Appalachian Word of the Week -- CRAWDAD HOLE

This week's word is CRAWDAD HOLE. If you grew up in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky, you probably know what a crawdad is. You also know about crawdad holes.

Photo courtesy of my friend, Corinne Milwee Farley

Crawdad

Crawdad Hole

CRAWDAD HOLES can be dangerous as you walk around. At least they are surrounded by mounds of mud balls to warn you. But, they certainly make the yard look unsightly. That's why my dad was constantly warring with the CRAWDADS.

He poured carbide into the holes and added hot water. It worked for a while. As the carbide started bubbling, the CRAWDAD would fly out of the hole to escape. However, Dad was waiting for them with his hoe. That CRAWDAD was no longer a problem.

I wrote a story about a CRAWDAD HOLE incident when I was a kid. I'll share it with you now.

THE CRAWDAD HOLE

            I closed my eyes and screamed until my four-year-old voice bounced off the mountains. In mere seconds, my mom, still in her robe and with pin curls crowning her head, and my dad, his face partially covered in fluffy mounds of shaving cream and with a razor in his hand flung open the screen door and ran across the porch. My mom twirled me around. I suppose she expected to find blood spilling onto the steps. Finding none, they shouted in unison, “What’s wrong?”

            “A snake!” I pointed at the concrete step just below where I stood and squeezed my eyes shut, perhaps thinking it couldn’t see me if I couldn’t see it.

These are the steps where I saw the snake

            Heaving a sigh and shaking his head, Dad said, “There’s no snake there.”

            Opening one eye, I gasped in disbelief. There was no snake. I looked at each of the eight steps and then into the yard beyond and could see no snake. “It was there. I saw it. It was all curled up in a pile.

            Mom said, “Ehhhh, It was probably a worm,” and turned to go back inside the house.

            “No, it wasn’t a worm. It was sticking its tongue out at me. Worms don’t have tongues.” I placed one hand on my hip and tilted my chin in the air, sure of my superior knowledge.

            “Ehhhhh, if there was one, it’s gone now.” Shaving cream dripped off Dad’s chin and plopped on the floorboards.

            “What if it bites me?”

            Dad sighed and walked down the steps, dressed in his shorts, wife-beater t-shirt, and bare flat feet to check it out. He knew I would never step into the yard if there was a possibility of a snake lying in wait. I stood on the steps and watched as he looked behind the concrete stoop and then peered into the crawdad holes that flanked the homemade flagstone walkway. Crawdads were a constant nuisance in our yard. Heaping piles of mud balls surrounded each hole that made them unsightly as well as a danger for anyone walking across the yard. The prescribed remedy was to drop some carbide rocks into each hole and follow that with boiling water. When it started bubbling up, the crawdad would either come out of the hole or die inside.

            “Well, Gert, just to make sure, why don’t you go put a pot of water on to boil and we’ll pour some down these crawdad holes. It coulda gone down one of them. What’d that snake look like, Karen?”

            “It was big and black and yellow stripied and was all curled up and sticking its pink tongue out at me.”

            “Sounds like a garter snake.”

            I stood on the porch and kept my eyes peeled for the snake as Dad went inside to finish shaving his face and Mom boiled some water. I didn’t want it coming after me, but I sure wanted to prove to Mom and Dad that I really saw a snake. It didn’t matter what kind of snake—it was a snake.

            Mom finally pushed open the screen door with her rump and maneuvered the oversized pot she used for canning, steaming with hot water, across the porch and down the steps.

            “Get out of the way, Karen. Don’t trip me with this water.” My petite mother grunted as she poured a little water into each hole. She stood back and looked at each one to see if a snake came out. Nothing happened. She was about to give up when my dad came back outside and suggested she pour the rest of it into the biggest hole right next to the bottom step. She leaned her five-foot-tall body nearly down to the hole and poured.

She was right about in the same spot when she poured the hot water into the CRAWDAD HOLE

            Just as the final dregs flowed into the hole, and her face was about twelve inches from it, the snake flew straight up out of the hole and into her face. She screamed as she jumped backward and flung the pot across the yard. Actually, we all screamed. I’m not quite sure what happened after that. There was a lot of screaming and confusion as that big pot continued to bounce across the yard and mom jumped up and down flailing. Dad grabbed the hoe leaning up against the porch and ran after the snake, chopping it into tiny pieces. I guess he wanted to make sure that little worm was dead.

Did you grow up with CRAWDAD HOLES in your yard? Ever find any snakes inside?

Appalachian Word of the Week -- SNOWCREAM

My childhood front yard

The appropriate word for the week, considering this is the first day of Winter, is one of my favorites -- SNOWCREAM!


As a youngster in the mountains of Harlan County, KY, I lived for the days when a massive snow covered the landscape. Not only did I enjoy playing in the snow, sliding down the mountainside in a saucer sled, and building a snow fort with my brother, but I loved making SNOWCREAM.


Of course, the process of making SNOWCREAM required us to collect fresh, clean (emphasis on clean) snow before anyone got outside and dirtied it up.


We gathered up all the largest pots and bowls from the kitchen and headed outside.

Now, there is a process to gathering snow. Since almost everybody around us heated their houses with coal, we had to first rake off the top layer of snow to remove the black spots of ash that had dropped onto the top layer. That completed, we began scooping snow into our bowls and pots.


Of course, we made sure not to scoop too close to the ground. Lots of dogs and wild animals used the ground for a litter box, so we made sure to avoid any yellow or brown snow. We also didn't want to get grass trimmings in our snow.


After gathering up all of our bowls and pots, we carried it inside to Mom, who was waiting with the bag of sugar, can of cream, vanilla flavoring and the salt box. She also had the hand mixer ready to get the job done faster.

She took the largest bowl and checked to make sure it was clean snow. Then she added about a cup of sugar and started mixing. Then she added pure cream out of the can. Some people make it with milk, but the flavor is nowhere near as good. Then she added vanilla flavoring and a pinch of salt. As the snow melted down, she scooped in more snow and the process continued until every bowl and pot of snow had been added to the mixture. She continued to add sugar and cream until the concoction was perfect and creamy.


She scooped out a bowl of snowcream for each of us and then put the main bowl into smaller bowls that would fit into the freezer for later.


Oh, what JOY to sit in front of the coal stove and eat that snowcream! Our fingers were numb and so were our lips, but we didn't care. It was glorious.

As we made our way through the main bowls of snowcream stored in the freezer, we sometimes added a bit of flavor to the mix. A favorite was Nehi Grape pop. We also tried peach pop, strawberry pop, or chocolate pop. If you don't know what pop is, you may call it soda or soft drink. Back in my day, we had some wonderful flavors available.


So, if you are fortunate enough to get a big snow where you live, why not give it a try and make some SNOWCREAM for yourself? Just make sure you watch out for yellow or brown snow.


Exact recipes don't work for our snowcream. You have to go by taste. If the mix is too sweet, add some snow. If it's not sweet enough, add more sugar. If it's not creamy enough, add more cream. You get the picture.


Have you ever eaten SNOWCREAM? Tell me about your experience.