George Washington Carver--Kansas Connections

The simplest snacks often taste the best, which is certainly true about a favorite go-to goody, peanut butter sandwiches. I can’t imagine life without Jif in my cupboard. A blob of this yummy goo combined with grape jelly slathered on fresh bread makes a fast breakfast, lunch, or supper. That same recipe creates delicious pre or post dinner snacks. In honor of this popular food item, January 24 has been designated National Peanut Butter Day. This red-letter event makes me think about George Washington Carver, the man often credited with inventing peanut butter.

Many folks know he taught in Tuskegee, Alabama, where he investigated hundreds of ways to use peanuts. However, few people realize he went to grade school and high school in Kansas. Before enrolling in Iowa State College, he homesteaded near Beeler, Kansas. Yes, the person responsible for my beloved PB and J treats has Kansas connections.

Born and raised on a farm near Diamond, Missouri, Carver moved as an adolescent to Fort Scott, Kansas, to further his education. Later, he followed friends to Minneapolis where he attended high school from 1880 to 1884. Upon graduating, he applied and was accepted to Highland College in the northeast part of the Sunflower State. 

Unfortunately, after he arrived, university officials rejected him due to his race. Disappointed, but having faith in God’s purpose for his life, George traveled west to homestead (SE ¾ of 4-19-26) and build a sod house near Beeler, Kansas, from1886 to 1888. Neighbors appreciated his polite demeanor, love of nature, sketches of local plants and animals, and accordion playing skills. For some reason, he decided he wasn’t meant to be a western Kansas farmer and moved to Iowa before proving up his land.

Once in Iowa, Carver studied art and music at Simpson College before going on to earn an agriculture degree followed by a master’s degree in botany at Iowa State College in Ames. Again, people noted this quiet, refined, Godly man who worked hard to accomplish his goals and practice his faith. Word of this brilliant scientist and his work found its way to Booker T. Washington, who recruited George to teach at Tuskegee Institute. Carver responded to Washington’s offer, “pledging ‘to cooperate with you in doing all I can through Christ who strengtheneth me to better the conditions of our people.’”

After he moved to Alabama, this brilliant scientist invested his time and talents to discovering and teaching others numerous ways to use peanuts, sweet potatoes, pecans, and other Southern crops. A deeply humble Christian who believed his purpose was to help fellow humans, this inventor patented only three of the many products he discovered. Peanut butter was not one of those. Instead of getting rich and living a life of ease, Professor Carver devoted himself to  rising early each morning, seeking God’s will, and working hard to improve Southern agriculture and living conditions.

Since grade school, when I first read about this amazing man, I’ve admired and wanted to know more about him. Imagine my pleasure at discovering his Kansas connections. On a warm spring day, it’s a pleasant drive down Highway 96 to connect to the trail to Carver’s homestead. Once there, you won’t hear him play his accordion. However, you’ll view acres covered with descendants of the native grasses and wild flowers he sketched while distant offspring of meadowlarks that sang to him serenade you.

Oh You Better Watch Out, You Better Not Cry, Belznickel Is Coming To Town

                One of the bonuses of teaching for so many years is that I’ve learned much from local speakers who have shared their knowledge with my students and me. In  1986, Lawrence Weigel, a regional historian from Victoria, began a tradition of speaking to my classes about local Volga German Christmas customs. Even though my grandma’s family came to America from this region, I’d never heard about the character called Belznickel that Mr. Weigel brought to life in my English classroom.

                This unique Christmas visitor wore a fur or buffalo hide coat and appeared in Volga German homes a few weeks before December 25^th. According to our presenter, not only did this caller dress in rustic, handcrafted clothing, he also wore clanking chains wrapped about his waist to warn youngsters of his arrival. Sometimes he even carried a coiled whip to add to his intimidating presence. I was as wide-eyed as my freshmen were upon learning about this guy for the first time. This wasn’t the Santa we knew and loved.

                My class’s informative guest told us this was an old-country custom intended to reinforce good behavior. Belznickel entered pioneer homes, where children lined up to confess the past year’s bad deeds. After owning up to their naughtiness, youngsters would kneel and pray. Belznickel might leave a piece of candy for repentant kids.

If a youngster failed to account for every shortcoming, this all-knowing being would remind the frightened child of his or her misdeeds with more than a few specific details. Our speaker went on to tell us about a time a teenage boy in his family had acted disrespectfully to this nighttime caller. In a flash, the dark Santa threw the miscreant into a burlap bag and toted him several miles away from home before turning the lad loose to find his way back home, a changed young man. 

                According to Mr. Weigel, this folk personality who originated in the early settlers’ original native land of Germany was a means of social control. Parents would inform a neighbor or distant relative willing to play the role of Belznickel about their children’s poor behavior throughout the year. During a visit, if the children failed to fess up, the dark Santa would remind them and perhaps make them hold out their hands for a switching.

                Several years after I first heard this tale, I discovered one of my younger colleagues at had survived annual visits from the Black Santa on Christmas Eve prior to the later arrival of Jolly Old St. Nick. My friend’s family also descended from German immigrants who had settled near Hutchinson. Like the pioneer children in Victoria that Mr. Weigel told stories about, this teacher along with her brothers and sister had to own up to their shortcomings under the watchful gaze of a Santa dressed in dark clothing as well as their watching parents.

                After hearing these stories, I realized Belznickel was alive and well into the 1960s and maybe 70s. Hearing my friend’s firsthand accounts left no doubt that these visits impressed upon youngsters the need to be good throughout the year in order to avoid getting to know the Black Santa too well.

                While I’m glad my grandma did not pass this practice on to her children or grandchildren, this old world custom intrigues me. Over time, I’ve found several Christmas decorations that depict Belznickel to display on a shelf or hang from our tree. When guests ask about the unusual Santa ornaments dangling among the evergreen branches, I get to share Mr. Weigel’s story and connect someone else with Kansas’s interesting past.

Elderberry Elixir

Despite the fact I had a flu shot the minute the doctor made them available, one of those germs invaded, took up residence in my ears, lungs, and sinuses, and has hung around with his buddies far too long. I’ve taken antibiotics and added a few homeopathic treatments to see if I can send this invader packing. Some of my self-care, which includes slathering Vicks on my feet and wearing cotton socks to bed, has offered comfort but not a cure. Several sympathetic friends recommended taking elderberry elixir, and one provided a bottle of his homebrew. When I looked up elderberries, it appears science agrees that syrups made from this native fruit have successfully evicted this nasty attacker and its accompanying symptoms.

The friend who gave me the tiny bottle of potent purple syrup started growing elderberries on his property so that he can manufacture enough immunity-boosting tonic to share with family and friends. After using it for several years, he swears it either prevents or reduces any number of respiratory illnesses along with other ailments. Research supports his personal anecdotes. In addition to curing these conditions, Chinese practitioners use medicines made from this plant to treat rheumatism and traumatic injuries. The bad news is that an 8 oz. bottle of elderberry syrup at a health food store dents a checking account considerably. For the same price he would have spent for tonic someone else concocted, our buddy bought plants from a local nursery to add to his landscaping and research how to make his own brew.

Elderberries grow wild around most of Kansas so cultivating them doesn’t require extreme effort. According to our acquaintance, he planted a few roots the first year, and, in no time, they grew three to six feet high, bloomed, and produced fruit. Soon, he harvested stems full of dark purple berries, knocked the fruits loose against the sides of clean five-gallon buckets, and began simmering the plump ovals into concentrate. He’s still experimenting with the perfect recipe, but following his initial success, he’s expanded his garden.

After looking up this therapeutic powerhouse, I learned folks use both blossoms and berries to make teas, wines, cordials, tonics, jams, and syrups. This single plant probably helped many a prairie granny woman or native healer fill a medicine bag with cures various ailments. I can see where the jams and syrups would prevent scurvy and other conditions caused by vitamin deficiencies. Before antibiotics, flus and chest colds could turn deadly, so pioneers and Native Americans welcome d a syrup that reversed or shortened symptoms.

Not only are these fruits good medicine, elderberries taste good. Anyone who likes making homemade jellies, jams, and syrups will love adding this flavor their selection. Add a pie filled with these succulent goodies to the menu and guests will salivate.

People need to know something else about this native plant. For all its benefits, those consuming it should be aware its fruits and flowers need to be fully ripe and heat processed. Individuals who consume raw products have found themselves suffering from a form of cyanide poisoning. Other wild berries produce similar concerns, so cooks need to educate themselves before tossing raw fruit in a salad.

Nearly out of my bottle of homemade elixir, I either need to find a stand of wild elderberries that I have permission to pick or take a lesson from our friend who grows his own and start my own berry garden. With such a flavorful treatment, there’s no reason to suffer through weeks of upper respiratory infections in the future.

Did You See that Sign?

Anyone cruising rural or urban highways has spotted a diamond shaped, bright yellow sign featuring a leaping whitetail buck. These deer crossing emblems alert drivers to potential car/deer collisions, and they’ve led to humorous incidents as well.

Curious sorts who google leaping buck logos discover references to a letter asking in seeming sincerity why the Department of Transportation doesn’t move those deer crossings to areas with less traffic. The well-intended writer points out doing so would reduce accidents. This little joke has made it to You Tube and other mainstream media sources. I suspect comedians like Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy have gotten some laughs at this concerned citizen’s expense. 

When I typed in “history of deer crossing signs,” I wasn’t looking for a funny story. I wanted to know why the antlers  are backward. I don’t know when it first occurred to me that these illustrations are incorrect, but I’ve known it for decades and enjoyed informing less observant friends of this mistake. It seems to me that if feds hire an artist to create a sign used across the nation, someone would make sure this specialist knows what a buck looks like in silhouette. 

What I found, in addition to the lady’s letter wondering why the DOT guides deer to cross busy roads was numerous responses noting the backward antlers and accompanying answers. Some folks don’t think the antlers are reversed. Those writers feel the sign correctly represents a whitetail buck, which makes me wonder how close those people have been to these critters. Practical sorts remind complainers that people crossing signs aren’t anatomically accurate either. Who has a gap between his  body and a Charlie Brown-style round head?

Finally, I found a response that addressed my question, which was why wasn’t the artist familiar with deer anatomy. If the explanation is correct, this has to be one of the longest lasting public acts of insubordination in the United States of America.

According to one citation on snopes.com, the artist didn’t feel appreciated. As a result, he or she created the backward antler sign to see how long it would take someone to notice. Based on the article, it was ten years before anyone even contacted the department responsible for codifying highway signs. By then, thousands of these inaccurate emblems marked public roadways, where they remain today. If this is true, I hope the illustrator found a more satisfying line of work.

These warnings have finally been around long enough to require replacement in some places. When we visited Rocky Mountain National Park in September, we noticed a few new signs alerting drivers to the possibility of deer crossing the road. To my relief, these new ones represent white tail antler anatomy correctly or as much as it can be in silhouette on a bright yellow background. 

I’m glad someone noticed and is making sure new signage isn’t a successful act of insubordination or of poor editing in the graphics department. I am going to miss seeing the incorrect ones and chuckling at this national boo boo. Maybe our government will offer old ones at a surplus auction so we can decorate the garage wall with a fond memory.