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help people. I remember the signs on people’s windows. These signs were WPA, NRA, and CCC. My dad would work for the WPA, but he wouldn’t take any of the food from the government. He called it “dole” or government hand-outs. Dad was hired on the WPA, and he pounded rock on the roads of Spurlock Creek. He was a strong Republican, and so he didn’t last long. He got fired twice. I remember seeing him come up through the yard and my mother watching him. She said, “Walter, did you get fired again?” He and the Democratic foreman had a fight the last time he got fired. I remember his big black eyes. Politics were associated with strong feelings back then. My dad always told me to stand up for what you believe in. I have always tried to do that.
     
    Sorghum Making
    Another project that brought in a few bucks for my family was making sorghum molasses. We grew the cane on the farm. In the fall, the cane was cut and the leaves stripped from the cane, leaving a long slender stalk. It was hauled from the fields on sleds and stacked close to the sorghum mill. A fine fellow, Emory Call, owned a sorghum mill, and he brought it around to the different farms and made sorghum molasses from the cane.
    The mill was a large, oblong tray with different compartments in it. The trays were filled with the raw juice from the cane crusher. It was run through a metal pipe and then into the trays. Mr. Call would stand for hours and watch the cooking molasses. A green foam formed on the first trays. Mr. Call had a long-handled strainer that would dip this up with and sling it into what was called the ‘skimming hole.” This was a large hole dug in the ground. The skimming hole was a sticky mess.
    When it was done, the molasses would turn a deep golden brown. Mr. Call would pull up the plug and out would come the beautiful smelling molasses. I would stand as close as I could to Mr. Call when the molasses was about done for the first run-off. He would whisper to me, “Sis, it is just about ready.” He ran the molasses into a container just for us kids. We grabbed that container and carried it away along with our can stalks which were shredded on the ends. We dipped the stalks into the molasses and licked it off. This was great fun. We spent the rest of the day trying to push each other into the skimming hole.
    When the molasses was cooked, it was run into quart and half-gallon metal containers. Mr. Call took a share for his pay. We kept a portion for ourselves, and the rest was sold. There were people waiting get the golden molasses. We would enjoy cookies and taffy made from our molasses. We had what was called a “taffy pull.” We invited our friends to a party where the molasses would be cooked again, and then butter, soda, and flour would be added to the mixture. When it was just right, the mixture was cooled. Sometimes we added walnuts. We then floured our hands and pulled the taffy into great long strips. Everyone would be laughing and joking. It was the greatest time. After it was pulled, the taffy would be placed on buttered plates where it would become hard. Then you could crack it and eat it.
     
    Raising Turkeys
    My mother always had her own money-making projects to help out. One of these projects was raising turkeys. Those turkeys were really amazing critters. Mom always saved a gobbler and a few hens from the year before. In the spring when it was time for the turkeys to lay, they always slipped away to lay their eggs. It was my job to follow the turkey hens, find their nests, and get their eggs. Mom didn’t want to take a chance on losing a turkey egg. That would have been like losing money. I remember following those old turkey hens. If they saw you following them, they would not go to their nests. They would lead you off in the opposite direction and then slip back to the nest. It wasn’t often you could out-smart a turkey. Sometime I would get so mad at those hens. It was always a big thrill to find the nest and be able