The Three Sisters

Our earliest forefathers came to this land knowing nothing about how to survive here and bringing little with them. But they learned. Much of what they learned about food they learned from the natives. There were many new and strange plants here that the natives had been eating and cultivating for generations.

Corn was a staple for many tribes, as were beans and pumpkins. In fact, these three crops were grown together and called "The Three Sisters." They compliment each other on more than just the dinner table. 

Corn is a grass that grows on a sturdy frame and needs plenty of nitrogen to prosper. Beans are a legume, taking nitrogen from the air and depositing it into the soil. But beans need something to support them as they grow. Both corn and beans thrive best when their roots are kept modestly moist and partially shaded. Pumpkins have broad, prickly leaves that provide shade and also help repel certain pests, like raccoons, who do not like to walk over them. 

Learning how to work with nature to provide for their survival is what kept the early settlers alive. But it also change the world. Foods found native here, like The Three Sisters, were carried back across the ocean and cultivated there as well. And while many people think of potatoes belonging to the Irish, in fact, they were taken back to Ireland from our own Colonial shores.

~ Pegg Thomas



PeggThomas.com

Sausage Making in Colonial Virginia by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Sausage Making at Yorktown Victory Center in Virginia

Sausage making in colonial Virginia was quite a chore.  These two men are making sausages at Yorktown Victory Center in Virginia.  First the pork had to be chopped.  The man on the left used a cleaver to chop the meat into tiny pieces. This was very labor intensive, as you can imagine.

The pork was seasoned for the sausage with thyme and other seasonings, perhaps fennel and parsley and other herbs. The pork was first chopped into tiny sections and then transferred to a trencher or a bowl and then stuffed inside the casing.

The pork mixture was pushed through a funnel, to which the casement was "attached" by the sausage stuffer holding the casing to the opening in the funnel.

The Yorktown Victory Center does wonderful demonstrations this time of year about how farmers prepared food for winter.  Hogs were normally killed in late November and then the meat put up.


The sausage casing gets slippery and is difficult to keep attached.  In the picture below, the sausage maker is using two fingers to hold the casing to the funnel.

The meat had to be pushed through the funnel with a wood spoon, in this case, and into the casing.  This required some attention on the part of the sausage maker.

This looks quite different from the way my mother made sausage.  She had a meat grinder and ran the meat and seasonings through the metal grinder which had a crank handle. It had a section where the casings attached and if I recall correctly, there was a metal clip device that kept the casing on while Mom made the sausage.







Question:  Have you ever seen sausage made?  What did you think?  Do you make sausage or have you ever?

A Harvest of Corn

Autumn is my favorite time of year in New England, with its cooler weather, the changing of the leaves and harvest time bringing fresh pumpkins, squash and sweet ears of corn to the local roadside farm stands.

The Indians called it maize and introduced the grain to the first American settlers who were amazed to see them munch on a whole roasted or boiled ear.  The curious Pilgrims sampled this novel delicacy and learned its secrets from their Indian neighbors.  They adopted it as their own and renamed it “corn,” the generic English word for grain.  They learned to make corn meal, corn breads and cakes, corn chowder and puddings of every variety—from hasty pudding to corn custard.  Soon corn became a staple of the Colonial diet and was grown on every early American farm.

At harvest time, the fresh corn stalks brought an opportunity for neighbors to come together for a husking frolic.  The task of husking and shelling, which would prove tedious for a single family to accomplish on their own, was turned into a festive gathering for men, women and children.  Food, drink and dancing often followed and it was a great opportunity for young people of courting age to meet a potential love interest.

Among the many delectable dishes that settlers learned to make with corn, corn custard was considered a Colonial mainstay.  It was known to be a favorite dish of Revolutionary War General Daniel Morgan, and it remains a favorite around holiday time in New England homes today.  Here’s an easy receipt that serves 6.

2 cups corn kernels, fresh or canned (and drained)

1/4 cup flour

1 tsp. sugar

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. pepper

3 eggs, beaten well

2 cups milk

2 Tbsp. butter, melted

Preheat oven to 350º.  Mix the corn and dry ingredients.  Add eggs, milk and butter.  Bake in a buttered casserole dish set in a pan of hot water for 50-60 minutes or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.

What is your favorite corn dish or way to enjoy corn?

Lisa Norato
www.lisanorato.com
Lisa Norato, Author/Facebook
 

Colonial Gardening by Lisa Norato

In southern New England from whence I hail, the spirit and history of colonial gardening is kept alive in living museums, public historic houses, parks and memorials. Gardening is a timeless pursuit of great interest and reward. Who doesn’t look forward to a little digging in the dirt come springtime? In our country’s earliest days, however, gardening was a necessary part of daily life. Every home, whether in town or country, had a garden. They ranged from the most modest dooryard gardens (that is, small garden plots literally located just outside the front door) to beautiful, sprawling acres like Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello Park. They provided sustenance for the family, were cultivated for medicinal purposes and provided the pleasure of fresh flowers which even the poorest of Colonial women could enjoy.

The Plymouth Pilgrims were introduced to local crops by the Wampanoag Indians. Without them, the early settlers might not have survived the winter. These Native Americans taught them many techniques, including a highly effective method of gardening called The Three Sisters. A Three Sisters garden begins with the planting of corn, which could be eaten off the cob or ground into flour. Once the stalks grew, pole beans were sown beside them where they would climb the stalks as opposed to spreading across the ground. This procedure not only conserved space but added nitrogen to the soil. Squash planting followed—anything from pumpkins to crookneck to acorn squashes. The vines encircled the corn and beans, acting as living mulch to help conserve water and control the growth of weeds, while their bristles helped repel hungry critters.

Every home from poor to middle class to gentry had its own kitchen garden for the family’s everyday use. These produced all manner of vegetables and herbs, sometimes even flowers, all crowed together so as not to spare one of inch of soil. Lamb’s Quarter was popular during this time, though is rarely to be found on our modern dinner plates. Today this leafy green is treated as a weed and discarded, but in early America it was commonly consumed for its rich nutritional value and a taste similar to that of spinach. 

Gardening was also a rare way in which a Colonial woman could earn a livelihood. Seedswomen traded in flower and vegetable seeds and many advertised in local newspapers such as The Boston Evening Post. For other women, gardening was a way to alleviate some of the homesickness they felt when they came to the New World by planting seeds and roots common to their homelands, such as the English Rose.

In addition to plant life, gardens would sometimes include a beehive or dove-cote or perhaps even a heavy leaden sundial which would stand for generations. Many were inscribed, like this one owned by a Dr. Bowditch of Boston, which I'll leave you with in parting:

“With warning hand I mark time’s rapid flight

From life’s glad morning to its solemn night.

And like God’s love, I also show

There’s light above me, by the shade below.”

Lisa Norato is the author of Prize of My Heart, an inspirational seafaring historical from Bethany House. A life-long New Englander, Lisa lives in a historic village with homes and churches dating as far back as the eighteenth century.

Oats for Me or My Livestock?

Greetings, my good friends. And for those who are visiting for the first time, I am Nathaniel Griffith and this is my humble farm here on Aquidneck Island in the colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. Please wait here while I get a measure of oats for my stallion.

What do you think of my plump grain? Not always have we been blessed with such good grain. When first I brought my family to this island I had but one horse, a milk cow, two beef cows and their calves, and five sheep with me from my father's farm near Boston (we were banished and our properties confiscated). In truth, we were blessed to have even that much livestock. They all fed upon what grass they could find and any undergrowth in the brush and woods.

Have you ever considered what it takes to grow this grain? Yea, it takes a bit of work. We came with only a small measure, not even enough to feed ourselves. I, my wife, and my sister worked to clear a small plot of land from the brush. We planted that small measure. 'Twas a dry year so twice a day we carried water from the brook down that path there to both the grain and the kitchen garden by the house. Through the summer we nurtured the grain, praying God might give us an abundant harvest, and He did. That first year the oats brought forth eighty-fold. This means eighty times more than what we seeded. Still that was less than eight bushels. The next year, I fear we had but thirty-fold. Hail had destroyed a good portion.

We labored with love to bring in that first crop. Myself, my wife, sister, and mother took one day to reap and bind the grain. Not a grain stalk was left standing, and we took great care when we threshed to not lose even a kernel. Each kernel was picked up from the threshing floor and the straw used for bedding, both for us and our animals.

Those first years the grain was not for our livestock but for ourselves. If we fed our horse every day for a year the measure of oats I just gave him, he would eat more than a hundred bushels. Those first few years we could not spare even a kernel for them. We ate what we could and saved some to plant each spring. In time, however, we continued to expand our cleared land and could grow more.

Yea, in time we were blessed to get eighty bushels of grain to an acre.  Indeed I'm told my grandfather only managed 8 or 9 bushels an acre in Wales nigh eighty years ago. I've heard tell of some here in the colonies getting even ninty bushels. I cannot think but that such a farmer was truly blessed by God.

Even today, however, I only feed grain to this stallion here during the breeding season. He needs the extra care at this time. But for the other livestock, our pasture suffices.

Look closely at the grass beneath your feet. You will see that there are a number of different plants, some clover, some timothy, and so on. This makes for good pasture and good livestock. This took years to grow and I had to import grass seed from England.

I wish you all Godspeed and may you count your many blessings today when you sit at your meal and enjoy the bread God has provided for you.

---

 A note from Lynn Squire:

I began to question how often bread was eaten by the early colonists. Growing up on a grain farm, I knew how hard we had worked to grow a crop--that with all the then-modern equipment, fertilizer, methodology, etc.

The early seventeenth century colonist did not eat a lot of wheat or oats (they ate nuts, berries, corn, meat and fish). They had a difficult time growing grain. While corn became a mainstay, even that wasn't as bountiful as it is today. I did find recorded where eighty-six bushels of corn was gleaned from one bushel of seed. A bushel of seed would cover approximately one acre of land. A bushel of corn weighs 56 lbs. One bushel could feed 10 people (the average household) for approximately 5 to 6 days.

Most farms were approximately fifty acres in New England. Livestock, buildings, kitchen gardens, pasture, etc. would be on those fifty acres.

The average acreage in England only produced about eight to nine bushels of grain to the acre. A lot of acreage would be needed to grow enough wheat, for example, to feed a family for a year. In time the colonists seemed to do better than those farmers in England.

I experimented in our backyard. Even though I would not have the same variety of grain the colonists would have had (which would be of poor quality than our present varieties), I scattered the grain on the soil in a manner similar to how the colonists would have. Yes my soil is different and the climate was different, but I felt it would still give me a feel for what the colonists would have experienced. Within a few months, I had first hand experience how little grain (grown from a handful of kernels) would grow in a small plot--not even enough to grind into flour for a loaf of bread.

Consider a few things. Rocks and trees and brush populated the land when the colonists arrived and needed to be cleared. I have memories of walking the fields to pick rocks and poison gophers. These were constant enemies of the farmer, as they would have been for the colonists.  The soil in most of New England was of poor quality. The birds would come. The mice would come. Floods and hail would come. Drought would come. As well as sickness. Even if the conditions were perfect, for those early colonists surviving on what they could grow on their farms would be difficult. How much more when you factor in nature.

Guest Post by Pegg Thomas - The Farmer’s Life in Colonial Boston

The Farmer’s Life in Colonial Boston, by Pegg Thomas

Hello! It’s early you are, but no mind. Come to the house and refresh yourself. I’ll be lucky to get the milk bucket there before it freezes. Never seen such a winter as this back home. You’ve probably noticed by my talking, but me husband and I came over from Ireland. His brother came five years back and helped bring us over last summer.

Oh, and didn’t I think it grand in May! Sure, with the warm sun on my face I freckled up something fierce. But then you didn’t come to hear about that now. And where are my manners? Maggie Thornton’s the name. Me dear friend, Carrie, told me you want to learn about the life of a farmer.  Sure and I only know what I’ve learned myself so far, but happy I am to share it.

My Da’s farm in Ireland was vastly different from here. The soil outside Boston is so rocky and hard. I believe the ground grows rocks! ‘Tis only too true. Himself and I spent the first several weeks picking more stones than weeds from our poor crop. Still, they do make for a sturdy pasture fence.

His brother came and helped plant, such different crops from home. The ground is too rocky for potatoes which I had just taken a fancy to. It takes to rye, corn, and the beans and peas, of course. I thought we planted too much, but if we hadn’t we’d be in a sorry state this long winter.

Do we have any extra to sell? Bless me, no. The ground yields just enough for us and the livestock to get through the winter. Himself took a job at the docks this winter to help out. Nothing much, but better than not. He’s a good hand with wood and they aren’t short of repairs that need doing. Many have turned to fishing instead of farming but I think my Robert will stay with the land.

Give me a moment while I get the pease porrage cooking. I don’t mind telling you I’m more than a wee bit tired of it. We go through a pot full every day. It’s filling though and good for the children.

The livestock, yes, we have our milk cow of course, you saw her in the barn. Himself hitched the team to go to town. We put up a good store of hay last summer to keep them through the snows. The loft is still half full.

We keep a couple dozen hens, or try to, since the fox wants them that bad. We are keeping our ears open for a dog to help. The hens will want to start setting in a few more weeks. We’ve only a couple of young cockerels left for meat. The new chicks will be a blessing. And eggs, I do miss the fresh eggs in winter. Oh, we get a few, but only enough for the baking.

Our neighbor has pigs and we’ll buy a pair of piglets when they farrow come spring. No sense wintering over a sow until the children get bigger and we need more meat than Robert can bring in hunting. The boys will start helping with the corn this summer, they are seven and eight already. Here it is 1719, where do the years go?

How did we come by this farm? Well and that’s a long story. Himself’s brother knew the farmer here more than well. Best of friends they were. But he up and moved his family to Rutland, that new community that opened up in the Indian Territory. I’d be scared to death, I would. We were only too happy to buy this place, rocky as it is, and call it home.

Must you leave so soon? Well, and it’s a fair walk back. Blessings on you and make free to stop again.

Nathaniel Griffith's Fences

I am glad to have you back to my humble farm. For those of you who are new to me, I am Nathaniel Griffith of Newport in the Rhode Island Colony.

I see you are eying my fence. Aye, it is simplistic, but effective. Here you see I have laid logs on top of crosses held together with strong rawhide ties in some places and rope from hemp in others. This is a temporary fence for now. Not strong, but will do until I can manage a better one.

If you look yonder there by my barn, you’ll see the stone fence I made. When I cleared the land each spring, preparing to sow, I would separate the stones into sizes, keeping the flattest rocks for the top. What stones were not level, I would shim it with a flat one. The basic rule is to lay one stone over two and two over one. As you can see the end result is a fair picture.

Aye, I see ye are noting the lack of nails. Yea, the iron needed for nails is expensive. I’d not waste a shilling on a nail for a fence if I can help it.

See there, by the trough, I have made a more permanent fence than the log and cross one here. My brother-in-law and I dug holes to place the fence posts into the ground. You’ll notice two posts for each location with the rails stacked between them. This takes a lot of wood, as ye can see. ‘Twas good that we had much trees to clear and could make the rails.

Now ye can see my gate. A solid one for it crosses a township road. You’ll note the metal hoop that links over the post. Because of the gate’s use, I felt I needed to pay the extra bit for the metal. And ye’ll note the hinges are merely loops around the other post. But I spared myself a shilling or two by putting the rails through holes I carved from the end posts. I used a tree-nail to hold it in place.

Now some of my neighbors build their fences differently than I. Around their gardens some have what you might refer to as a picket fence, but we refer to them as paling fences. Some have zigzag fences, called snake fences.

Well now, I see Dr. Clarke coming up the road. I have some business to discuss with him. Seems the people of Warwick have yet to pay their debt to him for his time in England on behalf of the Rhode Island colony. I hope to travel with him and convince them of their wrong.

I bid you Godspeed. May God bless you richly, dear friends.