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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