The changing of the seasons often evokes special memories for many of us. As the hot days of summer fade into the cooler, more colorful period of autumn, fond recollections of my Dad’s sorghum mill come flooding back. I can still remember the sweet aroma of the freshly made sorghum wafting through the golden foliage of the fall season.

  I was only three of four years old when we moved from Uncle Bud Clark’s place in Morgan City, Alabama, to a nearby farm in the late 1920’s or early ‘30s. That is where my Daddy, Tom Whisenant, purchased his first sorghum mill. He located it by the spring which was also used to carry our drinking water.

  People brought sorghum cane from all around so Daddy could make their molasses. I remember many people helping out at the mill and it took the better part of a day to prepare the sorghum.

  First, the cane had to be cut, then stripped and the heads cut off. Afterward the cane was

loaded into a wagon and taken to the mill. The mill was operated by a mule hitched to a pole walking in a circle. The mule power allowed the cane to be fed through the mill. Someone would be on one side of the mill, pushing the cane through, while on the other side another pulled it out after the juice was squeezed from the cane. The cane juice ran down a trough and over a cloth or sack(to strain it), before emptying into a wooden barrel. Daddy would have to wait for a lot of the juice to accumulate before he started cooking the molasses.

  After the barrel was full, the cane juice was poured into a large vat to cook. A fire would be built in a furnace and the juice cooked until it was stringy. The impurities would be skimmed off and the freshly made syrup was ready. The neighbors would take their syrup home in half-gallon, tin pails. Instead of being paid with money, Daddy was usually given a share of the syrup for his milling fee.

    People would also bring their older children to help out at the mill. Me and my brother, Melvin, and our cousin, Oveline (who lived with us), played with the smaller kids. We enjoyed playing tag and frolicking around in the nearby spring where we would catch frogs. Sometimes we would sneak a drink of the delightful cane juice or twist the sweet cane stalk and chew on them. My sister, Wonnie, was old enough to work, but I can’t remember seeing her around. She was probably making herself scarce.

  I remember my mother. Mattie, cooking up a big batch of food and bringing it to the mill for anyone who wanted to eat. Mama was a good cook and it wasn’t a problem for her to cook a big meal at any time. She would cook Irish potatoes, pinto beans, cornbread, fried apple pies and slice some tomatoes. A big batch of sweet potatoes, delicious molasses cake and ginger-

bread could always be found for the kids.

  I spent a lot of time around the old sorghum mill and became pretty well educated on making sorghum, but when I was five or six years old I was sent to the cotton patch. Mama made me a pick-sack from a flour sack, but she and Wonnie had a long sack and would pick it about half full of cotton before sitting down on it to rest. I barely got enough cotton in my sack to use as a pillow. My cotton picking got better as I got older, but I still didn’t like it!

  We moved away from the farm when I was about sisteen and Wonnie was already married. Some of my favorite memories of this old place were the kids we grew up with and the good times we shared with them. Kids like the Maples, Clarks, Dittos, Kings and Sheppards.

  But the most precious memory of all was when Mama got us ready for church on Sunday morning.