March winds

March winds, cease your blowing

It's time for Spring, time for sowing.

Ah, jealous winds, you linger on,

All day I hear your doleful song.

I see you twist the trees about

And slam the gate in and out.

You bend the yellow broom grass low

And pick up leaves as you go.

You snatched my hat and sent it spinning

While passers-by stood grinning.

Now, naughty winds, you best be going,

It's time for Spring, time for sowing.

- By Artie Nettles McCoy

The winds of March have not been as fierce as usual here in the hills. In fact, March has behaved itself in a more orderly fashion as it prepares to take its leave. Many harbingers of spring have arrived to welcome once again the gentle month of April.

The spring peepers have been singing their nightly chorus for several nights now. Their shrill piping is a song of springtime, telling of warm nights to come, calling forth the woodland flowers and coaxing the grass to grow. The modest violets have heard the call and come peeping shyly through the tender new grass.

Purple noses show on the lilac buds, anxious to burst forth into fragrant bloom. Golden forsythia gleams in showy fronds, bordering lawns and spread on road banks. It is glorious to watch spring unfold in the hills of West Virginia.

Early crops are being planted. A lot of folks planted potatoes on St. Patrick's Day, while others wait until April 10 - the one-hundredth day of the year. Onion sets have been planted; broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts are set out in neat rows. It takes faith to plant a garden. We must trust the Lord to send the warming rays of the sun, and rain in due season. We can cultivate the soil, plant the seeds and keep out the weeds. But unless the Lord sends the refreshing rain and the abundant sunshine, our work is in vain.

Wild foods are beginning to spring up in our hills. We enjoyed our first mess of ramps last week - tiny, tender ones with only a couple of inches of green tops showing. It seems that we relish the first mess more than any, but it is hard to beat the ones we fix on our spring camping trips. With potatoes fried over an open campfire, fresh trout caught that day and biscuits baked in an iron Dutch oven buried in the hot coals - we feast like kings.

One of our most eagerly sought-after wild foods is beginning to appear. The elusive morel mushroom has been found already. Patty and Bob found five tiny ones last week, and we can expect more after we get some rain. They are probably the most popular mushroom found here in our woods, and are easy to identify. Folks here have their favorite morel patches, which are a closely guarded secret. They tend to come up in the same place year after year and can be found in old apple orchards and burned-over areas, under dead elms, ash, oak, beech and maple trees. We find them under poplars many times.

This time of year I find myself remembering Robert Browning's poem "The Year's at the Spring."

The year's at the spring

And the day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn

March winds

March winds, cease your blowing

It's time for Spring, time for sowing.

Ah, jealous winds, you linger on,

All day I hear your doleful song.

I see you twist the trees about

And slam the gate in and out.

You bend the yellow broom grass low

And pick up leaves as you go.

You snatched my hat and sent it spinning

While passers-by stood grinning.

Now, naughty winds, you best be going,

It's time for Spring, time for sowing.

- By Artie Nettles McCoy

The winds of March have not been as fierce as usual here in the hills. In fact, March has behaved itself in a more orderly fashion as it prepares to take its leave. Many harbingers of spring have arrived to welcome once again the gentle month of April.

The spring peepers have been singing their nightly chorus for several nights now. Their shrill piping is a song of springtime, telling of warm nights to come, calling forth the woodland flowers and coaxing the grass to grow. The modest violets have heard the call and come peeping shyly through the tender new grass.

Purple noses show on the lilac buds, anxious to burst forth into fragrant bloom. Golden forsythia gleams in showy fronds, bordering lawns and spread on road banks. It is glorious to watch spring unfold in the hills of West Virginia.

Early crops are being planted. A lot of folks planted potatoes on St. Patrick's Day, while others wait until April 10 - the one-hundredth day of the year. Onion sets have been planted; broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts are set out in neat rows. It takes faith to plant a garden. We must trust the Lord to send the warming rays of the sun, and rain in due season. We can cultivate the soil, plant the seeds and keep out the weeds. But unless the Lord sends the refreshing rain and the abundant sunshine, our work is in vain.

Wild foods are beginning to spring up in our hills. We enjoyed our first mess of ramps last week - tiny, tender ones with only a couple of inches of green tops showing. It seems that we relish the first mess more than any, but it is hard to beat the ones we fix on our spring camping trips. With potatoes fried over an open campfire, fresh trout caught that day and biscuits baked in an iron Dutch oven buried in the hot coals - we feast like kings.

One of our most eagerly sought-after wild foods is beginning to appear. The elusive morel mushroom has been found already. Patty and Bob found five tiny ones last week, and we can expect more after we get some rain. They are probably the most popular mushroom found here in our woods, and are easy to identify. Folks here have their favorite morel patches, which are a closely guarded secret. They tend to come up in the same place year after year and can be found in old apple orchards and burned-over areas, under dead elms, ash, oak, beech and maple trees. We find them under poplars many times.

This time of year I find myself remembering Robert Browning's poem "The Year's at the Spring."

The year's at the spring

And the day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn

God's in his heaven -

All's right with the world!

Everything's all right in my Father's house!

We've had several responses to the request for a chowchow recipe that David Adams wanted. We heard from another David Adams and his wife Carole of Gay. She adds that she and her husband were both born and raised in Pennsylvania, but have made West Virginia their home. She said they fell in love with West Virginia and the Ripley area while on vacation here. Of course she sent some Pennsylvania Dutch recipes.

We heard from Rose Persinger of Hurricane who says that the recipe she uses came from her mother-in-law many years ago. She and her daughters make it every year, and she cautions not to use a food processor as it makes the mix too fine. They use a hand-operated food chopper. Shirley Bailey of Craigsville sends recipes from a very old Ball Brothers canning book, and one from a Kerr canning book. Alene Hubbard of Charleston sends three different recipes, and we are grateful to each person who responded. We also got a recipe from faithful Janet Tucker.

They were all basically the same, except some of the recipes use cauliflower and cabbage in addition to the other ingredients.

Chowchow

1 peck (12 1/2 pounds) green tomatoes

 8 large onions

10 green bell peppers (may use half red)

3 tablespoons salt

6 hot peppers (chopped)

1 quart vinegar

1 tablespoon cinnamon

1 tablespoon allspice

1/4 teaspoon cloves

3 tablespoons dry mustard

Few bay leaves

1 3/4 cups sugar 

1/2 cup horseradish (optional)

Chop tomatoes, onions and sweet peppers together and cover with the salt; let stand overnight. Drain, add the hot peppers, vinegar and spices (tied in cheesecloth bag) and sugar; allow to boil slowly until tender (about 15 minutes.) Add horseradish if desired; pack into sterilized jars. Process in boiling water bath for five minutes.

We have requests for a couple of songs from our readers, and the first one is from Golda Harrison of Webster Springs. She can remember some of the words, which go like this: "I often think of Mother, while here on earth I roam; I know she is with Jesus, In yonder's heavenly home. I know she's free from trouble, from sorrow and from pain. Oh, what a consolation that we shall meet again." I hope someone has this song as it would be good to use for Mother's Day.

The other request is actually a poem written by Preacher Conley, and requested by Ray Baughman of Strange Creek. He wants it for his friend Virgil Houghton, and added that it could have been printed in the Braxton Democrat newspaper in 1938. He writes, "Virgil remembers his mother's funeral, back in 1938. When Lewie Houghton was laid to rest, there miraculously appeared a rainbow in the sky. Virgil would be eternally grateful if he could obtain a copy of this poem."

Thank you so much, dear readers, for your help in finding these old songs and poems.

Contact Alyce Faye Bragg at alycef...@citlink.net or write to 2556 Summers Fork Road, Ovapa, WV 25164.