ornery: Inferior, mean, or worthless. When applied to a human, ornery, generally means lazy, shiftless, and ill-tempered.
— Vance Randolph, Down in the Holler
Original Art by the Lonesome Holler Artist
Mountain Canticle
Another song from England that made its way across the sea to these hills, Handsome Molly, is the story of a sailor who find himself far from his sweetheart. A simple and memorable tune, this song likely arose sometime in the late 1700s but has remained in the US to this day in old-time, bluegrass, and folk music circles. A traditional Ozark rendition can be found here.
Handsome Molly
Well, I wish I was in London
Or some other seaport town
I'd set my feet on a steamboat
Sail th ocean 'round
Chorus:
Sailin' around th ocean
Sailin' 'round th sea
I'd think of handsome Molly
Wherever she may be
Now, she had hair like a raven
Her eyes were pure as gold
Her cheeks shone like lillies
Out in th mornin' cold
Well, don't you remember Molly
When you gave me your hand
You said if we ever married
That I would be your man
Well, I saw you in Church last Sunday
You passed me on by
I knew your mind was a changin'
By th rovin' of your eye
Ozark Chinquapin (Castanea ozarkensis Ashe)
An endangered species of chestnut, the chinquapin used to densely cover the Ozarks but now is a rarer sight. A shrub-like tree that flowers late May to June growing up to 65’ tall, the chinquapin produces edible nuts commonly harvested an used by mountaineers of the Ozark hills for generations and by the native tribes for far longer prior. A disease introduced from Asia caused a collapse of the chestnut population in the US devastating the population nation-wide. Currently there are efforts to restore the chinquapin population in the Ozarks by the Ozark Chinquapin Foundation.
Venison Stew
This dish captures a season appropriate flavor of the Ozarks and celebrates the self-reliance of the region’s culinary traditions.
2 pounds venison stew meat cubed
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons vegetable oil or bacon grease
1 medium onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 cups beef or venison stock
4 medium potatoes, peeled and cubed
3 carrots, sliced into rounds
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 cup diced tomatoes
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 bay leaf
Salt and black pepper to taste
Pat the venison cubes dry with paper towels. Toss them with flour, salt, and pepper to coat evenly. Heat the oil or bacon grease in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the floured venison in batches, searing until browned on all sides. Remove and set aside.
In the same pot, add the onion and garlic. Sauté until fragrant and translucent, about 3 minutes. Return the venison to the pot. Add the stock, diced tomatoes, thyme, paprika, bay leaf, and a pinch of salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cover and cook for about 1 hour.
Stir in the potatoes, carrots, and celery. Simmer uncovered for an additional 30–40 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender and the stew thickens slightly. Taste and adjust seasoning with additional salt, pepper, or a splash of apple cider vinegar for brightness.
The Boar Before Christmas
The border-landers who settled in the Ozarks preferred mutton over pork, as sheep thrived in England’s open pastures, predator-free landscapes, and rich soil. But in the rugged hills of the New World, with its poor soil and high predator pressure, sheep struggled to survive. Adapting to their new environment, settlers turned to pigs, which needed no pasture, could forage for food, defend themselves from predators, and thrived in the wooded terrain of the Ozarks.
It didn’t take long for some of these pigs to escape, making their way into the woods and becoming feral. These once-tame creatures became ferocious in both behavior and appearance. Soon, settlers realized it was often better to kill a wild hog in a hunt than it was to waste resources raising their own. Boar hunts quickly rose in popularity throughout much of the Ozark mountains.
Before modern technology, few things instilled more fear in a lone traveler than lions (a story for another time) and wild hogs. These hogs were violent and would absolutely attack and eat people if they were hungry enough and felt they had the upper hand. There are many stories that emerged on the subject of hog attacks; one I recall goes like so:
One late fall night, a boy was tromping his way through the dark woods, trying to follow the old wooded trail back to his uncle’s cabin. He hurried his step, knowing all manner of dark critters could be lurking just outside his lantern light. He didn’t much like going out after dark, but given the season, it was something unavoidable. His uncle had sent him into town to try to buy a ham for the festivities that were to follow in the morning, given it was Christmas Eve. To his dismay, the boy was returning empty-handed as all the ham had been sold before he arrived. As he walked along, he nervously whistled a hymn and tried to focus on the warm pot of beans waiting for him back at his uncle’s house.
About a mile from his uncle’s cabin, the boy heard rustling in the leaves. Before he was able to turn around to get a good look, he was knocked to the ground and dropped his light. He jumped to his feet, and in doing so, saw that he had been knocked down by a huge hog attempting to gore him with its gnarled tusks. The boy leapt from the leaves into the nearest tree (a spindly pine with branches barely bigger than his wrist) and climbed as fast as he could, leaving the angry, grunting razorback 20 feet below, pacing around the bottom of the tree. The boy began calling for help until he was hoarse, but it was no luck.
After hours of clinging to the tree, the boy’s arms ached, and he wondered how much longer he could hold on. The hog below snorted and squealed, as if savoring its victory. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his hands broke contact with the tree. While he fell, he heard the crack of a rifle and the scream of a wounded hog. He hit the ground hard, and everything went black.
The boy groaned as he opened his eyes. His uncle sat nearby, a rifle leaning against the wall. “You’re lucky I got to you before that hog did,” he said with a grin. The boy had somehow gotten off the trail a ways, and it wasn’t until the first signs of dawn that his uncle was able to spot him in the treeline. After shooting the hog, the boy’s uncle carried him home, then returned to clean and butcher the pig. By evening, ham was in the oven.
As the family gathered around the table later that night for supper, the boy explained how he was walking home empty-handed before the attack. Smiling, he said, “I suppose I did manage to bring home a ham, although this one insisted on delivering itself.”
