“JULY IS NATIONAL ICE CREAM MONTH—BUT WHO STARTED MAKING AND HOW?”

July is national ice cream month but personally, I think any month is one for ice cream. You can just have a lot more this month to celebrate! Whatever your choice of flavor might be, just go for it. But have you ever wondered who started making it and how? I thought it was something American made but WRONG! Ice cream making went back as far as 200 BC. Amazing isn’t it and how was it made?

After reading a lot about ice cream, I discovered that in the year of 200 BC or thereabouts, ice cream was made by having servants or peons [to a king or emporer] go up to high mountain tops that were snow-covered. These men had the horrific task of digging out snow and ice and carrying in back down steep mountains by pulling a handmade wagon. Once their destiny was reached, others who served the king or emporer had to take the snow and ice out of the wagon. After doing that, whatever the royal wanted put into it was his choice—such as berries or lemons or the like. And the workers had to stir that by hand into the snow and ice. In China, the emporer liked ice mixed with milk and rice: And that is what the upper-class ate at that time for ice cream.

And as soon as that was done, the king or emporer set out to eat the homemade ice cream [not like today’s ice cream but similar] along with his chosen family and guests. If the king or emporer lived in a hot region, you can guess that the ice cream was devoured quickly! The royals of that time and a little later who lived in cold climates had the pleasure of eating ice cream at their whim but pity the poor workers or peons to them—for they had the disgusting duty as described above.

Forward in time to about 400 AD and Arab countries as well as those in Africa were also making ice cream by using the same method:  Someone had to climb high mountains, retrieve the ice and snow and cart it back to the palace. And once again, whatever the choice of flavoring the royal wanted was added to the ice and snow. If you live in another country other than the United States, google the history of ice cream in your area—might be surprised at what you find out.

When the United States became a country, people here wanted ice cream as well for they as well as their forefathers had eaten it in England. But the United States had no emporer or king in its beginning and still doesn’t as you know well—we have a president. Read that George Washington kept cellars under ground [all Americans did at that time—no electriticy and no refrigeration] as did other prominent and non- prominent people. The recipes for making ice cream in 1776 and years forward came from Quaker colonists who brought their own recipes with them when they came here to settle.  Again some had the grueling task of digging ice and snow [indentured servants] and carrying it down steep hills to a specific place. This ice and snow was kept in  tin containers and put in cellars underground a house or a building nearby.

Cellars were built underneath as a basement is today of sorts. Stairs led the way down to them and it was here that the above was kept till someone wanted ice cream. But a change was made and that was that when the ice and snow was put into tin containers, rock salt was added as a first layer, then ice and snow, then more rock salt and so on till the top of the container was filled. What did rock salt do? It lowered the temperature of the ice and snow to way below freezing. And this fact allowed the ice cream makers to be more variable with types of ice cream made. This was really the first ice cream here in the United States. Some people still do this today!

An African American man named Augustus Jackson made many ice cream recipes and is credited with inventing a way to manufacture ice cream in 1832. Eleven years later, Nancy Johnson of Philadelphia got the first United States patent for a hand-cranked freezer for ice cream. From then on, everyone could have ice cream—if they wanted to make it themselves or have someone do it for them. Imagine after the invention of electricity what transpired with ice cream! There were ice boxes in houses and unlimited possibilites.

Fast forward to today’s time and if it’s ice cream you want, all you have to do is to go to a store to buy it—any flavor and any way—slow churned, low-fat and/or with fruit, nuts, chocolate or whatever added is there for the taking.  And since it’s July, go for it! After all, ice cream is wonderful and be so grateful that no one has to climb high mountains anymore to get ice and snow—who’d want that job anyway? Long live ice cream! Enjoy!

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2016

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

*Photo from Microsoft Word

“YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE!”

After a guy posted something funny on social media, it reminded me of what happened to my first husband’s uncle who was his dad’s brother.  Both of these brothers loved to go fishing and hunting together but there was one distinct difference between the two:  Oscar was the taller one. So tall in fact that he towered over anyone at six feet seven inches tall. He was handsome, imposing and a heck of a man with a huge sense of humor.

Both of these brothers would always wear long sleeved army green shirts when they went fishing or hunting and aside from that, both had a big sewn on patch that said “West Virginia Hunters” or something like that on their shirts. I remember those patches were outlined with bright yellow thread.

And so it came to be that on one specific day when they were hunting in Pocahontas County here in West Virginia, they literally ran into some man who was encroaching on their staked out territory. Now if you’re a hunter or a fisherman that is not what one does: Encroach on someone else’s territory. It’s some unwritten law that can sometimes lead to much arguing or the like.

Exceedingly tall Oscar approached that man slowly for he knew if he ran towards him there was no knowing what the man would do. The encroacher took one look at Oscar’s shirt, saw the big patch on his shirt and screamed “You’re one of them! You’re a Fed aren’t you?” Knowing full well that the man was not real smart, Oscar replied “Yes I am one of those!” And the man fled never to be seen again on that hunting trip.

Meanwhile, Oscar’s brother was trying to stifle his laughter but I’m not so sure that it worked. “Well” said his brother “I guess I’m one of those too—a Fed!” From then on, both never hunted or fished without wearing those green shirts with the huge sewn on patches.

I can still laugh at this short story because Oscar’s brother was my first father-in-law and he would repeat this over and over again much to everyone’s delight. It happened. And are you “One of those?” Smile if you are.

Sherry Hill

© Copyright 2017

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

*Photo from Microsoft Word

THE DAY I WENT “SNIPE” HUNTING

When my parents bought a house way up on top of South Walnut Street in St. Albans, I was nine years old. And at the end of the street was a cul de sac but beyond that were woods—woods that I would love to explore and come to know. Guess I should add that boys far outnumbered girls on this street, which on my part seemed like a good thing to me because I was boy crazy. Being boy crazy seemed to be the norm for most girls my age but on my part, I had to have a girlfriend with me when I was around boys: It was my safety net of sorts.

Aside from the fact of being head over heels in love with the boy next door, I knew the rest of the boys—some well and some not so well. It was the ones I knew “not so well” that got me in trouble one hot summer day. I had walked up to the cul de sac to sort of get away from my house and thought that there would be a bunch of kids hanging around that I knew well. Wrong.

Those boys I knew “not so well” were in mass on that day; heaven only knows what they had been doing or had done. I decided to turn around and go home when I heard my name being called; turned around only to be motioned to come nearer to them. A sense of fear set in me but being inquisitive, I approached them cautiously for some were a lot older than me and I didn’t know what they wanted. Right there and then, I should have trusted my gut instinct but decided to throw caution to the wind and walked up to them.

“Wanna go into the woods with this paper bag and get a snipe?” one older boy asked me. “What’s a snipe?” I asked honestly. “Oh it’s a neat thing; you’ll see.” “What do I have to do?” I asked. “Just take this bag, open it up and go into the woods and wait” he told me. “Wait and a snipe will come and get in the bag” he added. “Do I have to go alone in the woods with that bag?” I asked. “Oh yes; if you don’t, the snipe won’t come out.” At this point, I wanted female reinforcement but there was not one girl around except me.

“Okay. I’m in” was my reply. I grabbed that paper bag, tramped off into the woods, put the opened bag on the ground of the woods and waited. Waited more. Waited longer. Nothing came out and into that bag. Nothing. Waited a lot longer. Looked at trees. Looked around. And that’s when I heard those boys laughing so loud that it echoed and that’s when I learned that I had been had.

Feeling totally stupid, I had that paper bag crushed in my hands and when those boys howled with laughter, I ran all the way home. I didn’t know whether to tell my parents what had happened, to cry or laugh but the boy next door came out and asked me what was wrong. I spilled it all out to him: He told me not to feel so badly for it had happened to him once too. “Cheer up” he said. “There is no such thing as a snipe: It doesn’t exist.” “I sort of guessed that” was my reply “but still I was afraid of what one was or if it got in the bag, what would it do. But when I heard those boys laughing, I knew I had been tricked” I told him.

His words comforted me to the nth degree. “Thanks” I said. “Welcome” he replied.

At that moment, I knew I would be wiser the next time—should the next time happen. My parents were told of what happened to me and both of them said they had been tricked with the “snipe hunting” too when they were kids. “I’m not alone” I thought to myself; others have had it happen to them too.”

But thinking you’ll be wiser sometimes throws a, curve for I would find that much later on as a teenager or an adult, I found myself being gullible to “snipe hunters” disguised in different forms and the object was not a snipe—the object was to be tricked, fooled or thrown into a situation not wanted.

The moral is: If you think something feels wrong, don’t do it. It’s that little voice inside of you that tells you “No.” I would be guilty over and over until I finally learned to be cautious and cautious of everything. Maybe it’s not a good way to be but considering how things are in today’s world, it’s how it has to be. Just don’t go “snipe hunting:” Trust me on that.

Sherry Hill

© Copyright 2017

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

*Photo from Microsoft Word