A Week in the Life of a Mountain Boy
By Neal Wooten
It would begin with Mom bringing home the largest bag of pinto beans you could buy. My two older sisters and I would help as Mom spread the contents onto the table. We’d sift through and pick out all the black hardened beans, little shriveled ones, and even some dirt and rocks.
Mom would place the beans in our largest pot, and it was humongous, and then add water. They’d cook for about four hours. Just before supper, Mom would make cornbread in our cast-iron skillet, dump in onto a plate, and cut it into pie pieces. Then she’d fry potatoes in the same skillet.
When supper began, I’d crumble one piece of cornbread onto my plate and smother it with beans, leaving just enough room for some fried taters on the side. Then I’d crumble another slice of cornbread into a glass and add buttermilk. Mom always gave me an entire raw onion cut into four quarters just for me.
This was Heaven on Earth. With my mathematical mind, I could always make everything last the same amount of time. I’d end with the last spoon of beans, the last gulp of buttermilk, one last tater, and the final slice of onion. If eating was an art form, I’d be a true artist.
The next two nights, can you guess what we had for supper? Yep — pintos, cornbread, fried taters, buttermilk, and onions. We’d barely put a dent in that huge pot. Now you would think having the same meal three nights in a row would get old. Not for me. It was just as good the third time as it was the first.
Now it gets exciting. Dad would take the remaining beans and convert it into his homemade chili. He’d add ground beef, his own special ingredients and spices, and make the best chili in the world. I’d crumble crackers in a large bowl and smother it with chili. It was awesome. Guess what I ate with it. Yep – an entire raw onion cut into quarters.
For the next few days, we’d have chili for dinner (i.e., lunch) with grilled cheese sandwiches, peanut butter sandwiches, or hot dogs. It’s amazing how long we could eat off that one huge bag of beans.
After supper every night, we’d go into the living room, sit in our respective places on the couch, chair, or floor, unfasten our buckles, snaps, buttons, or whatever held the waistband of our pants up, and try to breathe. During the Carter Administration, we’d watch the news about the gas shortages.
But let me assure you, there were no gas shortages in our house.