INDIAN SUMMER BECKONS
Most days of the last two weeks here have been unlike any August in my memory with temperatures far cooler than normal. Some days have been made even more delightful by relatively low humidity. It’s a harbinger of things to come as we move along towards one of my two favorite times of year—Indian Summer and October. Getting a handle on exactly when Indian Summer comes or even what it is can be difficult. It’s one of those things far better sensed in person than described in print, but I’ll give it a try.
Indian Summer is cool, even slightly chilly nights with a wondrous chorus of katydids in full voice lulling you to sleep as you listen through an open window.
It’s bluebird skies in the daytime, ones with a “see forever” kind of clarity you can’t help but relish with wonder as another choir of musical insects, crickets, takes over the duties performed during hours of darkness by katydids.
It’s leaves on poplars turning gold and those of sumac setting woodland edges aflame with their myriad hues of scarlet.
The season is one of fall flowers—ironweed, Joe Pye weed, cardinal flower, wild asters, goldenrod, and many more delighting the eye at every turn.
It’s a once carefree boy blessed by a youth in the heart of North Carolina’s Great Smokies grown old, assaulted by the aches and pains of age even as his mind soothes him with the incomparable balm of fond memory.
It’s harkening back to a time when the upcoming squirrel season was something to ponder and await with eagerness, even as woodland jaunts provided some scouting for likely hickories laden with nuts or walnut trees along field edges and in bottomlands bearing promise of food for bushytails. In the case of black walnuts, there was food for the taking for humans as well.
It’s thoughts of family efforts associated with gathering, drying, hulling, cracking, and shelling walnuts, with all of it being worth the effort thanks to the nut-laced bounty that came out of a humble mountain kitchen (see recipes below).
It was scrambling to beat squirrels to hazelnuts along stream banks while gathering aromatic ripe fox grapes that would be turned into jelly fit to adorn the fluffiest and finest cathead biscuit ever placed on a plate.
Indian Summer meant the wondrous pleasure of natural perfumes in forms such as that produced by the first drops of rain spattering on dusty ground; newly turned soil giving out a scent Chanel could never match; and the aroma of ripe “cooking” pears, their tough skins pierced by busily feeding yellow jackets, wafting through the air.
It was staying alert for signs of yellow jackets, because blundering into a nest at this time of year meant painful retribution from these brethren of Beelzebub. One has to wonder whether a favorite traditional dish of the Cherokee Indians, yellow jacket soup, was as much a means of payback as it was a source of protein.
It’s recollections of pocketing a couple of newly fallen buckeyes, knowing that folk wisdom held that they were a good luck charm and, never mind that you never consumed the poisonous nut, remembering Grandpa Joe’s admonitions to use them as a means of warding off the miseries of arthritis.
It’s recall of solitary walks in the still chill of dusk, with that roaming in the gloaming being a grand time to sort out one’s mind while strolling with no particular place to go and no hurry to get there.
It’s awareness now, if only for passing moments, that haste, hurry, and scurry of seemingly compelling matters really aren’t necessary and that the simplest things in life can be among its most pleasant offerings.
The season is a boy burnishing a couple of Red Delicious apples on his shirt tail, with the brightest one, absolutely shining with an advertisement of juicy goodness, destined for his teacher’s desk.
It’s the whole family working up apples from our small orchard as Momma canned quart after quart of them, dried some for the scrumptious treat provided by fried pies during the heart of winter’s cold, and relishing the many and varied treats those apples we were peeling and processing would offer in the months to come (see below).
Indian Summer also brought a certain sense of sadness even though the changing season was, on the whole, most welcome. It meant return to classroom drudgery, although this lad (although he would never have admitted it) secretly relished much of the academic endeavor associated with a new school year.
It was the end of another year of trout fishing, floating creeks on inner tubes, swimming in those creeks, flirting with tourist girls frolicking in the stream, and other joys associated with watery pursuits.
It was observing the concluding glories of another round of being a fascinated, albeit silent, observer of all the “going ons” at Dead Pecker Corner on the town square. Coming cold would soon drive the knife swappers, tale tellers, bald-faced liars, Saturday street preachers, and others of their largely ancient tribe indoors. That was cause for great regret, because I relished all of the folderol, amply sprinkled with folksy wisdom, of this gathering of old men.
Indian Summer meant the arrival of outlander leaf peepers, come to the mountains to observe them in all their glory before returning to the flatlands. In my youth their departure for another year brought relief, and in some cases downright pleasure, to most everyone except those in the tourist trade.
It meant Friday night football, an end to summer square dances in public gathering places with those stomping grounds being replaced by clogging and heel kicking at school-sponsored events.
Indian Summer was walking down rows of tall Hickory Cane corn with Grandpa Joe, keeping a watchful eye out for packsaddles (a caterpillar that will sting the bejeebers out of you), avoiding the dry blades of corn that could be knife-sharp if touched in just the wrong way, and periodically pausing to pick a handful of the ground cherries that grew prolifically in the corn field.
It was noting the cured pumpkins scattered here and there throughout the rows waiting to be gathered. The inferior ones, those showing any sign of going bad, and surplus if it had been a good year, would be fed to the hogs. The rest either went to the “can house” where Grandma Minnie store the jars of the varied fruits and vegetables she had “put up” or beneath shocks of corn. Eventually all that meaty goodness would to be turned into everything from fine pumpkin pies or bread (see below) to pumpkin leather.
August was, in short, a month of anticipation of the glories of fall to come as well as one of quiet satisfaction in looking back over the activities and accomplishments of summer as it wound down and gave way to a new season in nature’s never-ending cycle.
JIM’S DOIN’S
I’ve been what Grandpa Joe would have described as “passin’ busy” of late with a couple of major projects. One is writing a requested conclusion as a sort of wrap-up for my manuscript profiling mountain characters; the second involves putting together an anthology featuring the food writing and description of old-time Appalachian foodways, along with recipes, coming from the grand writings of John Parris. I’ve mentioned his name before. While when it comes to history he merits a level of trust comparable to how far I’m able to sling a plow ox, his work on the seasons, handcrafts, culinary traditions, and general folkways of the mountains is virtually in a class by itself. The opening portion of this newsletter follows a stylistic pattern he used frequently and to sound effect, and Parris could tempt an anorexic to the point of outright indulgence (“foundering” would be the mountain word) with his short little excursions into some favored food or food tradition associated with his family or folks he knew.
I’ll take care of most of the selection, editorial input, and commentary, but I have every intention of getting Tipper Pressley, with whom I co-authored Celebrating Southern Appalachian Food, involved in some fashion. That will likely involve assistance with photography (she’s a dab hand behind a lens), having her check my work to make sure I’m not wide of the mark, and possibly drawing on recipes or food thoughts of her own as needed. Although Parris did one book, Mountain Cooking, that features his stories and lots of recipes, he falls somewhat short in the latter category. To take but one of many examples, he wrote frequently on the powerfully pungent but mighty tasty wild vegetable known as ramps, but nary a recipe does he offer. I hope to turn to The History Press, the same folks that published Celebrating Southern Appalachian Foods, for this book. I’ll keep you posted as things develop.
On the publication front, the month saw, as always is the case, the appearance of my “Mountain Musings and Memories” columns in the local weekly serving the area where I grew up, the Smoky Mountain Times. Most of them were segments of a five-part series devoted to the fascinating life of a renowned local fisherman and character, Mark Cathey. Otherwise, there hasn’t been much. Recent efforts include “Mountain Wisdom and Ways: Blackberries,” Carolina Mountain Life, Summer, 2025, pp. 122-23; ”The Genius of Gene Hill,” “Sporting Classics Daily,” July 13, 2025;“A Dozen Books Every Sportsman Should Read—and Why,” Sporting Classics, July/August, 2025, pp. 89-92; and “Breads for the Sweet Tooth,” Smoky Mountain Living, Aug./Sept., 2025, pp. 6-9.
RECIPES
BLACK WALNUT AND BANANA BREAD
Bananas were the most common of all store-bought fruits in yesteryear, and pretty much everyone with much gumption gathered and cracked black walnuts from nature’s rich larder each fall. Now, as then, the two can be combined to make a sweet bread that cries out for anointing with a slab of butter or spread of cream cheese.
½ cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 cups very ripe bananas, mashed with a fork
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ cup finely chopped black walnuts
Mix vegetable oil, sugar, eggs, and bananas well. Add flour, salt, baking soda, and walnuts and mix thoroughly. Place in greased loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for an hour or in four small loaf pans with a baking time of 40 minutes.
TIP: Ripe bananas can be frozen, and it is also often possible to pick up overripe ones in grocery stores at greatly reduced rates.
PUMPKIN BREAD
Planting pumpkins among rows of corn, sometimes in company with cornfield beans for the Cherokee-based “three sisters” approach to agriculture, was once commonplace. Today most folks just turn to store-bought canned pumpkin, but whether it involves eating pumpkins you grew personally or processed “pumpkin meat” from a grocery store shelf, this recipe offers the basis of a rightly popular sweet bread of enduring appeal.
2½ cups sugar
1 cup shortening
3 eggs
15 ounces of processed pumpkin
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1¼ teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon cloves
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon allspice
1½ cups black walnuts
Combine sugar, eggs, pumpkin, and shortening. In a separate bowl sift together flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice. Combine pumpkin mixture with sifted mixture. Stir in black walnuts. Pour into greased loaf pans and bake for an hour at 350 degrees.
NOTE: Other nuts may be used; pecans are especially good in this recipe.
HONEY NUT BREAD
Combine honey, nuts (ideally those gathering, cracked, and picked with your own labor) and flour with suitable accompaniments and you have the makings of a truly tasty treat.
½ cup coarsely chopped nuts
2 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 egg, beaten
½ cup honey
½ cup milk
2 tablespoons melted butter
Sift dry ingredients and add nuts (pecans, English walnuts, black walnuts, or even hickory nuts can be used). Combine beaten egg, honey, milk, and melted butter, and add to first mixture. Stir until ingredients are just moist. Bake in greased bread pan at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes or until done. Makes wonderful breakfast bread when sliced and toasted.
APPLE BREAD
Apples have long been the dominant fruit among mountain folks, thanks at least in part to the fact they are wonderfully suited to regional climate and terrain. For the better part of two centuries apples have featured prominently as a cash crop in the area, and in days gone by almost everyone had, at a minimum, a half dozen of so apple trees on their property. It’s a wonderfully versatile fruit, and here’s a fine example of that versatility.
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon salt
½ cup softened butter
1½ cups sugar
2 eggs
2 cups finely shredded apples
½ cup chopped nuts (black walnuts are especially good)
Sift together flour, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt and set aside. Cream butter and sugar until light. Add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each. Add flour mixture alternately with apples. Stir in walnuts. Spoon into a well-greased loaf pan or use parchment paper to line the pan. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour or until done. Cool in pan 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool completely. This apple bread is perfect for breakfast or an evening snack.
ZUCCHINI BREAD
When garden productivity of this easily grown member of the squash family reaches the point where neighbors hide when they see you coming, fearing they are about the receive yet another gift of zucchini, turn to this method of using the vegetable.
3 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 cup oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice
3 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 cups grated zucchini
1 cup nuts
Beat eggs and sugar; add oil and lemon juice. Sift together flour and remaining dry ingredients; add to egg mixture. Mix well. Stir in zucchini and nuts. Bake in greased loaf pans at 325 degrees for 55 to 60 minutes or until done.
TIPS: Pecan halves can be laid on top of the loaves for extra visual appeal. Also, this bread freezes well so consider preparing a bunch of loaves when inundated by zucchini.
SMOKY MOUNTAIN PERSIMMON BREAD
Often styled “nature’s candy,” when fully ripe sticky sweet persimmons are a treat eaten raw (just be sure they are actually ripe; otherwise you’ll think you swallowed a mouthful of alum) and also make a rich bread as sweet and satisfying as about any dessert imaginable.
2 brimming cups of persimmon pulp (fruits should be squishy ripe, and incidentally, pulp freezes well)
3½ cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
Pinch (maybe half a teaspoon) of nutmeg or allspice
2 cups sugar (either brown sugar or refined sugar works fine)
1 cup (2 sticks) melted butter (allow to cool to room temperature after melting)
4 large eggs, lightly whisked
1 cups black walnuts (you can substitute 2 cups of lightly toasted and chopped pecans or English
walnuts)
2 cups dried fruit such as apricots, raisins, yellow raisins, or dates
2/3 cup bourbon (a cheap brand is fine)
Butter a pair of loaf pans or use non-stick pans. Sift flour, salt, spice, baking soda, and sugar into a large plastic mixing bowl. Whisk in the butter, eggs, bourbon, and persimmon pulp until thoroughly mixed. Add and whisk in nuts and dried fruit. Place batter in pans and slide into pre-heated 350-degree oven. Check periodically as bread begins to brown by inserting a toothpick. When the toothpick comes out clean the bread is ready. Cooking time varies depending on configuration of pans you use.
NOTE: Once cooled, wrap to keep moist. The bread will keep several days (but likely be eaten much sooner) and it freezes well. It is rich and somewhat reminiscent of a dark fruit cake.
TIP: While wild persimmons are plentiful, their domesticate brethren are just as tasty, have no seeds, and are easily worked up. Increasingly they are seasonally available in grocery stores.
MOLASSES BREAD
2 cups of plain flour
½ teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of ginger
2 teaspoons of baking powder
¼ teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
⅓ cup of melted butter
1 cup of molasses
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 egg
Sift all dry ingredients together. Stir in melted butter and molasses mixing well. Add milk and egg; mix well. Pour mixture into a greased loaf pan and bake at 350 for 45 to 50 minutes or until done.
TIPS: If you don’t have buttermilk available, add 1 tablespoon of lemon juice to 1 cup of whole milk as a substitute. Another substitution possibility is to use sorghum instead of molasses.
BLACKBERRY CORNBREAD
In my personal view adding sugar to cornbread mix is an abomination fit exclusively for those plagued by stark culinary ignorance or perhaps a temporary spate of having taken leave of their senses, but there’s a way to give cornbread a special taste boost in that direction without so much as a hint of visitation to the sugar jar. Just mix up a batch of cornbread with your favorite recipe (mine appears below) and then, immediately after emptying it into a piping hot cast iron skillet, carefully pour two cups of blackberries across the top and pop it in the oven. Slathered with butter when hot from the oven, this is a gift from the culinary gods. 1 extra large egg
1 1/3 cups buttermilk
¼ cup bacon drippings
2 cups stone-ground corn meal
Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl and whisk until thoroughly blended. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees and place the pan, well-seasoned by rubbing in a bit of the bacon grease or by running a piece of streaked meat across it after the pan is hot, in it for a few minutes. Then take out and pour the batter into the pan, add the blackberries, return to oven, and cook until golden brown.