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Down South: A
Legend Lost In
Time, The
Smokehouse
By Tom Poland
web
posted June
24, 2016
DOWN
SOUTH –
From it “came
the sweetest
smoke a man was
ever to smell.”
The late Harry
Crews wrote that
as he recalled
his Uncle
Alton’s
smokehouse deep
in South
Georgia, down
Bacon County
way.
I remember
Granddad
Walker’s
smokehouse. It
sat just beyond
his well next to
a crabapple
tree. It was
dark in
appearance,
inside and out,
and the
fragrances
seeping from it
made you crave a
ham biscuit.
Shafts of light
slanted from the
roof and motes
of dust sparkled
like stars in
the light. We
kids didn’t
venture in there
much. It was a
bit foreboding
but what great
meals came from
it.
Memories of
smokehouses
connect me to
simpler, if
tougher, times.
As I drive the
backroads I look
for smokehouses.
I’ve not seen
many and the
most I see are
in North
Carolina around
the Apex Durham
region. Up
there, new
housing
developments
encroach into
farmland but
miraculously
smokehouses have
been spared here
and there. And
not just
smokehouses but
farm
outbuildings.
It’s important,
in my view, to
preserve old
farm buildings.
Not only do they
add a quaint
touch to the
land, they
remind us that
people didn’t
always depend on
grocery stores
for their needs.
We’re nowhere as
self-sufficient
today.
I have long been
on the lookout
for a smokehouse
I could get
close enough to
photograph. I
found one of a
fancy nature
over on the
South Carolina
coast near
Georgetown.
Pictured here is
the smokehouse
at Hobcaw Barony
where Bernard
Baruch, advisor
to seven
presidents
lived.
Granddad’s
smokehouse sat
on rocks.
Baruch’s sits on
a brick
foundation. Both
served their
purpose.
Note the heavy
door with the
stout framing.
Cured hams
represented a
huge investment
in money and
labor so it
should come as
no surprise that
locked
smokehouse doors
were built
strong and
sturdy to
prevent forcible
entry and
thievery. In a
real sense,
smokehouses were
equivalent to
today’s
refrigerators
and freezers.
You stored food
in them for you,
not thieves ...
nor invading
troops.
Granddad Walker
wrote a letter
to the Wilkes
Reporter many
years ago. In
that letter he
shared a
smokehouse
memory from the
Civil War. Union
forces were to
come through his
granddad’s area.
Knowing this,
his granddad and
some field hands
took two dozen
hogs from the
smokehouse,
leaving just one
ham in it. They
went down to the
creek and dammed
it. Beneath the
dam they dug out
the sand and hid
the hogs there.
They then broke
the dam and let
the creek cover
the hogs.
When Union
soldiers went to
raid his
smokehouse they
saw just that
one ham in it.
Said one
soldier, “Leave
it be. This poor
devil just has
one hog to make
it through the
winter with.”
Smokehouse
memories ...
they belong to a
class of
memories that
include country
stores,
outhouses (yes,
outhouses), and
gristmills. So,
what happened to
the old
smokehouses of
yesteryear? Most
have been torn
down by later
generations who
have no need to
cure meat. A lot
have succumbed
to the elements.
They went into
the earth from
whence they
came. Some get
in the way of
progress when
new home
developments
invade the
countryside.
Thankfully, some
smokehouses end
up having their
dense-grained
longleaf pine
salvaged by men
like Edwin and
Lowell Dowd, a
father-son team
in Prosperity,
South Carolina.
They own Dixie
Heart Pine, and
they will custom
build you
“furniture with
a past and a
future.”
When someone
tells them they
have an old
building with
blackened wood
the Dowds know
that beneath
that weathered
wood is red and
yellow longleaf
pine. The Dowds
often make
tables from such
wood. So, wood
that once cured
hams can provide
a setting for
holiday dinners
that feature ham
and more. In a
real sense these
old smokehouses
live on.
The smokehouse
belonged to a
time when people
were far more
self-sufficient
than we are. I’d
like to think
that a few will
be preserved so
the younger set
and those yet to
come can see how
folks used to
live. Granted,
Mr. Baruch’s
smokehouse was
fancy but it did
the same thing
Granddad
Walker’s did.
Preserve meat
and provide a
sugary fragrance
mixed with the
smell of meat
and smoke, “the
sweetest smoke a
man was ever to
smell.”
Smokehouse at
Hobcaw Barony in
Georgetown
Photo by Tom
Poland
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2015
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