- Title
- State
-
-
- Date
- May 1979
-
-
- Place
- ["North Carolina, United States"]
-
State
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Ireks deep inlo the lush summer
woods.
It was a green wonderland, beautiful
and untrod by man. except for an occa¬
sional hunter. The scent of white pine
and w'ild herbs mingled with the smell
of warm woods dirt and created a
fragrance more heady than any that
ever rose from a bottle.
A fire had ravaged the area many
years before, but young trees grew
profusely among endless patches of
wildflowers and thickets of rhododen¬
dron and laurel. Occasionally we came
upon what had been a giant of a tree,
charred and mostly rotted away but
standing as a reminder of the intensity
of the devastation which had visited
there.
Now and then, we'd find a huge
chestnut tree, long dead from the se¬
vere blight which swept through the
mountains in the early part of the cen¬
tury. Nearly always, they were
bleached white by the sun. and were
hollow, providing shelter for many
small creatures — among them at
times, my brothers and me. Easy to
spot because of their whiteness and
size, they became landmarks, guiding
us through acres and acres of forest
playground.
Our hottest summer days were re¬
served for the creek. Here we would lie
belly down on the flat rocks along the
edges and trail our hands in the cool
waters, relieving our bodies of the
summer heat and our minds of any
worries we might have. Over the
years, many a care floated down that
stream, dissolved by the sparkling
clear water. The euphonious sounds
could soothe an aching ego and quickly
put us at peace with each other and the
world.
We waded the shallow waters
catching crayfish to use for bait on our
hooks, which we made from bent
safety pens. We used quilting thread
for line and soon learned that a birch
sapling made the best pole. Native
trout abounded in the fresh water, but
due to the wily nature of that particular
fish and our primitive gear, catches
were few and far between, nonethe¬
less, enjoyed.
Once, venturing farther downstream
than we had ever been, we came upon
a section of the creek where both
banks were solid rock for many yards
on each side. We found unusual holes
in the stone, round and smooth, some
of them as much as two feet in depth.
By the symmetry of their arrangement
we realized they had been made by
human hands, ages ago. After deciding
THE STATE,
Мл»
1*7*
that cooking was done in the hollowed
out rock by putting in meat and water,
then dropping in hot stones, we made
many attempts to cook our ow n catch
by this method. Failing to derive an
edible meal from the process, we de¬
cided it was much simpler to return
home when hunger struck.
Summer seasons soon added up to
years. We continued to live on Pigeon
Roost Creek, later building a new
home on the hill above, where my par¬
ents still reside. I have always been
grateful for the wonderful childhood
the mountains provided for me. The
strength I drew from the closeness to
It's unfortunate that some folks
(perhaps those know n as "trying to get
above their raising") should give
pokcwccd a bad name. Its history is
ancient and interesting, and for three
centuries it has been as much a part of
the culture and heritage of North
Carolina as tobacco and pine trees.
Long before Euell Gibbon popu¬
larized gathering wild plants of various
kinds for human consumption, our
country forefathers were smart enough
to recognize poke for the valuable veg¬
etable it is. Perhaps they were taught
its use by the Indians along with
smoking tobacco and planting com. At
any rate, pokcwccd (scientifically
known as phyiohicca americium) was
one of the discoveries of early settlers
of the New World. It was included by
John Brickell. early adventurer, histo¬
rian and physician, in some of his ac¬
counts written as early as 1732 as being
a "good and flourishing green" grow¬
ing abundantly in North Carolina. Evi¬
dently taken to Europe by traders, it
immediately became popular there and
is reportedly grown for market in
France today. So throughout many
years thousands of Southern farm
nature has many times acted as a
cushion to soften the blows life so eas¬
ily strikes.
Most of that land today is still as
beautiful and unspoiled as it was w hen
we were children. It has not been sold
off in lots for vacation homes as has so
much mountain property.
But. to quote a sad cliche', times
have changed. My brothers live within
a mile of where we grew up. I know
without asking that their children have
never taken advantage as we did. of the
vast natural playground around them.
My greatest regret is that my chil¬
dren also, w ill never know the joys of
such a childhood except in stories like
mine.
families have sallied forth to gather
poke to enliven meals dulled by steady
w inter-time fare of meat (if they were
lucky) and dried beans or peas.
My appreciation of this tasty green
stems back to the grim days of the De¬
pression of the 1930s when trips to the
grocery store were rare occasions. I
can remember my mother gathering
poke from the fence sides of pastures
and fields, cooking it dressed with
butter and garnished with chopped
hard-boiled eggs. Served to our family
with a long pan of hot cornbrcad and
perhaps a pot of mush or grits, it was a
mainstay until the first vegetables were
gathered from the garden.
Poison
Perhaps poke's unpopularity from
some quarters can he attributed to
being commonly classified as a
poisonous plant. That is true, and it
should not be gathered by anyone un¬
familiar with the plant. Once a person
has been shown poke grow ing, how¬
ever. it is easily recognized. The stout
stem may grow from 6 to 1 2 feet high
with large veiny leaves and greenish
white flowers which turn into purplish
In Praise Of
Poke Sallet
Thorp's poison, sure», bul if vou know
how lo fix if, poke* is delicious, nu¬
tritious — and frtko!
By LOUSE II. MATTHEWS
23