Commissioners oppose the fees, as well as several supporting documents, by clicking on the February 21st meeting minutes document. This is an 805-page PDF document (12.75 mg). The portion concerning the fees begins on page 276.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
23 Şubat 2013 Cumartesi
Bill Friday, Virginia's gift to North Carolina
To contact us Click HERE
William Clyde "Bill" Friday was born 92 years ago in the Rockbridge County, Va. community of Raphine, but he moved with his family to North Carolina as a child -- a historic event that in time would change North Carolina for the better. Friday's contributions to the state can be measured in the progress North Carolina made in the second half of the 20th Century, when Friday's sure-handed guidance of the University of North Carolina system contributed to the state's economic progress, the increase in its college-going rate and especially in his raising the expectations of students from low- and middle-income families that at the 17-campus UNC system, it would always be possible to go to college.
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Don't know if this tree made noise when it fell
To contact us Click HERE
So yesterday I noted that the howling wind from Sandy's remnants was still with us, as it is this morning, but that no trees had fallen. Yesterday afternoon, I rolled in from a trip down to Winston-Salem and saw that I was wrong -- that a three-stemmed (but long dead) locust tree had capsized after taking on too much wind.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
Cooked your holiday ham yet? No? Here's how!
To contact us Click HERE
Well, shoot, lookahere, it's barely two weeks before Christmas and I've been so busy trying to wind up work on a book that I plum forgot what ought to be a Christmastime tradition around these parts: A great recipe for the best ham you ever ate.
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
Bats in Crisis: Nature's Natural Pest Patrol in Peril
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The National Park Service has released Bats in Crisis, three videos about white-nose syndrome, a disease that is decimating bat populations across eastern North America. The disease is found in 10 national parks. Its presence has just been confirmed in Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, and the National Park Service is concerned it will reach more parks.
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Long-time Smokies Volunteer Wins Hartzog Award
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This past Thursday night seven Park Rangers and Volunteers were honored in Washington, DC for their outstanding service to the National Park Service. The seven received the 2012 Harry Yount National Park Ranger Award and the Hartzog Awards for Outstanding Volunteer Service.
The National Park Service and the National Park Foundation presented Ranger Brandon Torres from the Grand Canyon with the 2012 Harry Yount National Park Ranger Award for excellence in the art of rangering. Named after the first known park ranger, the award is the agency’s most prestigious ranger honor.
Among the six volunteers receiving Hartzog Awards was Robin Goddard from Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Goddard, who received the Hartzog Enduring Volunteer Service Award, was recognized as an excellent interpreter, teacher, storyteller, and trainer that has provided more than 12,000 hours of outstanding volunteer service over the last 43 years.
For more information on the awards and the other recipients, please click here.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
The National Park Service and the National Park Foundation presented Ranger Brandon Torres from the Grand Canyon with the 2012 Harry Yount National Park Ranger Award for excellence in the art of rangering. Named after the first known park ranger, the award is the agency’s most prestigious ranger honor.
Among the six volunteers receiving Hartzog Awards was Robin Goddard from Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Goddard, who received the Hartzog Enduring Volunteer Service Award, was recognized as an excellent interpreter, teacher, storyteller, and trainer that has provided more than 12,000 hours of outstanding volunteer service over the last 43 years.
"Robin has developed material for curriculum-based programs, taught countless outdoor classes, assisted scientists with collecting data, developed first person historical programs, and served as a formal Great Smoky Mountains Ambassador through outreach programs in the community. Because of Robin’s passion, knowledge, and professionalism, she often represents the park by conducting special programs for dignitaries, politicians, and other special park guests. She performs these duties while also faithfully conducting her weekly interpretive program for visitors April through October, rain or shine. Through her highly attended weekly program at Little Greenbrier Schoolhouse, Robin continually engages and educates the public, young and old alike, while also creating future park advocates."The Hartzog Awards are named for former National Park Service Director George B. Hartzog, Jr., who started the extremely successful Volunteers-In-Parks (VIP) Program in 1970.
For more information on the awards and the other recipients, please click here.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
22 Şubat 2013 Cuma
Undercover Wildlife Poaching Operation also targets violators in the Smokies
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Yesterday I posted an article about Operation Something Bruin, an undercover wildlife poaching operation that has targeted about 80 wildlife violators, and some 980 violations over the last four years. The US Forest Service press release stated that the operation involved wildlife officials in North Carolina and Georgia.
Today we learned from NPS Digest that the operation also took place in the Great Smoky Mountains, and may involve other states adjacent to NC and GA.
State and federal wildlife officials in North Carolina and Georgia have announced an undercover operation that involved about 80 wildlife violators and some 980 violations. Some of these offenses occurred within the park’s boundaries and the investigation may lead to the filing of federal charges in coming weeks.
Primary violations documented by Operation Something Bruin stem from illegal bear hunting, but include an array of state wildlife and game law charges. The four-year investigation, the largest of its kind in recent years, targeted poachers in North Carolina and Georgia, with work in some adjacent states. Officers with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources and the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission infiltrated poaching circles to document violations, that included bear baiting, the illegal taking of bears, deer and other wildlife, the illegal use of dogs, the illegal operation of bear pens in North Carolina, and guiding hunts on national forest lands without the required permits.
Participation in the operation were officers and rangers from the U.S. Forest Service, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Park Service.
You can learn more about Operation Something Bruin by clicking here.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Today we learned from NPS Digest that the operation also took place in the Great Smoky Mountains, and may involve other states adjacent to NC and GA.
State and federal wildlife officials in North Carolina and Georgia have announced an undercover operation that involved about 80 wildlife violators and some 980 violations. Some of these offenses occurred within the park’s boundaries and the investigation may lead to the filing of federal charges in coming weeks. Primary violations documented by Operation Something Bruin stem from illegal bear hunting, but include an array of state wildlife and game law charges. The four-year investigation, the largest of its kind in recent years, targeted poachers in North Carolina and Georgia, with work in some adjacent states. Officers with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources and the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission infiltrated poaching circles to document violations, that included bear baiting, the illegal taking of bears, deer and other wildlife, the illegal use of dogs, the illegal operation of bear pens in North Carolina, and guiding hunts on national forest lands without the required permits.
Participation in the operation were officers and rangers from the U.S. Forest Service, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Park Service.
You can learn more about Operation Something Bruin by clicking here.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
The 'Skunk Works' bass
To contact us Click HERE
My career as a bass fiddle player has been only slightly more successful than my career as a pitcher in the big leagues. Which is to say, I would have starved to death during the Johnson Administration if we had depended on either one of them to put food on the table, although I played a whole lot more bass in my youth than I ever threw in organized baseball. I pretty much gave up on the baseball thing at about age 10 or 12, when I could throw a blazing fastball that nobody every knew, including me, where it was going. I once walked a fellow on a fourth pitch that went over the backstop in a sandlot game. I think they're still looking for the ball.
But for years, after falling in love with the bass sound while playing an old brass Sousaphone in the band at Aycock Junior High School in Greensboro, I fooled around with a bass fiddle. In high school days a bunch of us got up a folk music group and decided we'd be the next Kingston Trio. I borrowed an old, beat-up, dark-brown aluminum bass fiddle from the father of a friend and we played all over Greensboro and sometimes as far away as Danville, VA. We entered a big contest where the prize was an appearance on the Arthur Smith Television Show down in Charlotte, knowing we'd win. (I recently mentioned this to a friend who, unbeknownst to me, had grown up in Greensboro, and he said, "Wait a minute, did you guys have on wide-striped shirts?" We did. He saw us that day long ago, 1963 I guess, up on a tractor trailer bandstand. And so he also saw us not win the thing, not go on to the bigtime in the Queen City, not go on to great fame and fortune in the entertainment business.)
But we kept playing, despite the fact I couldn't read a lick of music, didn't know how to figure out what key some sheet music was in, didn't even know proper technique. See, I thought the beauty of the bass fiddle was you just listened to what other folks were playing and pick out about three pairs of notes and figure out real quick how you could do a little walk up or down the strings. And that beat-to-a-pulp old aluminum bass sounded pretty dadgum good.
Years later, when I got a big raise one year, I bought a 1946 Kay double bass, nicked and gouged and cracked in places, and played it for decades with my high school buddies, a band called the Villagers. Thought about that old aluminum bass from time to time, but not much. I figured some sheet-metal genius somewhere had made a one-off version of the traditional spruce bass. Sometimes I'd tell somebody about it, and they'd say something like, "You're kidding! Aluminum? No way."
A couple years ago my '46 Kay, made the same year I was, burned in a house fire. I've been looking for a good replacement ever since. Played an inexpensive late model substitute for about 18 months, but the other day drove up the Shenandoah Valley on a mission to Jerry Fretwell's bass shop in downtown Staunton, VA. He and his wife Mary Jane have a great website (www.fretwellbass.com) where you can see all these old basses he has -- a bunch of Kays, dating to the 1930s, and a rare Gibson bass, one of 85 that company made, and some other brands of old basses as well. Jerry also buys new Engelhardts, which bought up the old Kay brand, and customizes them for folks who want a fancier new one. I had my eye on a 1940 Kay and a 1952 Kay that I had spotted on his website. They were in pretty good shape and sounded great, but I fell for a 1959 Kay with a blonde finish, a new bridge and a set of Super Silver strings that Jerry installed as I watched. Soooooo much easier to play that the metal-wound strings I had on my interim base. I'm taking lessons now from Mike Mitchell over in Floyd VA (http://www.mitchellmusicco.com/) -- and learning things I should have known, oh, about 50 years ago. It's a revelation.
But the thing that really knocked me out was what I saw in Fretwell's front window: an aluminum bass, painted to look just like wood grain. In fact, it was one of three aluminum basses in the windows -- one of them flat white, and another off to the side in a bright shiny silver. They were made in the late 1920s and 1930s, all aluminum, and they were part of a collection the Fretwells have.
Here's a photo from the Fretwell website:
Turns out there was quite a production of aluminum basses in this country, starting in the late 19th century and championed, for at least a little while, by the Aluminum Company of America (ALCOA). I found a website that said the first ALCOA bases were turned out in the company's "skunk works" in Buffalo, where the company would fashion experimental products from aluminum. Eventually the company made 500 of those aluminum basses, each selling in the $200 to $240 range when new. There were other brands as well in the aluminum bass business.
The website http://kaybassrepair.com/aluminium-instruments/ notes, "The faux natural wood was well done; the top had graining and color close to that of a dark varnished tight grain spruce and the back / ribs have a faux curly figured grain patterning. AlCoA had a fifty step patented process for creating this finish. From the distance of a bandstand or stage, you’ll have trouble identifying it from a wooden instrument."
I have no clue whether that old brown-painted tin bass I borrowed in Greensboro all these years ago was an ALCOA bass or an Aluminum Musical Instrument or even one of the G.A. Pfretzschner basses, but I do know that that it looked every bit like what you'd think of when you hear the term "skunk factory." But beat up as it was, it would make a joyful noise.
But for years, after falling in love with the bass sound while playing an old brass Sousaphone in the band at Aycock Junior High School in Greensboro, I fooled around with a bass fiddle. In high school days a bunch of us got up a folk music group and decided we'd be the next Kingston Trio. I borrowed an old, beat-up, dark-brown aluminum bass fiddle from the father of a friend and we played all over Greensboro and sometimes as far away as Danville, VA. We entered a big contest where the prize was an appearance on the Arthur Smith Television Show down in Charlotte, knowing we'd win. (I recently mentioned this to a friend who, unbeknownst to me, had grown up in Greensboro, and he said, "Wait a minute, did you guys have on wide-striped shirts?" We did. He saw us that day long ago, 1963 I guess, up on a tractor trailer bandstand. And so he also saw us not win the thing, not go on to the bigtime in the Queen City, not go on to great fame and fortune in the entertainment business.)
 |
| The Villagers in 2004, Cane Creek Valley, Buncombe County |
But we kept playing, despite the fact I couldn't read a lick of music, didn't know how to figure out what key some sheet music was in, didn't even know proper technique. See, I thought the beauty of the bass fiddle was you just listened to what other folks were playing and pick out about three pairs of notes and figure out real quick how you could do a little walk up or down the strings. And that beat-to-a-pulp old aluminum bass sounded pretty dadgum good.
Years later, when I got a big raise one year, I bought a 1946 Kay double bass, nicked and gouged and cracked in places, and played it for decades with my high school buddies, a band called the Villagers. Thought about that old aluminum bass from time to time, but not much. I figured some sheet-metal genius somewhere had made a one-off version of the traditional spruce bass. Sometimes I'd tell somebody about it, and they'd say something like, "You're kidding! Aluminum? No way."
A couple years ago my '46 Kay, made the same year I was, burned in a house fire. I've been looking for a good replacement ever since. Played an inexpensive late model substitute for about 18 months, but the other day drove up the Shenandoah Valley on a mission to Jerry Fretwell's bass shop in downtown Staunton, VA. He and his wife Mary Jane have a great website (www.fretwellbass.com) where you can see all these old basses he has -- a bunch of Kays, dating to the 1930s, and a rare Gibson bass, one of 85 that company made, and some other brands of old basses as well. Jerry also buys new Engelhardts, which bought up the old Kay brand, and customizes them for folks who want a fancier new one. I had my eye on a 1940 Kay and a 1952 Kay that I had spotted on his website. They were in pretty good shape and sounded great, but I fell for a 1959 Kay with a blonde finish, a new bridge and a set of Super Silver strings that Jerry installed as I watched. Soooooo much easier to play that the metal-wound strings I had on my interim base. I'm taking lessons now from Mike Mitchell over in Floyd VA (http://www.mitchellmusicco.com/) -- and learning things I should have known, oh, about 50 years ago. It's a revelation.
But the thing that really knocked me out was what I saw in Fretwell's front window: an aluminum bass, painted to look just like wood grain. In fact, it was one of three aluminum basses in the windows -- one of them flat white, and another off to the side in a bright shiny silver. They were made in the late 1920s and 1930s, all aluminum, and they were part of a collection the Fretwells have.
Here's a photo from the Fretwell website:
 |
| Aluminum basses, every one. |
Turns out there was quite a production of aluminum basses in this country, starting in the late 19th century and championed, for at least a little while, by the Aluminum Company of America (ALCOA). I found a website that said the first ALCOA bases were turned out in the company's "skunk works" in Buffalo, where the company would fashion experimental products from aluminum. Eventually the company made 500 of those aluminum basses, each selling in the $200 to $240 range when new. There were other brands as well in the aluminum bass business.
The website http://kaybassrepair.com/aluminium-instruments/ notes, "The faux natural wood was well done; the top had graining and color close to that of a dark varnished tight grain spruce and the back / ribs have a faux curly figured grain patterning. AlCoA had a fifty step patented process for creating this finish. From the distance of a bandstand or stage, you’ll have trouble identifying it from a wooden instrument."
I have no clue whether that old brown-painted tin bass I borrowed in Greensboro all these years ago was an ALCOA bass or an Aluminum Musical Instrument or even one of the G.A. Pfretzschner basses, but I do know that that it looked every bit like what you'd think of when you hear the term "skunk factory." But beat up as it was, it would make a joyful noise.
Bill Friday, Virginia's gift to North Carolina
To contact us Click HERE
William Clyde "Bill" Friday was born 92 years ago in the Rockbridge County, Va. community of Raphine, but he moved with his family to North Carolina as a child -- a historic event that in time would change North Carolina for the better. Friday's contributions to the state can be measured in the progress North Carolina made in the second half of the 20th Century, when Friday's sure-handed guidance of the University of North Carolina system contributed to the state's economic progress, the increase in its college-going rate and especially in his raising the expectations of students from low- and middle-income families that at the 17-campus UNC system, it would always be possible to go to college.
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Don't know if this tree made noise when it fell
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So yesterday I noted that the howling wind from Sandy's remnants was still with us, as it is this morning, but that no trees had fallen. Yesterday afternoon, I rolled in from a trip down to Winston-Salem and saw that I was wrong -- that a three-stemmed (but long dead) locust tree had capsized after taking on too much wind.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
Cooked your holiday ham yet? No? Here's how!
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Well, shoot, lookahere, it's barely two weeks before Christmas and I've been so busy trying to wind up work on a book that I plum forgot what ought to be a Christmastime tradition around these parts: A great recipe for the best ham you ever ate.
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
21 Şubat 2013 Perşembe
Bill Friday, Virginia's gift to North Carolina
To contact us Click HERE
William Clyde "Bill" Friday was born 92 years ago in the Rockbridge County, Va. community of Raphine, but he moved with his family to North Carolina as a child -- a historic event that in time would change North Carolina for the better. Friday's contributions to the state can be measured in the progress North Carolina made in the second half of the 20th Century, when Friday's sure-handed guidance of the University of North Carolina system contributed to the state's economic progress, the increase in its college-going rate and especially in his raising the expectations of students from low- and middle-income families that at the 17-campus UNC system, it would always be possible to go to college.
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Bill Friday was my friend, though I never could quite bring myself to call him "Bill." He did not have a doctorate and didn't particularly like to be called Dr. Friday, though many did. Most of the time it was simply "Mr. Friday," and many was the time when Friday would have some issue on his mind, or a suggestion for an editorial, or a story one of our reporters might tackle, and when I answered the phone, the conversation would start this way: "Hello, old friend. This is Bill Friday...."
I'll miss his friendship and guidance, and his even-handed approach, as will North Carolina, but perhaps our policymakers will keep his approach and his convictions in mind in future as they make tough decisions.
Here's a piece I wrote for today's Charlotte Observer about Mr. Friday:
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/10/12/3594015/how-to-pay-debt-of-gratitude-to.html
Don't know if this tree made noise when it fell
To contact us Click HERE
So yesterday I noted that the howling wind from Sandy's remnants was still with us, as it is this morning, but that no trees had fallen. Yesterday afternoon, I rolled in from a trip down to Winston-Salem and saw that I was wrong -- that a three-stemmed (but long dead) locust tree had capsized after taking on too much wind.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
If it blew over in the night or the day, no one heard it above the screech of the wind -- maybe because it's not big at all. I expect we'll get out the chain saws to make firewood billets and the splitter to bring it to size and the tractor to yank the stump this weekend. At least we shouldn't have to wait for the wood to season. I think it's ready now. Come to think of it, the storm did us a favor on this old tree.
Cooked your holiday ham yet? No? Here's how!
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Well, shoot, lookahere, it's barely two weeks before Christmas and I've been so busy trying to wind up work on a book that I plum forgot what ought to be a Christmastime tradition around these parts: A great recipe for the best ham you ever ate.
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
It's important, of course, this being the Southern Appalachians and all, and as Southerners we have a duty to eat good pork and support an industry that has given the free world Smithfield hams in Virginia and pit-cooked barbecue in North Carolina and even something they call BBQ in more Southern climes. Plus, you're going to need some ham and some greens and some black-eyed peas on New Years Day, assuming you want to start 2013 off on a good foot.
My Dad considered himself one of the world's foremost experts in eating ham. Not the raising of ham, or the curing or the cooking or anything else related to the fixing. Nossir, he just liked to eat 'em. The ones he especially liked he called "hammus alabammus" -- from the pet pig Salomey belonging to the Yokum family in Al Capp's sometimes hilarious comic strip, Li'l Abner. Dad would rate how country a ham was by quarts. "That was a three-quart ham we had tonight," he'd say, referring not to the volume of ham we'd just wolfed down, but on how many quarts of water he'd likely have to drink that evening to deal with the salt factor before he hit the rack. The more quarts, the better he liked it, and don't mention any of this to his salt-obsessed doctor, who'd surely read him seven riot acts for consuming so much salt and revving up his heart rate to about the same pace as Ol' 97 when it came screaming down the line toward Danville.
But I digress. The thing about the ham we've learned to enjoy up here is not only how good it is, but how you can make a house party out of fixing it. Or not, as you see fit, but it's always good to have a little Irish whiskey around to sip on while dreaming of what that ham-in-the-works aroma really means. It means you are about to do some fine eating.
This set of instructions first appeared online, I think, in a blog of The Charlotte Observer, but it has its roots in the Person County N.C. community of Roxboro. My neighbor Barnie Day passed it on to me a few years back and has demonstrated several times in the past year that this thing works well every time. I can't improve on Barnie's writing or his cooking, so here it is, in his own words. Enjoy:
This is the world’s best way to cook a country ham. Guaranteed. Period. Scout’s honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. And it’s not original. Of course, I stole it. And, as luck would have it, it is also the easiest. Often the case. We overcomplicate a lot of things. Cooking a ham is one of them.
Let’s start with the ham itself, and how it was cured.
There are lots of run-of-the-mill brands, some of them old and famous but still run-of-the-mill, brands that owe their reputations more to glossy catalogues and clever and expensive marketing campaigns than they do to judge-by-eating juries.
Many of these hams are cured “inside out,” needle-embalmed with nitrate injections. They are not the best hams -- often more expensive -- but not the best.
Still, these hams eat okay -- unless you’ve eaten ham cured like your granddaddy cured it, ham cured the old way.
He cured his hams “outside in.” He didn’t know about nitrate injections. (And if he had, he wouldn’t have done it to his hams!) He simply packed his fresh in plain salt for six to eight weeks, took them up, washed and dried them, maybe smoked them a little, maybe not, probably peppered them, hung them in cotton sacking in a cool place, out of reach of the dogs, and aged them for several months.
A note here: don’t be flummoxed by the term “sugar cured.” Often salt is mixed with sugar, with pepper, with molasses, with honey -- all kinds of stuff -- and labeled some fancy “cure,” or another, but these things -- including smoke -- be it apple wood, hickory, whatever -- only flavor hams. What cures, or preserves, a ham is the salt that it absorbs during the curing process.
Buy whatever brand you want. For my money, the best country ham in this part of the world, the one closest to what your granddaddy cured, is a Clifty Farm ham, processed for 60 years or so by the Murphey Family, in Paris, Tennessee. They’re usually available, and reasonably priced, across Southside Virginia around Christmastime. ($1.79 a pound at the Piggly Wiggly in Danville.)
[Also available, our scouts in the field have advised us, at Slaughter's in Floyd. And now, back to Barnie:)
Okay, now let’s cook that bad boy!
Unwrap the ham and wash it. Yeah, they all have a little mold. No big deal. Really. It would cause me some concern if it didn’t have mold on it. Just palm it off with a little warm water. Two minutes, tops.
Put the ham in a pot that you have a top for. I always have to cut the hock off so it will fit the pot I use. They’ll cut the hock off for you at the grocery store. If I have to tell you what that hock is good for, stop reading this and move on. You got no business with a country ham. Either that, or you’re a Yankee, and threw the ham out when you saw the mold.
Fill the pot with water until the ham is covered with 3-4 inches, put the top on, and bring it to a boil.
Now here is the trick to this: As soon as it begins to boil, you take it off the stove. That’s right. Off the stove when it begins to boil. Set it somewhere where it will be out of your way.
Now we’re going to wrap that puppy up. Pot and all. You can use most anything -- towels, an old blanket, a quilt, a sleeping bag. The patio lounge cushion works well. That’s what I use. The idea is to insulate the pot so that it holds the heat.
I put an inch or so of newspaper under the pot, the same amount on top, wrap the patio cushion around it, and tie the cushion in place with baling twine. This doesn’t take five minutes. Just make sure it’s insulated good.
When you get it wrapped, leave it alone. Walk away from it. Forget about it for 12 hours. Just let it sit.
After 12 hours, remove the wrap, and take the ham out of the pot and put it on a baking pan. Careful here—even after sitting 12 hours, the water will be too hot for you to put your hands in.
Trim the skin off, score a diamond pattern on the thin layer of encasing fat, rub into it a cup of white sugar, put the ham -- uncovered -- in the oven and bake it for 2 hours at 275 degrees. And that’s it. You’re done. Let it cool before slicing.
Merry Christmas. And best to you and yourn.
Barnie K. Day
Meadows of Dan, VA
Bats in Crisis: Nature's Natural Pest Patrol in Peril
To contact us Click HERE
The National Park Service has released Bats in Crisis, three videos about white-nose syndrome, a disease that is decimating bat populations across eastern North America. The disease is found in 10 national parks. Its presence has just been confirmed in Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, and the National Park Service is concerned it will reach more parks.
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
“White-nose syndrome is killing hibernating bats at unprecedented rates and has the potential to cause extinction in some species,” said National Park Service Director Jonathan B. Jarvis. “Each bat can eat thousands of insects each night so their loss would be a blow to ecosystem conservation and the agriculture industry that relies on the natural pest control and pollination services bats provide. We need the public’s help to limit the spread of this disease so we are asking visitors to take a look at these videos and understand what steps they can take when touring or exploring caves.”
The Bats in Crisis videos feature National Park Service scientists, technicians, and educators and are online here. Cave park visitors can access the videos using “QR” codes affixed to signs, kiosks, brochures, and other media.
White-nose syndrome is caused by a cold-adapted fungus, Geomyces destructans. The disease – which is not transmittable to humans – was first observed in caves near Albany, N.Y., in the winter of 2006–2007. Since then, white-nose syndrome has spread to 18 more states and four Canadian provinces. It has been detected in seven species of hibernating bats, and G. destructans has been found on two additional species, apparently without causing white-nose syndrome.
The 10 national parks that have reported bats with white-nose syndrome are: Acadia National Park (Maine), Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historic Park (Washington, D.C, Md., W.Va.), Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park (Ga. Tenn.), Cumberland Gap National Historical Park (Ky., Tenn., Va.), Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (N.J., Pa.), Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C., Tenn.), Mammoth Cave National Park (Ky.), New River Gorge National River (W.Va.), Ozark National Scenic Riverways (Mo.), and Russell Cave National Monument (Ala.).
National parks across the country have implemented management and educational activities to help minimize the spread of the disease and work collaboratively with federal, state, tribal, and private groups to improve understanding of the disease.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in the National Park Service, visit: www.nature.nps.gov/biology/WNS/index.cfm.
For more information about white-nose syndrome in general visit: www.whitenosesyndrome.org.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Undercover Wildlife Operation Cracks Down on Poaching in NC & GA
To contact us Click HERE
State and federal wildlife officials in North Carolina and Georgia announced yesterday an undercover operation that involved about 80 wildlife violators and some 980 violations.
Primary violations documented by Operation Something Bruin stem from illegal bear hunting but include an array of state wildlife and game law charges. Some suspects could also face federal charges.
The four-year investigation, the largest of its kind in recent years, targeted poachers in North Carolina and Georgia, with work in some adjacent states. Officers began making arrests Tuesday, Feb. 19.
“Operation Something Bruin documented hundreds of wildlife violations. Today’s arrests bring an immediate halt to those crimes and, we hope, will make would-be violators think twice before breaking the law,” said Col. Dale Caveny, law enforcement chief for the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission. “Our long-term goal is to deter illegal wildlife activities from taking place in the future and serve notice to everyone that wildlife officers are ever vigilant in the service of conservation and public safety.”
Officers with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources and the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission infiltrated poaching circles to document violations including bear baiting; illegal take of bears, deer and other wildlife; illegal use of dogs; illegal operation of bear pens in North Carolina; and, guiding hunts on national forest lands without the required permits.
Operation Something Bruin partners also included the U.S. Forest Service, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Park Service.
For those who persist in wildlife theft, Something Bruin will help agencies better train officers to catch them – an effort strongly supported by hunters and anglers, our nation’s first conservationists.
You can learn more about Operation Something Bruin by clicking here.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
Primary violations documented by Operation Something Bruin stem from illegal bear hunting but include an array of state wildlife and game law charges. Some suspects could also face federal charges.
The four-year investigation, the largest of its kind in recent years, targeted poachers in North Carolina and Georgia, with work in some adjacent states. Officers began making arrests Tuesday, Feb. 19. “Operation Something Bruin documented hundreds of wildlife violations. Today’s arrests bring an immediate halt to those crimes and, we hope, will make would-be violators think twice before breaking the law,” said Col. Dale Caveny, law enforcement chief for the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission. “Our long-term goal is to deter illegal wildlife activities from taking place in the future and serve notice to everyone that wildlife officers are ever vigilant in the service of conservation and public safety.”
Officers with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources and the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission infiltrated poaching circles to document violations including bear baiting; illegal take of bears, deer and other wildlife; illegal use of dogs; illegal operation of bear pens in North Carolina; and, guiding hunts on national forest lands without the required permits.
Operation Something Bruin partners also included the U.S. Forest Service, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Park Service.
For those who persist in wildlife theft, Something Bruin will help agencies better train officers to catch them – an effort strongly supported by hunters and anglers, our nation’s first conservationists.
You can learn more about Operation Something Bruin by clicking here.
Jeff
Hiking in the Smokies
20 Şubat 2013 Çarşamba
The 'Skunk Works' bass
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My career as a bass fiddle player has been only slightly more successful than my career as a pitcher in the big leagues. Which is to say, I would have starved to death during the Johnson Administration if we had depended on either one of them to put food on the table, although I played a whole lot more bass in my youth than I ever threw in organized baseball. I pretty much gave up on the baseball thing at about age 10 or 12, when I could throw a blazing fastball that nobody every knew, including me, where it was going. I once walked a fellow on a fourth pitch that went over the backstop in a sandlot game. I think they're still looking for the ball.
But for years, after falling in love with the bass sound while playing an old brass Sousaphone in the band at Aycock Junior High School in Greensboro, I fooled around with a bass fiddle. In high school days a bunch of us got up a folk music group and decided we'd be the next Kingston Trio. I borrowed an old, beat-up, dark-brown aluminum bass fiddle from the father of a friend and we played all over Greensboro and sometimes as far away as Danville, VA. We entered a big contest where the prize was an appearance on the Arthur Smith Television Show down in Charlotte, knowing we'd win. (I recently mentioned this to a friend who, unbeknownst to me, had grown up in Greensboro, and he said, "Wait a minute, did you guys have on wide-striped shirts?" We did. He saw us that day long ago, 1963 I guess, up on a tractor trailer bandstand. And so he also saw us not win the thing, not go on to the bigtime in the Queen City, not go on to great fame and fortune in the entertainment business.)
But we kept playing, despite the fact I couldn't read a lick of music, didn't know how to figure out what key some sheet music was in, didn't even know proper technique. See, I thought the beauty of the bass fiddle was you just listened to what other folks were playing and pick out about three pairs of notes and figure out real quick how you could do a little walk up or down the strings. And that beat-to-a-pulp old aluminum bass sounded pretty dadgum good.
Years later, when I got a big raise one year, I bought a 1946 Kay double bass, nicked and gouged and cracked in places, and played it for decades with my high school buddies, a band called the Villagers. Thought about that old aluminum bass from time to time, but not much. I figured some sheet-metal genius somewhere had made a one-off version of the traditional spruce bass. Sometimes I'd tell somebody about it, and they'd say something like, "You're kidding! Aluminum? No way."
A couple years ago my '46 Kay, made the same year I was, burned in a house fire. I've been looking for a good replacement ever since. Played an inexpensive late model substitute for about 18 months, but the other day drove up the Shenandoah Valley on a mission to Jerry Fretwell's bass shop in downtown Staunton, VA. He and his wife Mary Jane have a great website (www.fretwellbass.com) where you can see all these old basses he has -- a bunch of Kays, dating to the 1930s, and a rare Gibson bass, one of 85 that company made, and some other brands of old basses as well. Jerry also buys new Engelhardts, which bought up the old Kay brand, and customizes them for folks who want a fancier new one. I had my eye on a 1940 Kay and a 1952 Kay that I had spotted on his website. They were in pretty good shape and sounded great, but I fell for a 1959 Kay with a blonde finish, a new bridge and a set of Super Silver strings that Jerry installed as I watched. Soooooo much easier to play that the metal-wound strings I had on my interim base. I'm taking lessons now from Mike Mitchell over in Floyd VA (http://www.mitchellmusicco.com/) -- and learning things I should have known, oh, about 50 years ago. It's a revelation.
But the thing that really knocked me out was what I saw in Fretwell's front window: an aluminum bass, painted to look just like wood grain. In fact, it was one of three aluminum basses in the windows -- one of them flat white, and another off to the side in a bright shiny silver. They were made in the late 1920s and 1930s, all aluminum, and they were part of a collection the Fretwells have.
Here's a photo from the Fretwell website:
Turns out there was quite a production of aluminum basses in this country, starting in the late 19th century and championed, for at least a little while, by the Aluminum Company of America (ALCOA). I found a website that said the first ALCOA bases were turned out in the company's "skunk works" in Buffalo, where the company would fashion experimental products from aluminum. Eventually the company made 500 of those aluminum basses, each selling in the $200 to $240 range when new. There were other brands as well in the aluminum bass business.
The website http://kaybassrepair.com/aluminium-instruments/ notes, "The faux natural wood was well done; the top had graining and color close to that of a dark varnished tight grain spruce and the back / ribs have a faux curly figured grain patterning. AlCoA had a fifty step patented process for creating this finish. From the distance of a bandstand or stage, you’ll have trouble identifying it from a wooden instrument."
I have no clue whether that old brown-painted tin bass I borrowed in Greensboro all these years ago was an ALCOA bass or an Aluminum Musical Instrument or even one of the G.A. Pfretzschner basses, but I do know that that it looked every bit like what you'd think of when you hear the term "skunk factory." But beat up as it was, it would make a joyful noise.
But for years, after falling in love with the bass sound while playing an old brass Sousaphone in the band at Aycock Junior High School in Greensboro, I fooled around with a bass fiddle. In high school days a bunch of us got up a folk music group and decided we'd be the next Kingston Trio. I borrowed an old, beat-up, dark-brown aluminum bass fiddle from the father of a friend and we played all over Greensboro and sometimes as far away as Danville, VA. We entered a big contest where the prize was an appearance on the Arthur Smith Television Show down in Charlotte, knowing we'd win. (I recently mentioned this to a friend who, unbeknownst to me, had grown up in Greensboro, and he said, "Wait a minute, did you guys have on wide-striped shirts?" We did. He saw us that day long ago, 1963 I guess, up on a tractor trailer bandstand. And so he also saw us not win the thing, not go on to the bigtime in the Queen City, not go on to great fame and fortune in the entertainment business.)
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| The Villagers in 2004, Cane Creek Valley, Buncombe County |
But we kept playing, despite the fact I couldn't read a lick of music, didn't know how to figure out what key some sheet music was in, didn't even know proper technique. See, I thought the beauty of the bass fiddle was you just listened to what other folks were playing and pick out about three pairs of notes and figure out real quick how you could do a little walk up or down the strings. And that beat-to-a-pulp old aluminum bass sounded pretty dadgum good.
Years later, when I got a big raise one year, I bought a 1946 Kay double bass, nicked and gouged and cracked in places, and played it for decades with my high school buddies, a band called the Villagers. Thought about that old aluminum bass from time to time, but not much. I figured some sheet-metal genius somewhere had made a one-off version of the traditional spruce bass. Sometimes I'd tell somebody about it, and they'd say something like, "You're kidding! Aluminum? No way."
A couple years ago my '46 Kay, made the same year I was, burned in a house fire. I've been looking for a good replacement ever since. Played an inexpensive late model substitute for about 18 months, but the other day drove up the Shenandoah Valley on a mission to Jerry Fretwell's bass shop in downtown Staunton, VA. He and his wife Mary Jane have a great website (www.fretwellbass.com) where you can see all these old basses he has -- a bunch of Kays, dating to the 1930s, and a rare Gibson bass, one of 85 that company made, and some other brands of old basses as well. Jerry also buys new Engelhardts, which bought up the old Kay brand, and customizes them for folks who want a fancier new one. I had my eye on a 1940 Kay and a 1952 Kay that I had spotted on his website. They were in pretty good shape and sounded great, but I fell for a 1959 Kay with a blonde finish, a new bridge and a set of Super Silver strings that Jerry installed as I watched. Soooooo much easier to play that the metal-wound strings I had on my interim base. I'm taking lessons now from Mike Mitchell over in Floyd VA (http://www.mitchellmusicco.com/) -- and learning things I should have known, oh, about 50 years ago. It's a revelation.
But the thing that really knocked me out was what I saw in Fretwell's front window: an aluminum bass, painted to look just like wood grain. In fact, it was one of three aluminum basses in the windows -- one of them flat white, and another off to the side in a bright shiny silver. They were made in the late 1920s and 1930s, all aluminum, and they were part of a collection the Fretwells have.
Here's a photo from the Fretwell website:
|
| Aluminum basses, every one. |
Turns out there was quite a production of aluminum basses in this country, starting in the late 19th century and championed, for at least a little while, by the Aluminum Company of America (ALCOA). I found a website that said the first ALCOA bases were turned out in the company's "skunk works" in Buffalo, where the company would fashion experimental products from aluminum. Eventually the company made 500 of those aluminum basses, each selling in the $200 to $240 range when new. There were other brands as well in the aluminum bass business.
The website http://kaybassrepair.com/aluminium-instruments/ notes, "The faux natural wood was well done; the top had graining and color close to that of a dark varnished tight grain spruce and the back / ribs have a faux curly figured grain patterning. AlCoA had a fifty step patented process for creating this finish. From the distance of a bandstand or stage, you’ll have trouble identifying it from a wooden instrument."
I have no clue whether that old brown-painted tin bass I borrowed in Greensboro all these years ago was an ALCOA bass or an Aluminum Musical Instrument or even one of the G.A. Pfretzschner basses, but I do know that that it looked every bit like what you'd think of when you hear the term "skunk factory." But beat up as it was, it would make a joyful noise.
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