Black-eyed Peas, Collard Greens and Cornbread

Black-eyed peas, collard greens, cornbread, hawg jowl, and hawg tail sounds like granny’s menu for Uncle Jed, Jethro, and Ellie Mae on The Beverly Hillbillies. In reality is was the smell of New Year’s Day dinner by the Hopper family. It is a family tradition of the South. Grannie Hopper and Grandmoe Chapman were connoisseurs of Southern cuisine.

The black-eyed peas ensured that families would have plenty of coins. Collards meant folding money and cornbread meant gold. Some folks call it “Soul Food.” Well, as a history major it is “Poor Irish Food.” In Alabama, home to many Scot-Isish immigrants, Native Americans (Indians) taught Scot Irish how to cook indigenous vegetation such as cornbread and greens. Greens could be dandelions, pokeweed, or wild lettuce.

My University of Montevallo history professor read an early journal written by Irish that settled in Alabama. The journal described a family meal. When he read it most students said it sounded like soul food. Dr. Fuller said it was Irish. Africans were hunter-gathers, and the Indians taught the Irish which taught the Blacks how cook. Bottom line it is the poor people’s meal. Poor is not a respecter of color.

Granny Hopper was a sharecropping widow raising nine children during the Great Depression. Daddy said that when they killed a “hawg” they only thing they threw away was the squeal. They ate all the meat, used the hair for mattress stuffing, and bones for fertilizer. I have helped Granny “sling” the guts (chitterlings) when we killed hogs.

Grandmoe Chapman was faithful to cook black eyed peas, turnip greens, and cornbread. During the Great Depression, mamma said Grandmoe cooked racoon and opossum. It was special when the had hawg jowl to flavor the peas and greens. Grandmoe’s specialty was hawg head cheese. When we killed hogs, she wanted the hog’s head to make it. I never ate it on New Year’s Day or any other time. I didn’t eat chitterlings either.

Yankees had black-eyed peas to feed livestock. Southern soldiers cooked them to survive. Peas eaten with Johnnie or hoecake (cornbread) was a staple during the War of Northern Aggression. After the War of Northern Aggression, poverty-stricken Southerners ate the peas, greens, and cornbread as a sigh of resilience and hope.

After decades of eating black-eyed peas, I never saw many coins even though daddy received “pennies” from unemployment several Christmas’s and New Years. Collars, turnip greens, and mustard were delicious with homemade pepper sauce and pone crackling cornbread, but we never saw much folding money and no gold. We always had hope.

As 2025 draws to a close, let us have hope and share it. God blesses the United States, and we take if for granted. We waste so much in a world that needs so much. Lisa will prepare black-eyed peas, turnip greens, and cornbread laced with bacon grease for New’s Year Day. I’d rather grill some hawg. My reasoning is that pigs eat peas, turnip greens, and cornbread and by me eating pig I will have them converted into chops, ribs, or tenderloin.

For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good: but me ye have not always. Mark 14:7 KJV

“Give Thanks” is one of my favorite songs. It has the line which says, “let the weak say, “I am strong” Let the poor say, “I am rich” rooted Joel 3:10 KJV

 “Let the poor say I am rich” shows the importance of gratitude and perspective. It reminds that true wealth is not just measured by material possessions but by our relationship with God and our attitude towards life.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11 KJV

As 2025 shifts to 2026 and we make all the adjustments for a new beginning hope and resilience will help us face the uncertainties of life. With Jesus we have new beginnings, hope, and help.

Happy New Year tell a friend if you enjoy the blog.

                                                                

 

 

My Goal to be the Best

 The first organized sport was Little League baseball for Mars Hill in rural Chilton County Alabama. I played catcher for one year. A couple three years later I played Babe Ruth baseball. My dad loved baseball, but I found out in was not for me.

I tried basketball as a high school freshman. We were in a league of ninth graders that were too tall for the seventh and eighth grade and too immature for high school. We had a great season losing one game that season.

I went out for football in the seventh grade and loved it. Unfortunately, it left me too injured to play basketball. My family was poor, and I could only play one sport. I chose football. I can testify that in all three organized events I watched the first game of each from the sideline. I did watch Mars Hill’s semi-pro baseball games but that was it.

My first football banquet was a unique experience. It was a big night for Jemison High School football. We for runner-up state champions in Alabama 4-A high school football. I rode the banquet with my cousins and met my date there. Mom got her a corsage, and I gave it to her. She came with her parents and brothers.

The meal was delicious. My favorite dish was the apple cobbler with ice cream top. It was the first time I had ever had what I learned was pie-a-mode. I had never been to extravagant event in my life.

After the meal they presented everyone on the team with a certificate of participation. Those that played received a letter “J” for Jemison that could be sewn on a sweater or jacket. I had played a total of three plays all year, but I was a practice team dummy. I was ignorant about such happenings and awards.

Several trophies were given that night. I made up my mind that I was going to win a trophy. Two years later my junior year the team awarded me with the “Best Defensive Player” trophy. My senior year they honored me with “Most Valuable Defensive Player” trophy.

By the time my daughter was playing volleyball awards were inclusive. When I attended me sports banquet, every player received a trophy and there were no accolades for the top player or players.

My daughter's freshman year while in State Volleyball Tournament, judges had my daughter in first place to win a trophy. Aware that My daughter was in the running for one of the tournament trophies, her coach pulled her from the game. Judges scratched her from the ballet. Her coach told my daughter that she did not want her to have an award.

A year or two later my daughter played in a regional tournament receiving an award. One again her coach was everyone gets the same reward, no special awards. The sponsoring regional tournament coach sent my daughter trophy to Jemison High School, and the principal awarded my daughter in front of the whole school.

I thought such shenanigans were wrong back then. I knew from ninth grade civics class that socialism and atheist communism wanted everyone to receive the same wages regardless of the expertise of the worker. Fast forward to the last few years and inclusion, quotas, mandates, and political correctness want everyone to get the same award. The end result is mediocrity.

My brother took his crew to dinner one day. Most of his crew were younger workers. They were in favor of socialism in the United States. Not seeing anything wrong, my brother used the tip for the waitress as an example.

They had agreed that their waitress did an exemplary job. My brother asked them if it was fair to give the tip the restaurant to disperse it equally among the waiters and waitresses.
They all said no that it belonged to the waitress that served them. He told his employees that is the difference between socialism and awarding a job well done.

Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain. And every man that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible. I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway. I Corinthians 9:24-27 KJV

It Happened One Christmas

Traditions characterize Christmas. One year the Moxley family decided to grill steaks. It was a rainy afternoon as Mr. Moxley and I started an open pit fire. Mr. Moxley had filled the pit with hickory kindling.

I held an umbrella over us as he soaked the wet kindling with charcoal lighter fluid. It took a while, but we finally grilled the ribeye steaks. They sure made a great meal for
Christmas.

One Christmas momma cooked a special breakfast and invited my brother’s girlfriend’s family. His girlfriend’s dad was a pastor that rode songs. Country music artist Charley Pride recorded one. He and momma played guitars and we had a Christmas sing-a-long.

It was the first Christmas for my eldest son Andy. Being the first grandson, he received an abundance of gifts. His greatest joy was a large box that we used for the waste gift paper from the gifts. I put Andy over in the box and he was one happy boy playing in the paper. It was a wonder feeling seeing him enjoy the paper.

Another Christmas I made my daughter Angel a cradle for her baby doll. I had fun building and Angel was my helper. I told her that Santa wanted me to build it for a special little girl. He helped me and said she would like one too. I will never forget the joy on her face as she found her baby doll in the cradle under the tree that Christmas morning. I smile each time I remember seeing her in the cradle.

The Christmas morning that daddy found a “rabbit eared” twenty gauge shotgun under the tree was fun. He had wanted one for years. Momma found an electric guitar under the same tree. My sister Diane found a beauty salon hairdryer. My brother David found a cassette player and brother Glenn found him a guitar. I thanked God that I was able to make it a memorable Christmas.

For my first Christmas with my wife Lisa I had purchased an electric console fireplace. Part of the joy was watching her assembly it. She loves to assemble things. She loves to watch the fake burning logs especially during the Christmas holidays. She says that there is something romantic about a fireplace.

Another tradition for the Hopper family is Christmas sad. Dad usually experienced layoff. We called dad Scrooge because he did not like Christmas. Things from Christmas past tarnished the bright glow that the season brought. He said that Christmas was about Jesus and not all the hoopla that promoted buy, buy, buy.

Momma was a trooper at Christmas. She decorated a cedar tree like it was a Madison Avenue Douglas fir. She would buy Christmas on credit and spend the whole new year paying off the debt. The aroma of cooking a gigantic Christmas meal filled the air as did her singing.

Christmas sadness filled the air when layoff Scrooge collided with good housekeeping Belle. In the Hopper Christmas Carol, Scrooge and Belle married. There would many Christmas’s present where there were no presents. Dad would be Bob Cratchit at times, and the world of the Hopper family would be at peace.

Unfortunately, something would happen and the Grinch would tear up a washing machine, blow out a tire, burn out a dyer, break a washing machine belt. Grinch got one of my tires just the other day.

My heart goes out for the unfortunates of Christmas. Madison Avenue has created something that suffocates the real spirit of Christmas. I remember one time on the streets of Clanton, Alabama, a couple fighting over Christmas. They had run out of money. Their children were crying, people were staring, and my heart was breaking.

I thought about the times when our stocking were empty. Though empty when Christmas morning arrived our house celebrated love. Dad could not help his layoff and things tear up, but mom’s never give up attitude helped to make the season merry and bright. Because in the end is about Jesus/Love.

 

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:12-14

Cherry Jubilee

I do not remember the first time I ate cherries, but I have always loved them. When we lived in Beloit, Illinois, we had a cherry tree in our back yard. I remember mama baking cherry pie for me every day. She worried that cherry pie was my stable meal after school each day. French fries on the side made it a complete meal.

I love cherries on top of whip cream on top of ice cream. I love cherries straight out of the bottle. I love dried cherries and fresh cherries. I love cherries baked in cookies and cherry jell inside tarts. Pear salad is not complete without cherries. Chocolate covered cherries make parties, get-to-gathers, and weddings divine.

I once received a box of Queen Ann chocolate covered cherries as a school Christmas gift. It was from a poor girl whose family could not afford the required gift. Momma wanted to know what I received. When I told her that I got a box of cherries, she was furious. I enjoyed them and to this very day when I see a box of Queen Anne cherries I think of that fourth grade Christmas party.

I love cherry Coke. Not that stuff with fake cherry favoring, but the ones from the soda fountain made with crushed cherries. It is the same for cherry shakes, malts, or floats. That long-stem cherry on top of a banana split is haven’s treat.

There are many kinds of cherries. There are Bing, Black, Maraschino, Montmorency, Morello, and Queen Anne. When we moved back to Alabama, we had a Black Cherry tree in the back yard. The cherries were tiny and bitter unlike those in Illinois. I learned to hate that tree because it was momma’s switch tree used to whip us.

My favorite cherry is not a fruit but a friend I met while pastor of the Gallion Baptist Church in Gallion, Alabama. He was the father of a church member. His name was Robert Milton Cherry. Everyone called him Milton. The son of a preacher, Milton was one of the Godliest men I have ever known. From 2000 to 2025, I considered him an older brother and spiritual mentor. My son Aaron called him Pawpaw. Milton’s grandson was Aaron’s good friend.

Milton was one of the charter members and deacon of the Fairhaven Baptist Church in Demopolis, Alabama. He was a retired maintenance man from the Rock Tenn Paper Mill in Demopolis, former mayor of Linden, Alabama, volunteer with Campers on Mission, and aera coordinator for Alabama Baptist Disaster Relief and the Bethel Baptist Association.

Milton and I spent many hours ministering together on disaster relief deployments. All deployments were what is termed “Ministry of Inconvenience.” Milton and I were deployed to Miller, Missouri February snowstorm disaster. GPS was new to us and found it vital when deployed to disasters. We were to stay at a Baptist Retreat.

 As were neared the facility, the GPS lady directed us from a major highway to a narrow land road between a pastor. Milton and I stared at one another. The narrow road got smaller and in the missile of nowhere the GPS lady said, “You have arrived at your destination.”

It was dark and snowing. On our left was a shed and one our right a pasture enclosed with barbed wire. We studied our dilemma and thought we must be staying with cows for the trip. I told Milton that I thought I saw a sign a few feet behind us. It was dark and the sign was worn but it was the Baptist Retreat sign.

Miraculously, Milton turned our disaster relief trailer around and we went up the pasture road to find a beautiful retreat center. Ms. GPS brought us back way. Situated on a snow-covered hill, we enjoyed our stay and our work in the fourteen-degree snow. We were not in Alabama anymore.

We were deployed again in December to another Missouri snowstorm with our destination unknown. We were to rendezvous with another Alabama disaster relief team from north Alabama. Our final destination was St. Joe, Missouri which had an abundance of snow.

This deployment a church hosted us. I had fun making Milton laugh by making snow angels. Milton and the crew make fun of me. As Chaplain for the team I ate cookies and sipped hot chocolate as the team worked in the snow. One lady gave me cookies, and I asked her to give them to the team. It did not help my cause.

One morning in the church life center Milton put his arm around me and told me how much he appreciated me. I thought it special. I noticed that I received many smiles that morning before breakfast one the men from north Alabama whispered to me, “Your friends have pulled a trick on you. You have a sign on your back that reads, ‘Will work for food.’” I could always count on Milton to make my day.

I retired and moved back to Jemison, Alabama. I missed Milton coming by the office. One day I went to Demopolis to spend some time with Milton. His health was quickly fading. We shared a few special moments.

At his funeral I shared with his pastor about the “Will work for food” sign. He shared it in Milton’s eulogy. It is good to share special moments with friends and smile when remembering.

A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity Proverbs 17:17 KJV

Thanks, Milton, for helping me in the hard moments of my being and loving my articles. This one is for you.

 

 

Controlled Chaos

I watched a coil of wire as the strap that held it in place snapped. The wire looked like a giant toy Slinkey moving as the wire slowly to uncoil until the whole coil created another pile. I do not know what started the coil moving unless it was the sun heating the steel.

While working as a rural United States Post Officer substitute mail carrier, I was on my maiden voyage when the rubber band holding a cluster of slick magazines broke sending the large bundle all over my mail vehicle. The unique characteristic of rubber bands is they only work when under pressure. I suppose that the bundle of magazines created more pressure than the rubber band could hold.

There was time I was repairing a starter for my John Deere riding lawn mower. I removed a screw that released four springs and ball-bearings hurling them out the garage door and into infinity and beyond. I retrieved all but one spring that remains traveling somewhere out there in space.

Pull cords on small engines recoil due to a spring connected to a pulley. A couple of things can create uncontrolled chaos. One, if the cord breaks, the remaining cord will suddenly disappear into the mower and the recoil spring will unwind. A second thing is the recoil spring can break or disconnect. As the spring unravels, the pull cord will not recoil, or it can become knotted inside the mower.

There are thousands of ways to hold things together. There are all kinds of clips that hold stuff together. There are magnets that hold all those precious grandchildren’s pictures on the refrigerator. One of the greatest inventions is the zip tie. The possibilities are unlimited.

Another priceless invention for holding things together is glue. You have Elmer’s glue, gorilla glue, superglue, flex glue, JB weld, Tite-bond, and Tester’s plastic cement to name a few.

My first experience with glue happened in Beloit, Illinois at kindergarten. We used water and flour to make some paste to hold colored cutouts on paper. We graduated into Elmer’s glue, and it was an item students must have for school.

I was introduced to “airplane” glue after I received an AMT model car as a school Christmas gift. Back in the 1960’s, the Tester’s model car/airplane glue actually glue the parts together. The bonus was it had this wonderful smell. Remember it was the sixties and hippies enjoyed the smell so much that the changed the chemical makeup of the glue making model car assembly difficult. It did not set up as quickly as before and that wonderful smell was gone too.

When I graduated high school, I started work at Keystone Metal Molding in Clanton, Alabama. Keystone fabricated molding for automobiles. I worked in the boxing department making boxes for shipping the parts.

One of the pieces of trim had vinyl glued to it. It was a new glue which became known as “Superglue.” I was young, naïve, and trusting. A co-worker said, “Hopper, give me your pointer finger.” Knowing what I know now, I should have given him my middle finger!

I held out my pointer finger, and he placed a small drop of a clear substance on it. He said, “Hold your thumb on the finger for a little bit.” Like a dumb country redneck, I did. For the next hour I tried to unglue my finger. I used mineral spirits, acetone, and other solvents. I worked it almost loose, but one tiny place held my fingers together. I finally took my pocketknife and cut my fingers loose.

I keep Super glue handy. My wife has me repairing all manners of stuff that gets broken. Since she is decorating for Christmas, I have reattached a “naughty/nice” roll in Santa’s hand back to his arm, attached the head of Wise back to his body, and attached a redbird to a figurine.

Walking down the hall, a nightlight Santa with springy legs and head stuck his nose in the laundry hamper. He was the headless Santa. It took some “redneck ingenuity.” Using a cotton Q-tip, I super glued the cotton tip to Santa’s body sliding the spring over the stem of the Q-tip.

I love working with wood. Tite-bond is my favorite glue for turning scrap wood into beautiful things. When properly prepped, a glued joint is stronger than the wood. I tried it and it worked.

The Apostle Paul reminds believers that Jesus is the glue that holds everything together. All of creation as vast as it is, is held in place by God. Scientist have discovered in the human body there is a cell adhesion molecule called Laminin. Ironically, it looks like a cross.

For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist. Colossians 1:16-17 KJV