Ihr liewe Leit:
Der John Birmelin (1873-1950) hot mol vun dem do Zeit im Yaahr gschriwwe:
Nau watt der Lattwarick aa gekocht,
Do muss mer fleissich riehre;
Die Buwe helfe gaern die Meed,
Un duhne karessiere.
Der Thomas J. B. Rhoads (1837-1919) hot mol
en gans Gedicht vum Lattwarickkoche gschriwwe un
heit nemme mer en paar Vaerscht un Linye aus dem
Gedicht, "’Lattwarickkoche fer Alders":
Mer kann nadierlich net net yuscht aafange; do
muss zimmlich viel Arrewet gemacht warre eb alles
bereit iss fer aazufange!
Die Zeit waar beschtimmt, der Daag waar do, der Seider muss mer mache;
Die siesse Ebbel misse bei, ‘s Gewaerz un annere Sache,
Die Buwe un die Meed sin naus, die Ebbel uffzulese
vun selle groosse Ebbelbeem, do brauch mer nimmand heesse.
Die Arrewet uff der Bauerei, die kann en Daag yo leie,
Der Lattwarick muss mer koche, fer sell brauch sich nimmand scheie.
Dann sin mer noch der Ebbelmiehl, die Ebbel zu vermaahle,
(Mer hen die Miehl you selwer ghatt, do brauch mer nix bezaahle.)
Datt geht der Gaul im Gringel rum, en Schtang dutt ihn rumfiehre,
Ich heer die Miehl noch graunse heit, un meen mer sott sie schmiere.
Ich sehn der Seider laafe un ich sehn die Dreschder falle
Datt im Droog graad bei der Miehl, meh wie en hunnert Galle.
Un mer muss nadierlich Hols fer Feier hawwe.
Die Schtumbe hen mer rausgemacht mit Riggel,
Un uff der Holsblatz gfaahre zu de Glentz un zu de Briggel;
Un hen sie datt vermetzelt in de kiehle Schpotyaahrdaage,
Mit Schplittax un mit Keidel, un die Schticker fattgedraage
Uff en Haufe wu sie hendich waare, Feier mit zu mache
Unner Kessel gfillt mit Seider un mit Schnitz un annre Sache.
Ya, nadierlich misse noch Ebbel gschnitzt warre!
Die scheene yunge Bauremeed am Zuwwer sehn ich sitze
In weisse Schatz, mit Haar gebreed, die sin am ebbelschnitze;
Die Schnitz, die dutt die Mammi nei; en paar, die duhne riehre,
Bis sie verkocht sin, gut un fei, schunnscht kann mer’s yo net schmiere.
Mer mache neegscht Woch weider.
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
John Birmelin once wrote about this time of the year:
Now apple butter is also cooked,
One has to stir diligently;
The boys like to help the girls
And court (them).
Thomas J. B. Rhoads (1837-1919) once wrote
an entire poem about cooking apple butter, and
today we will take a few verses and lines from that
poem, "Cooking Apple Butter in Olden Times":
One can’t, of course, just start in; quite a bit of
work has to be done before everything is ready to start!
The time was determined, the day was here, we have to make the cider;
The sweet apples must be gathered, the spices and other things,
The boys and girls went out to pick up the apples
From those big apple trees; you don’t have to direct anyone.
The work on the farm, it can lie for a day.
The apple butter must be cooked, no one has to shy away from that.
Then we went to the apple mill, to mash the apples,
(We owned the mill ourselves. We didn’t have to
pay anything.)
The horse goes around in a circle; a pole leads him
around,
I can hear still hear the mill groaning today, and believe
it should be greased.
I see the cider running and I see the pomace fall
There into the trough at the mill, more than a
hundred gallons.
And we naturally have to have wood for the fire.
We took out the stumps with rails
And drove them to the wood pile with the blocks
and branches;
And cut them up there in the cool autumn days,
With splitting axe and with wedge, and carried
away the pieces
To a pile where they were handy to make the fire
Under kettles filled with cider and with sliced
apples and other things.
Yes, naturally apples still have to be cut up!
The beautiful young farmer girls I see sitting at the
vat
In white aprons, with hair braided, and they are cutting up apples;
The apples, they are put in by mother; a few others do the stirring,
Till it is cooked, is good and fine; otherwise one cannot spread it.
We will continue next week.
Take care,
The Old Professor |
