Appalachian Folklore: The Legend of Stingy Jack (HIstory of the Jack o' Lantern)

As I was recently reading some Appalachian Folklore, I came across a tale that I had never heard but thought would be good to share now that it's time for Halloween! As you may know, much of Appalachian folklore was brought to the area from wherever the settlers came from and this tale is said to have originated in Ireland. Out of all the versions I read, Dave Tabler's over at Appalachian History is my favorite. Hope y'all enjoy! 

     There's an old Irish myth about a man nicknamed "Stingy Jack." Stingy Jack was a drunken brawler who found great enjoyment from playing tricks on anyone who crossed his path Jack also had the great misfortune of running into the Devil more than once.

     Jack's first encounter with the devil happened at a local Irish pub within the village. Obviously Stingy Jack was called Stingy Jack for a reason, and he wasn't about to change now in the face of the Devil. Jack convinced the Devil to transform into a sixpence piece so that Jack could use him to pay for their drinks. In exchange for this transaction, the Devil would receive Jack's soul. Little did the Devil know, Jack sill had a few tricks up his sleeve. 

After changing into the sixpence piece, Jack quickly tossed the Devil into his pocket next to a silver cross - thus preventing the Devil from returning to his original form. Jack then bargained with the Devil to keep his soul for 10 more years - in return for the Devil's freedom. The Devil reluctantly agrees and Jack frees him. Ten years pass and Jack crosses path with the Devil a second time. With the Devil ready to claim his soul, Jack made a last request: "I'll go, but before I do - will you retrieve and apple from that tree for me? I'm awfully hungry!"

The devil began to climb the tree, and while the Devil was climbing to the top of the tree, Jack carved a large cross into the back of the tree. Again, the Devil had been tricked and could not get down. 

Jack being quite pleased with himself; bargained yet again with the Devil - this time for the promise that the Devil would never, ever try to take his soul again. With no way out of the tree, the Devil agreed. 

Year pass and Jack finally passes away. Unfortunately for Jack, after all of his evil trickery and horrible deeds - God did not allow Jack into Heaven. The Devil, still bitter at Jack and his bag of tricks, kept his word and did not claim his soul. Jack was unable to get into Heaven, and unable to get into Hell. 

"Where shall I go?' Jack asked the Devil, confused and afraid.

"Back to where you came from!" The Devil growled angrily at Jack and sent him on his way back to earth.

Jack's journey back was very dark, and he begged for the Devil to lend him a light to help him lead the way. The devil provided Stingy Jack with a coal from the fires of Hell - which Jack then placed into a turnip he had in his pocket. The carved out turnip lead the way back to earth. Since then; Jack appears every Halloween. doomed to roam the earth in search of eternal rest - leading the way with his turnip lamp.

The Irish people began to refer to the ghostly figure as "Jack of the Lantern, " and soon "Jack O 'Lantern."

Traditionally on All Hallows Eve, many Irishmen make their own versions of Jack's lantern by carving scary faces into turnips or potatoes and placing them near doors and windows to scare away the body-snatching spirits. 

According to Appalachian History, pumpkins weren't actually used until the Irish immigrants brought the tradition of the Jack-o-Lanterns with them to America - only to discover that pumpkins were easier to carve than their traditional turnips and potatoes. 

Have you ever heard this tale? I was very surprised to learn that the tradition all started with a turnip! Dave has all sorts of Appalachian related lore and info over at his website and I encourage you to check it out.

Hope y'all enjoyed the tale and I hope you have a Happy Halloween! 

Phrases Of Appalachia: Fit To Be Tied

Fit to be tied: An exaggeration referring to someone being so angry that they should be tied up to keep them from being aggressive.
Example: Tom was fit to be tied when he realized someone had shot his prize turkey. 

Just recently I wrote a blog post about a story that Granny had told me and while I didn't write the story down as she told it, I could almost hear her speaking as I recalled and typed it. "Fit to be tied" was a phrase that she used often and is something that I still say. 

I always try to add a picture to every blog post and as I immediately thought of this one of my son, Dude (not his real name). This was taken at our VBS when he was about 5 or 6 years old and from the looks of it, he was fit to be tied! There ain't no telling why he was so mad but he definitely was. 

If you are a visitor and hear someone use this phrase, proceed with caution! Other Appalachian phrases that refer to being mad: 

• Ill as a hornet. 
• Mad as an old wet hen. 
• All riled up. 
• Got my feathers all ruffled up.
• All worked up. 
• Having a hissy fit.
• Pitching a fit. 
• Got their panties in a wad.
• Got a burr in their saddle. 
• Puffed up like a bullfrog.
• He's tore plumb outta his frame.
• She's gotta a bee in her bonnet.
• Mad enough to spit nails. 
• Plumb fed up! 

What are some other "mad" phrases that you've heard? 

How Black-Draught Cured Granny's Lonesomeness

Spring makes me think about Granny. Back in April 2017, about a week before she passed away, we had an unusually warm, sunny day. She decided that she wanted to go out in the sunshine for a while so I went out and sat on the porch with her. "Granny, tell me a story." She pondered a minute or so, gave a little chuckle, and then the tale began...

"When I started school, I'd become awful lonesome for my Mama. I'd get to school, get to missing her, and then get to crying. I decided that I'd tell my teacher that I had a bellyache."

Now you have to remember that this was the early 1940s. A teacher or school secretary couldn't just pick up the phone and have her Mama come and pick her up. One, Granny and Pa Wilson didn't have a phone, and two, if they had a car or truck it would've been being used by her Daddy to get him to work.

"My teacher went and found my older brother Keith and told him I was sick and that he would have to walk me home. So me and Keith set off for the five mile walk home, he told Mama I had a bellyache, and then he turned around and walked the five miles back. Mama loved on me and all was right with the world.

The next day, I got to school and was missing Mama...again. I thought I'd be slick and use the bellyache excuse...again. My teacher went and found Keith and told him to take me home...again. Keith was fit to be tied because he knew I was fibbing. He marched me the whole five miles home, begrudgingly told Mama that the teacher sent me home with a bellyache, and turned around and walked the five miles back. Now Mama was no fool. She knew from the day before that I was perfectly fine. She had to do something to nip this problem in the bud. She went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the Black-Draught. Whew, I never came home from school early because of missing Mama again!"

For those of you who don't know, Black-Draught is a liquid laxative sold since the late 18th century. Much like castor oil, it was a commonly used folk remedy for many ailments.

We had ourselves a good laugh over that one! Granny would probably whoop me if she knew I was telling this story but I also know that she would chuckle after she had done it. I'm thankful that, despite all she was going through, she NEVER lost her sense of humor or her ability to tell a good story. I hope that whenever I leave this world people will be able to say the same for me.

A Family of Feeders

I come from a family of feeders. A long line of feeders. I've always known that I was a part of a group of women who tend to help people mourn and celebrate different circumstances of life with food but I never really had a name to put on what we do. Until I read a blog post by one of my favorite southern bloggers, Sean Dietrich of Sean of the South. Let me explain...

In my family, if someone is sick you feed them. Someone died? You feed their family. Someone just had a baby? You feed them. Food is the answer for any emotion. Sad? Feed 'em. Happy? Feed 'em!

Now I know that this isn't just an Appalachian thing or even just an American thing, but it's a part of MY Appalachia so I decided to write about it.

I grew up going to church and being around ladies who were all feeders but I really didn't notice it until my mom passed away. After my Dad had told my brother and I that she had died, my Great Aunt Lois arrived at our house to take us to my Granny & Pa's house (I was 14 and my brother was 17) . It took about 20 minutes for her to get us there. When we walked in the door there was food everywhere. Not only do they cook, they're also quick. News travels fast in small towns and even faster in a Baptist church. 

When someone is hurting I believe that most people realize that they can't take away the hurt but they find a million different ways to help ease the burden and pain.  

The women I know do that through food.


I don't know if you've noticed but it always tends to be what we call "comfort food." Why? Because they aren't just bringing you a casserole. They're hoping to deliver comfort as well. 

These meals aren't just for deaths though. Women in my part of Appalachia will plan a meal for people who have been sick, baptisms, and many other occasions. 

My church has a tradition where we always have a meal after a baptizing as a way of celebrating the occasion. Last Sunday, after a scheduling mix up, we realized that a family had all shown up to see their grandson be baptized and we didn't have a thing to feed 100+ people. 

I ain't going to lie...I panicked for a minute. Then after talking to my stepmom, we agreed that we could call in a pizza order after Sunday school. We called as soon as they opened (11AM). 

"Sorry, ma'am. We need at least a 2 day notice for anything over 20 pizzas." PANIC. My stepmom and I flew down the highway heading for town and called a local sandwich shop. "Sorry, there's no way we can have that many sandwiches ready by 12:30." PANIC. We called a local grocery store deli to see if they could help us out. NOPE.

After collecting myself and praying to the good Lord that He'd disable any hardworking law enforcement's speed tracking devices, I shouted, "We can make soup and sandwiches!!" At this point, it's 11:30ish and we still have to run into Walmart to buy the food and drinks, drive the 15-20 minutes back to the church, and get it all set up. Fix it, Jesus.  

I called my husband and prayed that the Lord would forgive him for answering his phone during preaching. He plays the banjo in the church band so I told him that we couldn't get the pizzas but we were figuring it out and to play lots of music...and STALL!

We tore through Walmart like our pants were on fire. We ended up buying pre-made subs from the deli, condiments, soup mix, chips, cookies, and drinks. Beggars can't be choosers. By some miraculous heavenly intervention, we didn't have to wait long in line to check out. 

We arrived back at the church at around 12, unloaded my car, sliced up sandwiches and filled up trays, made two huge pots of soup, put out the chips and cookies, filled up cups with ice, and had it all done by 12:30. I asked the Lord to bless our humble meal like he did the loaves and fishes and that's about the time we heard music and people started to trickle in.

Like I said, I come from a long line of feeders. And that's a good thing because I also like to eat.

I married into a family of feeders. Just about every Saturday evening my little family & my brother-in-law and his family have supper at my husband's parent's house. My mother-in-law does it so we can all spend time together. I look forward to it every week. 

A typical Saturday spread. My mother in-law is a professional feeder.

As if all of that food wasn't enough, she went and made a nanner puddin'!

Are you a feeder or happen to come from a family of feeders too? I'd love to hear from you! You can either leave a comment below or in the comment section on this post on Facebook. I really do read them all! 

I realize that it's been several months since my last blog post. I enjoy writing but I'm not always able to find the time. Life is hard sometimes. I'd like to thank all you faithful readers for sticking around and continuing to follow the Appalachian Mountain Roots Facebook page. I do try to post a quick snapshot of what is going on in my world at the moment or an interesting article over there to keep it active. It ain't much but the page continues to grow. Thank you. 

I hope to sit aside time each week to write now that the garden is petering out and we're back in our homeschooling routine. I enjoy writing and sharing a bit of my life and love of Appalachia and I thank y'all for being kind enough to read it!

Appalachian Apple Stack Cake

 "Who was that let you off at the gate," asked Olivia. 
"It was Miss Emma and Miss Etta," said Clay-boy, holding out a Mason jar of the Recipe. "They sent this. Said it was Christmas cheer."
"It's bootleg whiskey is what it is," observed Olivia.
"What do you want me to do with it, Mama?"
"I'll take it," said Olivia..."I can use some..for my applesauce cakes."
-Earl Hammer Jr., The Homecoming

When fall rolls around, most people jump on the pumpkin spice bandwagon. You can't throw a rock without hitting a product that has this flavor; pumpkin spice doughnuts, pumpkin spice pancakes, pumpkin spice coffee, pumpkin spice chocolate covered pretzels...you get the picture. I like pumpkin flavored items just as much as the next girl, but is that the first fall flavor that comes to mind when I think of fall cooking? No, says I. I'm all about the apples! Now I like apples year round but I want to make more apple recipes in the fall and winter months.

While there are many apple desserts that are common place in my part of Appalachia, none can be more rooted in our mountain culture than the Appalachian apple stack cake. Sometimes called by other names such as Confederate old-fashioned cake, Kentucky pioneer washday cake, and applesauce cake, it is traditionally made up of layers of pancake thin cake and filled with stewed dried apple filling. It is then refrigerated for at least a day or two to allow for the apple filling to saturate the cake. Doesn't that sound heavenly? I knew that this had to be on my family's Thanksgiving menu this year. Before I get into how I made my cake, I want to share some of the resourcefulness and a little history behind this regional delicacy.

As I've mentioned before, Appalachian women were very resourceful. They had to be! I think this dessert is a perfect example of that resourcefulness. Apples were plentiful throughout the mountains in Appalachia. A great way to preserve those apples was to dry them. I could write a whole blog post on dried apples, and probably will at some point, but won't get into that right now. Plain applesauce (or apple butter) can be used as a filing but dried apples offer a much richer flavor and was the choice of most mountain cooks. 

Most old recipes that I researched also call for sorghum molasses or honey. This was also a resourceful sugar alternative that was available in the area. The rest of the main ingredients (flour, salt, shortening/lard, eggs, milk/buttermilk, baking powder/soda) were also economical staples that most women had on hand. Unlike Mrs. Olivia, I didn't find any recipes that called for any "Recipe" but that isn't to say that some didn't use it. 

From what I've read, the history of this cake is debatable. Some credit James Harrod, an early pioneer of Kentucky and founder of Harrodsburg, as the one who introduced this recipe to Appalachia. Some try to give all of the credit to Tennessee. Regardless of how it got to Appalachia, it's origin is probably based on Eastern European tortes.  

According to the Encyclopedia of Appalachia, "The dried apple stack cake was a favorite pioneer wedding cake. Weddings were celebrated with "in-fares," where people gathered to party, dance, and eat potluck food. Because wedding cakes were expensive, neighbor cooks brought cake layers to donate to the bride's family, who cooked the dried apple filling. The bride's popularity was often gauged by the number of layers, but the average was seven or eight. Stack cakes were also at family reunions, church supper, Christmas dinners, and other large gatherings." The wedding history is my favorite idea associated with this cake. If I could go back and do my wedding over again, I'd choose this for my wedding cake. 

I've had the opportunity to sample different versions of this dessert at reunions, church potlucks, and other gatherings but this was my very first attempt at making one. Why? Anyone who knows anything about baking could look at it and tell that there's going to be quite a bit of time invested. A labor of love, if you will. 

I'm going to be honest. As I was rushing around to make other things on our menu I didn't devote as much time to making it as I should've. I did use the traditional dried apples and cooked them a long time to get them just right. The cake layers is where I slacked. Instead of getting my layers as thin as I should have, I decided to try to rush the process and only do six thicker layers instead of the 7-8 that I had enough dough to do. Don't be like me. Take the time to make the layers as thin as possible. The dried apple mixture can soak into thin layers MUCH better than thicker ones which makes it SO MUCH better. 

I'm also wanting to use a cast iron skillet instead of cake pans next time to see if it really makes a difference. I guess I could try cast iron cake pans if I had them but I don't. Almost everyone has a cast iron skillet or two and if you don't, why the heck not?! What do you make your cornbread in?! And don't you dare tell me that you don't eat cornbread. I don't need that kind of negativity in my life. Cast iron cooking will change your life. Okay, that may be a little dramatic...no it isn't. Life. Changing. 

As for recipes, I used one that I found online and there's no source to credit it to. Thank you, whoever you are! Just click right on the picture if you need to enlarge it.

And now you can see a few pics I took while making the cake:

Tips: You'll need to add water as they cook down. Keep adding and cooking until you get a applesauce consistency. I left mine a little chunky but not as chunky as they are in this picture. See that little chopper in the pic? That thing is super handy in helping the apples fall apart. This recipe says to roll out your dough and you can even see my roller (that my dear husband made me) in the pic. This is unnecessary if you're using cake pans or a cast iron skillet. Just flour your hands, pinch off some dough, and spread it into your flour and greased pan. Just use enough dough to make a thin layer over the bottom of the pan. You're going to think, this isn't enough, but you're wrong. Pat it as thin as possible or you'll end up with thicker layers like the ones in my picture with the canning ring. It looks pretty thin and they are thinner than the ring, but trust me, it should be thinner. There will be some rising so make it THIN and then the apple filling can saturate the layers better. If you decide to roll it, go for no more than 1/4" thickness. This recipe says to let stand at least 12 hours. I really don't think that is long enough. Store it in a tight container and put it in the refrigerator for at least a day or two. Trust me...and another benefit of that is, you can make it ahead of time! 

The finished product.  I'm still kicking myself over the layers 

not being thin enough but it was still delicious!

Have you ever had an apple stack cake? What do you call them in your neck of the woods? Leave me a comment and let me know. I loving hearing from y'all! 

Old Sayings: Superstitions & Such

Today's guest post is by Mrs. Shirley Wood. Shirley was born and raised in West Virginia up until the age of 12 when she and her family moved to Ohio. She is a published author of stories from her childhood. She now lives on a small hobby farm in northeast Ohio. I hope you enjoy her story as much as I did! 

Old Sayings

Parents love to quote old sayings, and like all children, we questioned whether or not they were true. I’m not talking about the usual “Don’t run with scissors” or “You’ll put your eye out with that stick”, I surely wanted to keep both of my eyes. But there were a lot of others that made no sense to me then, and some of them even less now. You’ll see what I mean.

There were a lot of sayings about food, such as “Don’t ever eat fish and drink milk at the same meal”. Maybe someone died once before refrigerators were invented, after eating those two items, one or both of which may have been spoiled. Or it could have been something he ate the day before that killed him, or an infection or appendicitis. Maybe he drank all the darn milk and his survivors blamed it on the milk he drank with the fish, silently glad he didn’t leave any for them. Mama also warned us not to follow each bite of food with a drink of water during meals. Otherwise, we would end up with a swallowing disorder, for which the treatment was to swallow a string that reached all the way down to our stomachs. At first I was afraid to try it, but after that first time, I felt compelled to take a drink of water after each and every bite of food for years afterward.

There was an interesting challenge that involved boiling an egg, cutting it in half, removing the yellow, and filling the holes with salt. If you ate the egg with the salt before going to bed, you were supposed to dream of the one you would eventually marry. My sister Eva tried this, and nearly choked to death. She does not remember who she dreamed of that night, but accused Daddy of trying to kill her.

Probably everyone has heard the old one about putting someone’s fingers in a bowl of warm water while they are sleeping, and making them pee the bed. That one didn’t get too much play at our house, because all three of us girls slept in the same bed. As the littlest, I always got stuck in the middle, and would have gotten it from either side.

Snakes and cucumbers were the subjects of quite a few stories. When planting or tending cucumbers in our garden, if a woman was in her monthly cycle, she was not permitted in the cucumber patch because it was said that the blooms would all fall off. We never knew for sure, and would not have wanted to find out. Another story that I’ve heard many times is that just before a rattlesnake strikes, you smell a strong odor of cucumbers. I don’t know anyone who can verify that story, and don’t want to test it for myself. One story about snakes, with which I do have some experience, is that no matter what time or how they are killed, snakes do not die until sundown. Having witnessed the death of many snakes, and taken part in several, I can assure you that no matter how many pieces a snake is cut into, each of those pieces keeps on wiggling for hours afterward. Is the snake alive or is it only nerves reacting? I don’t know, but it certainly is creepy.

When we were growing up, if any barbering was done in our home, whether on an adult or child, the hair had to be disposed of by burying, and a rock placed atop the buried hair. It could not be burnt or otherwise left in a place where birds or other varmints could make off with it, otherwise the unfortunate individual to whom the hair belonged would suffer from a headache that would last the rest of his or her life. I guess people took it pretty seriously, because I never met an individual that complained of headache every day. However, there might be a few husbands that disagree.

There were some predictors of weather that we were all familiar with, such as a ring around the moon foretelling rain. My husband had a good laugh at my expense the first few times I predicted rain because all the leaves in our neighborhood were turning up, but has since accepted that it is at least as accurate as the weather forecast on TV. We don’t live around too many cows, but sometimes on an outing when I see cows lying down I remember that is also a pretty reliable sign of rain. In a herd of five cows with two of them are lying down, I will drill it down even further and say there’s a 40% chance of rain – again, at least as accurate as the TV weatherman.

There were a lot of old sayings that seemed to be based in religion. You could wear red anytime and anywhere, but only women of loose morals wore red shoes, or wore red to church. Neither of my older sisters has ever owned a pair of red shoes. I did and wore them completely out.

Women who were expecting when we were growing up were constantly warned not to look upon anything unusual, scary or horrible because they would “mark” the baby, and this never made any sense to me at the time. Whether or not it is true, there is some biblical background in Genesis 30, when Jacob “marked” cattle at conception.
We were all familiar with the old saying “A whistling woman and a crowing hen are neither good for God nor men”, and in our family that meant when a hen started to crow, she ended up in the pot with dumplings pretty quickly. Thankfully, the whistling part was pretty much ignored, because I have always loved to whistle, and anyone who ever heard me sing is pretty glad of that.

For some reason women were never supposed to sew on Sunday. My mother loved to sew, and made beautiful quilts almost until the day she died a couple of years ago. Sometimes when she was caught up in a beautiful quilt, she would sew on Sunday, but I could tell she felt guilty about it. There are some who say it is work, and therefore should not be done on Sunday, but for Mama it was pleasure to sew, and it kept her active mentally as well as physically. And those same individuals who might have criticized her would not have blinked if, on Sunday morning, the old hen started crowing and had to be killed, plucked, and cooked!

There was one saying of my dad’s that we heard pretty often, and found out that he was never wrong. Like most children who are close in age, we sometimes picked on one another. We would start out tickling, pinching and laughing, and we could get pretty loud, especially if we were inside the house. When the noise began to get out of hand, we would hear Daddy say “That laughing is going to turn to crying in about five minutes”. Sure enough, if we continued on in the same course of action, we could count on it.

Shirley Wood
Copyright 2010

Thank You & Book Giveaway

I woke up this morning & discovered that I had reached another goal on the Appalachian Mountain Roots Facebook page: it now has over 3,000 likes and followers! Y'all have helped crush every goal that I've set in an incredibly short amount of time. Thank you!

I enjoy sharing my love of Appalachia and I'm extremely grateful that there are actual people who are interested in reading about it. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't get excited whenever I read your comments. I believe my family and friends might be tired of hearing me talk about it but they're incredibly kind and supportive so they just smile and nod. Bless them.

A few months ago, award winning Appalachian author Barbara Taylor Woodall was kind enough to send me signed copies of her two books to share with y'all. I've already given away It's Not My Mountain Anymore but now want to give away A Time For Every Purpose as a way to thank you for following the page! Here is a little info about the book:

"Following on the heels of her first bestseller, It's Not My Mountain Anymore, Woodall's voice for Appalachia reached a worldwide audience with appearances on British Broadcasting Corporation as well as national television. A Time For Every Purpose weaves together wit and wisdom into the affairs of plain living with Biblical principles to offer simple prescriptions for living in today's world."

This is a great book and I'm so happy that I have a copy to share! Simply log in by Facebook or enter your email at the Rafflecopter link below. Your name will be entered 5 times if you complete the entry there!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

**I will announce the winner of this giveaway on 3/16/17 at the Appalachian Mountain Roots Facebook page and notify you by email. You will have until 3/19/17 at 7PM to message me your mailing information. If I do not hear from you by then, a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is not affiliated with Facebook.