My 1969 Sour and MoonPie® Enlightenment

Miami-born, I spent my early childhood in south Florida, where I was accustomed to having a variety of fruits growing in my yard.  If they were not in my yard, they were somewhere in the neighborhood; maybe in a friend's yard, or in an unsuspecting neighbor's yard, or just growing up and down the sides of the streets--waiting to be picked. 

Surinam cherries

Surinam cherries grew off of shrubs that were incorporated in peoples' hedges at the fronts and sides of their yards.  Coconut trees were just a given in Miami, ubiquitously towering on most every street's right-of-way.  

Guavas

Guava trees were in the neighborhood, too, in somebody's yard, anyway.  Back in those days, it was OK to go around raiding the neighbors' yards and eating their fruits, so long as we kids didn't show up greedy-looking and carrying bushel baskets to fill off our neighbors' generosities.

An extra special person living in south Florida was Grandma Rose Sharpe, who had a yard filled with all kinds of neat stuff.  Fruits that were ready-to-eat and welcome-to-pick (as per Grandma's permission).  She had mangoes, figs, avocados (not sweet, but a favorite of mine), oranges, strawberries, guavas and coconuts, of course.   

She had other impressive stuff, too, like bananas (didn't like bananas, but thought they were neat-looking), key limes (sours!), and eggplants (whaaat?).  Although these latter items were not things I desired, I always thought it was so cool the way Grandma's yard and garden were so manicured.  She pampered the fruit trees that were there naturally, as well as the specialty fruits and veggies she had planted.    

In my early days, we would vacation to Tallahassee every summer, and there I remember Papa Tomberlin ( mom's bio-father) had grapevines at his place.  I would walk under them in amazement and pick-n-eat, pick-n-eat.  Yum...grapes!

Ben E. Keith, Co. http://www.benekeith.com/food/recipes/blackberry-cobbler

While in Tallahassee, the family would regularly go with my grandparents Mother and Pop Copelin and pick blackberries, blueberries, gooseberries, and/or huckleberries, depending on what time of the year it was and which direction we were heading any given day.  I'd eat eat and eat as I picked and picked for that yummy cobbler that I knew was coming to Mother's table that night.  Mom would tell me, "Don't eat them faster than you pick them."  

Uncle Edward had watermelons

We'd go to my Uncle Edward's place, not far from Mother and Pop's, and get watermelons from his garden.  I was allowed my very own watermelon, and I'd pick one about the size of a volleyball--big as I could handle.  Mother would make sweet pickles out of the emptied melon rinds.  What wonderful summer days! 

The sweet advantage seemed to be everywhere I turned; from my Miami end of Florida to the Tallahassee top of it.  Even when we traveled the road one way or the other, as we approached Orlando, there, up ahead, the Citrus Tower!  The once famous landmark was surrounded by orange groves, and its appearance on the horizon was our alert that soon, we'd be picking oranges off of somebody's  trees--the fruits of somebody else's labors.  

Trespassing and picking and feasting.  This was a regular pit stop for us as we traversed the Sunshine State, and back then the oranges were fair game.  We'd pull over to the side of the highway and pick as we pleased--no law, or at least, no law around!  

I spent my early years taking all these free-growing luxuries for granted.  I was accustomed to being able to quickly satisfy my sweet tooth.

In 1969, I moved to Twilleytown, AL, where the sweets didn't grow on trees.

I was at my new friend Teresa's house one day, and saw a box in the kitchen marked MoonPie.  I asked her what that was, and she described them to me; a soft tone of amazement in her voice at my ignorance about MoonPies.  She gave me one.  I ate the thing while we walked toward my house.  I loved this MoonPie!  I'm gonna' be wanting more, too.  

We entered my house, and as I showed Teresa around our small home, she spotted the bag of lemons on the kitchen counter.
Her eyes widened and her face lighted up.  "I love lemons!" she exclaimed.  "What do you mean?" I asked.  "I love eating lemons!  They are so good with salt on 'em!"  I cringed at the thought.  I was a sweet-eater, not a sour-seeker.  I gave her a lemon.




The next day, I longed for MoonPies.  I called my friend, "Can you come up?" I asked her.  "No, I gotta' clean the house today."  Teresa was always cleaning house, making cornbread, and washing clothes.  A nine-year-old homemaker.  "You have any more MoonPies?" I inquired.  She sure did!  And I still had lemons.  And since she had to work at home today..., "let's meet halfway and swap."  We agreed; trade made.  

Turns out she always had MoonPies at her house.  I didn't know why then, except that her dad, Clyde, liked them.  I know why now, though, since I did some MoonPie research on their company website http://moonpie.com/

I found out that MoonPies were created as a "staple" for coal miners' lunchboxes, or lunch pails, in 1917.  The idea was suggested by the miners, and for the miners.  They needed something for their snack breaks, something that was tasty, satisfying, and convenient for packing and handling. 

Miner's antique lunch pail

According to the MoonPie Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/MoonPie, at the moment the miners were describing their snack of desire to MoonPie inventor Earl Mitchell, Sr., the moon was just rising.  One miner pointed at it, saying that he wanted said snack to be as big as that moon.  So the MoonPies came to be a miner's lunch pail regular.  And Teresa's father was a coal miner--an underground coal miner, in fact.

The reason we always had lemons, which we did, is not nearly as intriguing a story.  My parents went to the Farmer's Market on a regular basis, and would buy bargain crates of things that were about to be scrapped.  I knew I never saw any lemon meringue pies at my house, and maybe the occasional wedge could be seen sticking out of my mother's iced tea glass.  Other than that, I don't remember using lemons for anything except to watch them spoil on the counter top.  Now though, they had a new meaning and new value to me.  One lemon was equal to one MoonPie.

Our swap meet went on for several weeks.  We'd meet, we'd trade, and we'd sit around snacking on MoonPies and lemons.  Then came the day that I finally decided to try a salt-laden lemon for myself.  Wowee! 

PASS THE SALT, PLEEEZE!  

      

I quickly grew to love "sour".  Teresa introduced me to many other sour treats that I began to crave, too.  We'd raid the neighborhood of green plums, carrying our salt shakers with us as we made the rounds.  We knew when and where the green apples were ready to be plucked.                                 

http://www.wildharvestuk.net/hunt-and-gather-uk/

I learned of some "new" sort of apples  Teresa called crab apples, and she and I spent many an afternoon eating giant mixing bowls full of them.  We'd eat until the stomach aches came.  But oh, what joy the ache it was! 

She even turned me on to the old-timey dill pickles at Brasher's, the local clapboard general store.  The pickles were in a giant jar on the counter, and they only cost a nickel.  I'm sorry Mother, but these dills override your sweet watermelon rind pickles!  

The Canned Quilter at Hickery Holler Farm http://hickeryhollerfarm.blogspot.com/2013/07/high-canning-season.html

The following year, when I was 10 years old, my family had moved back to the Miami area for a short stint.  We relocated a lot because my stepfather Bill was in the asbestos union.  He was oftentimes also running from the law (another story).  In any case, we moved on several occasions.  By that time, I was firmly hooked on lemons, limes, anything sour.  

In Ft. Lauderdale, FL we lived in a rental, and out in the yard were the usual coconut and guava trees.  And there was a lemon tree, with lemons the size of grapefruits.  I was salivating as I picked one of the giants.  I cut it in half, then fourths, then eighths (yeah, they were that big) and doused the sections with salt.  Omigosh I loved it!  

Having eaten half of the monster, my stomach immediately
morphed into an ulcer-ridden bag of acid, but it was glorious!  The open-sore, burning feeling went away after about thirty minutes, so I ate the other half.  

I went to Grandma Rose's house, and this time, I ate her key limes like they were going out of style.  Sprinkle salt, and ahhhhh! You don't know what you're missing, Teresa!

I tried to bring a few of all these treasures back to Teresa that year, but they had shriveled by the time I was back in Twilleytown.  

I went back and forth from Alabama to south Florida over the next couple years.  Upon my return one year, Teresa and I experienced an episode of candy overload.  I came back to Twilleytown with a pocket full of baby sitting money I had earned during that trip.  It amounted to about $35, which was a lot for a twelve-year-old in 1972.  In just two or three afternoons, Teresa and I blew it all on brown paper sacs of candy (sweet and sour) treats from Brasher's.  

There we sat, at the roadside on the bank of Twilleytown Loop, glutting on the bagged goods.  Life was a treat!

So I hadn't abandoned MoonPies, or any other sweets for that matter.  I had simply taken a hiatus from them as Teresa exposed me to the sour side of life.  By then, I had acquired a wonderful balance between the sweet and the sour.  I had, thanks to Teresa, developed tastes for new flavors.  

I had learned to love treats like SWEETARTS® candies,Charms® Sour Lollipops (I think they're just "sour balls" today), and Now & Later^® green apple squares.  I likewise still enjoyed chocolate chip cookies, chocolate candy bars, chocolate brownies, pretty much chocolate anything.  I'm open minded, and open mouthed.  
  
Thank you, Teresa, for the taste bud overhaul and great snack enlightenment. 

www.cookingwithk.net/ Southern Kitchen Happenings

One snack she never got me to be interested in was buttermilk and cornbread in a glass.  That seemed to be a favorite of hers, and, as I learned, a favorite of many Southerners.  Thank you, but no thanks, good friend Teresa.     

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Christopher's on the Way

To my beloved son, Christopher Charles Lee, on his 32nd birthday:

Before I knew...

Before I found out I was actually carrying you, a small undeveloped baby boy, inside of my body, I thought I was developing a stomach ulcer.  I had sick feelings, and the only things that remedied them were glasses of milk and baked potatoes.  Pieces of dry toast, bland cereals, and other basically boring foods helped, too, as long as I ate them often throughout the days.  With all this nick-knacking I was doing, albeit bland, I was gaining weight.  My digestive system began malfunctioning.  What, oh what, could be the matter with me??  Duh!

The Tell

I went to the doctor to see what ailed me.  The doctor was Dr. Ed O'Rear, and he came into the exam room with a lighted cigarette hanging from his lips.  Okay...it's his office.  It was March of 1982.  I told him what all was going on with me, and he just told me that if I keep eating like that I will get fat.  I was already on my way.  The nurse then told me I was expecting a baby.  Although the thought had occurred to me, I was dumbfounded and happy at the same time.  I was referred to another doctor, one who was big on caring for pregnant moms and for delivering babies.  That would be Dr. N. Tom Camp, still the best doc ever, and I stuck with him for your development duration.

Your Influence on My Taste Buds

Stomach maladies quickly subsided, and I began to crave watermelon with a vengeance.  And salt.  And yeah, some cantaloupe.  Watermelon, cantaloupe, and salt everyday.  And green plums, and sour apples, and more salt.  Frank and Martha Noles, our neighbors across the street, were kind enough to say "yes" when I asked if I could pick some of their green plums off the tree beside their pond.  Poor Mr. and Mrs. Noles never got a chance at their own plums that year, because I picked them all within a couple weeks' time.

We Grow

By three months, I was already "showing".  What did I expect, since I was eating all the time?  Your dad and I were at a funeral, and a neighbor of ours, Ruth Naramore, walked over to me and whispered to my ear, "are you pregnant?"  I told her "yes", and apologetically said I was only about three months along--I felt a little guilty for having already gained enough weight to "show".  Your dad told Ruth he would have been afraid to ask a woman if she was pregnant, in case she was just plain fat.  Oh well.  I figured that, from that time onto your arrival, I would just eat whatever, since I was "eating for two".

How the Days Passed for We Two, at Home

The Television

Your dad would go to work, I would stay home and eat, and swell.  I watched a lot of television, and we had basic local TV at the time.  It was at pre-VHS and satellite ownership time.  A new Birmingham station had just started--WTTO Channel 21-- and it had some old and little-known movies and shows on it.

It also had one commercial/public service announcement that it ran over and over; a commercial I likewise loved to watch. It was sponsored by the Church of Latter Day Saints, and it ran to the song Julie Through the Glass by Carly Simon.  It was about a young mother's visions and hopes for her newborn baby, and it was played out on a stirring-to-pregnant-moms video.  The film showed the mom viewing her baby through the maternity ward glass window.  I really liked that commercial, and I have never forgotten how good it always made me feel to watch it.   

You can see the video and hear the song at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax4EGaR-BYQ

Books About You

I bought a "baby's name" book and began thinking about the choices I had.  I thought and studied and thought.  Your dad pretty much was leaving all that to me.  I decided that if you were a boy, you would be Christopher Charles Lee, and if you were a girl, you'd be Carmen Sofia Lee.  Here's the "why" for those choices.  I wanted a "saint's" name, since I was trying to follow Catholicism norms.  Hence the "Christopher" and the "Sofia".  I chose "Charles" because of my love for my grandfather Charles "Pop" James Copelin.   The girl's "Carmen" part was just because I really loved the name--always have, and still do.

Incidentally, I liked the actor Christopher Lee, who just happened to have a striking resemblance to my own father John (J.C.) Calvin Reno.  So, I figured that Christopher would be a good choice.   Anthony and I pretty much agreed that we wouldn't let anybody call you "Chuck" or "Chris".  Oh well.  "Chris" I learned to deal with and even to use occasionally.

About the boy and girl issue:  One thing your dad was adamant about was that if you turned out to be a girl, there would be NO ear piercing until you were old enough to decide.  I was firm on the opposite, and it WAS going to happen if you were a girl.  Good thing we didn't have to come to that standoff! 

I also bought a book with "instructions" for bringing up baby.  It was a paperback that I am pretty sure was Dr. Benjamin Spock's Baby and Child Care.  I so wish I still had that book to give to you now, so you'd know where I got some of my child-rearing ideas.

I found out that I should be reading aloud to my unborn child.  So, on many nice spring and summer days, I sat outside in the yard in Rose Hill, Alabama, and read to you.  I first read excerpts from Plato's Apology of Socrates.  That didn't go over well, with me anyway.  So after a few days I switched to Two Years Before the Mast, by R. H. Dana, Jr.  It was definitely more interesting, and I still have the book--both of the books--which you should read "again" one day.

As you developed, I continued to read, but I decided you probably didn't care what the book content was, so I read anything I could get hold of.  I liked to read, always had, and I wanted you to like it, too.

Rounding Out the Summer

Food, Fat, Pains, and Projects

By five-months time, I was very plump.  Dr. Camp reprimanded me over the weight gain.  He said "your baby will only be 7-8 pounds, so you'll have all that other to lose."  His nurses, Brenda (Brenda Arnold is now a very good friend of mine) and Judy (Dr. Camp's wife and another great friend) both "fussed" and instructed me on the fact that I can't eat a whole box of Vanilla Wafers in one sitting, and that I am not really to take the saying "eating for two" literally.

I kept on snacking.  And gaining.  And consequently developed a backache all the time.  I had to get an "okay" from Dr. Camp to go see the chiropractor.  That was a relief, and the pain alleviation gave me leeway to eat more goodies.  To my sorrow, I discovered during that month that my favorite food in the world, pizza, could not be eaten.  What used to be my savory friend now gave me extremely painful cramps and severe diarrhea.  That's what you want to hear!

That was also the month, July, that your dad had the concrete truck arrive to pour his two dog kennels.  It was hot, and your dad had no help.  I normally would have been out there helping him spread the mixture as the man poured it, but I couldn't because I had been having too many pains; so many that I worried I might be in labor.  The concrete man, who only poured and wasn't permitted to help spread, asked me if I was alright, as I stood bent over on the back porch.  I was watching Anthony run, red-faced and breathless, from one kennel to the other to get the stuff worked and leveled.  I was worried about my situation that day, but I was way more worried about your dad.  I felt so helpless while he raced frantically back and forth.  He was bound and determined to get his dog kennels in, and he succeeded, and when the day was done, we were all okay.

Whew!  I was ready for you to get here!  I had done the sonar viewing, and we knew by now that you were going to be a boy.  And we knew your estimated time of arrival would be November 17th.  Hmm...

At Seven Months

September, I was with your Grandmother Shirley Lee, her friends Ann and Buck Brown, your Great Grandmother OZY, and your Uncle Dennis and Aunt Kelly.  We had gone on a trip to Panama City. Your dad didn't go because we couldn't afford for him to miss any work, and besides, he had to stay and take care of all our animals.

On that trip at the hotel is when and where I received a call from my father's wife Barbara.  I had never talked to her before, and I hadn't seen my dad since 1969, although we all had corresponded by mail a little bit.  Barbara had tracked me down to tell me of my father's death.  He had been killed, the story goes, by a car striking him as he walked down the road.  That had happened in September of 1981.  She hadn't known where to find me up until then, which I understood since we had lost contact over the previous two or three years.  She told me he was buried next to his parents in Maryville, TN.  I was seven-months pregnant with you in 1982 when I heard of my dad's death.

November 1982      

The 10th

The night I started having labor pains, I remembered the rule of "nothing to eat" once the labor started.  I obeyed, that is, until it dragged on for hours.  We went to the hospital to have you, your grandmother Shirley met us there, all excited, and...nothing.  We were sent home; me in tears for not having produced the long-awaited "package".  I sat in the living room on the sectional sofa and labored all night.  I also cheated and ate Tootsie-Pops, one after the other.

The 11th 

Towards the last couple of hours, as we knew for sure it was time to go back to the hospital, I had Anthony run and get me a pizza.  I didn't care what ill effect it was going to have at this point.  I was in pain anyway, and I was going to the hospital anyway.  For gosh sakes, get me the pizza!

Labor lasted altogether 36 hours.  When it was all said and done, and time for you to arrive, I had gained 48 pounds.  Forty-eight pounds to make a 7-pound infant.   

But you were so worth it.  As you were being born, Dr. Camp had a look on his face as if you were the first child he had ever brought into the world.  The look of sheer joy at new life was glowing from his face, and with all my fear and pain and anxiety, I treasure that moment.  When you were fully present, Dr. Camp said, "looks like you've got a girl."  "Whaaaat?" I could not believe it--I was expecting a boy, and a boy is what I wanted!  Dr. Camp was just teasing me to lighten the moment, since he of course knew what I had been expecting all along.

Right then, before the nurses' team got you, or anybody else got hold of you for the usual cleaning and measuring, he placed you onto my abdomen in the delivery room.  There you were, lying helpless and crying, while I was trying to absorb the whole idea that I had just had a baby.

The crazy and funny tales of labor and delivery are a dime a dozen.  Although having a baby is as old as life, and nothing is biologically unique about it, you, Christopher Charles Lee are a unique gift to me from God that I treasure more than any words can say.  I am grateful and proud that I have you as my son, and I will always love you.

From your mom.

Christening Day on December 19, 1982, Christopher Charles Lee, born on November 11, 1982

                                                    

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