Welcome to the sunny, squashy South

By special request, we herein present a Women In Motion column from 1997 By special request, we herein present this unpaid advertisement...Y'all hit the Grow Newberry Farmer's Market in Memorial Square this Saturday, y'hear? The bell rings at 9 a.m., and there are squash a'plenty there!

My grandfather Pa-pa grew squash, big squash, at his farm on the Old Columbia Highway.

Henry's grandfather Gramps grew squash, big squash, at his farm on Lake Murray.

When I was a kid, every Newberry grandfather - by whatever name - grew squash, big squash, on a farm or in a garden somewhere.

The tradition continues.

Two weeks ago at the Newberry Farmers' Market, it seemed to me that while some folks had pole beans and other folks had Better Boys...everybody had squash, big yellow squash.

In bags, in baskets, in piles on the back of a pick-up trucks. Everywhere I looked, there were squash.

One thing about squash: once it starts coming in, it doesn't know when to stop. Every summer brings an avalanche of squash to Newberry County, thanks to green-thumbed farmers and backyard gardeners.

Squash to me is like shrimp to Forrest Gump: most any way you fix 'em, I like 'em. I've eaten squash stewed and steamed, casseroled and grilled, baked and fried, raw and dipped, pureed and blended in pineapple sherbert (don't ask, and I won't tell).

In the summers of my childhood, we had a bounty, a plethora, an avalanche...of squash. Heaven knows what we'd have done had Pa-pa planted more than his usual four.

We had more squash than we knew what to do with, and we did what we had to do: we gave it away.

In those golden days of yore, county kin supplied the table of many a city slicker with squash. Everywhere we went from June to August, we'd carry grocery sacks bulging full. Ma-ma carried sacks to the ladies at the beauty parlor, to the ladies in her Sunday School class, to the check-out ladies at the Market Basket. As for visitors? Nobody was allowed to leave without an armful of sacks: great aunts and second cousins, mailmen and Bible salesmen, neighbors down the road and Jehovah's Witnesses up the creek. (Why up the creek? We were staunch Methodists, and their witnessing fell upon deaf ears. The only reason we invited them in was to give them a sack of squash from the back porch.)

I don't want to tattle on my kinfolks, but sometimes there may have been a grocery sack of squash left on strangers' doorsteps, in the middle of the night.

Yes, boys and girls, squash is Newberry's most plentiful natural resource.

What Ma-ma and Pa-pa couldn't give away, we played with.

When the squash grew too hard for humans (with no dental plan) to eat, Pa-pa fed some to the pigs - and the rest, he whittled into toy cars and boats and trucks for his grandchildren.

We'd crawl on our knees under the house, where my brother Robert had designed an elaborate system of scraped roads (when it rained, we called 'em rivers), and we'd push our squash-hicles all the morning, shouting “va-room, va-room.“ (Nowadays, would that be called “Bumper-squash“ or “Squash-tindo“? You decide.)

Some days, my brothers and my sister and I would fall under the spell of a muse more artsy-tartsy than NASCAR. We would carve clown faces on hard squash and insert sticks for arms, legs and hair. We would build cabins with logs cut from squash - and I think we may have been the first to sculpt praying hands in squash. (My grandmother was exceedingly proud, and she saved the bas relief in the refrigerator so that she could show it off at Sunday dinner.)

I taught my baby sister to make hard squash baby-dolls, with eyes of wild-plum thorns, lips of pink-rose petals and hair of yellow-hibiscus blossoms. (OK, the hair looked more like a bonnet, but we were real little.) FYI: we used small sticks, instead of a glue-gun, to hold everything in place.

My older brothers taught me to use hard squash for target practice. They'd set the squash on the posts of the barbed-wire fence between the clothes line and the barn. We'd load our sling-shots (made of chinaberry branches and rubber bands) with quartz rocks...and we'd fire away. With pride, may I say: when the Davis kids were shooting, no enemy squash left the battlefield intact.

Why, when the Davis farm was invaded by stray dogs, foraging for eggs and chickens, my brothers and my sister and I would chase 'em away with “bombs“ of hard squash.

Yes, children, squash is more than food. It is bio-degradable entertainment, too.

The good thing about squash - and the bad thing about squash - are one and the same. There are just so many of them, you don't know what to do with them all.

That's where an experienced squash-pert like myself can be of service to newcomers in the Newberry area.

When brown grocery sacks of squash are left on your doorstep in the middle of the night, I can tell you what to do with them.

First thing, if they're still tender, you can cook 'em.

The important thing to remember about cooking squash is this: the only good squash is a burned squash. It's the brown part that's the best part (what Emeril calls “caramelized“), and squash should be stewed with no more water than bacon grease (forgive me, American Heart Association, for I have sinned).

Let the squash steam with the lid on the pot until squishy tender, then remove the lid and let the water cook out. (There's a lot of water in squash, a lot. This may take a while.)

When the squash starts to sticking, when it starts to burning nice and brown....scrape it up with a spoon. Repeat and repeat, until the squash is brown to the point of burned black. Add a smidgen of sugar (or a packet of your favorite sweetner, pink or blue). Serve 'em with sliced tomatoes, and that's a mighty fine meal.

If you're going “down home,“ slice the squash length-wise (not in rounds, like store-bought), salt 'em until they're sweating, dip 'em in flour, then in an egg wash, dredge 'em through corn meal, and fry 'em in oil (preferably, hot bacon grease).

When they're brown on the second side, near about burned, they're ready--and if your family won't eat 'em, call me while they're hot. (This recipe is recommended by culinary magician Lee Kitchens.

He's the head chef for at the Palms now, a graduate of Johnson and Wales...and my favorite, only son-in-law.)

If you're going fancy, my Aunt Peg's squash casserole recipe is in the sidebar to your (left or right?).

If you're feeling frisky, you can make squash pickle. They're really, really good - but way beyond me. Several local church cookbooks have recipes you might try. The trick is to make them crispy, but not crunchy.

If you're feeling frugal, you could try freezing every squash that comes your way. That will probably involve a bank loan for the addition to your house so that you'll have room for the extra freezers. But if you love squash as much as I love squash, it's all good.

As for me, I'm issuing a challenge to our agricultural-engineer friends at Clemson. If ethanol can be made from corn, why can't some form of fuel be made for combustible engines...from squash?

Given the bounty, the plethora, the avalanche of squash that grows in Newberry County every summer - I figure the price at the pump could drop as low as under a dollar.

Not exactly Jed Clampett's “bubbling crude, oil that is, Texas tea.“ But close.

Once the processing technology is all worked out, it'll be (as Martha might say) a good thing. Forget about Mideast, forget about the Alaska reserves, forget about the environmentalists' hybrid cars.

As my brothers might have said: “Va-room, va-room! Gentlemen, crank up your engines. SUV's are back and in style...“ Meanwhile, may I suggest: you should eat more squash, they're good for you.

Low in calories, high in fiber, and loaded with vitamins.

There's one more use for squash that those of us in the sunny South know well.

Those of you who are new to South Carolina, however, may need to know.

As your friends and neighbors from Ohio and North Dakota descend upon you, piling into your homes for their summer vacations, you may appreciate this bit of advice from Henry's grandfather Baker, a.k.a. Gramps: “When it's time for your company to leave, serve 'em squash three meals a day. In three days, they'll be gone.“ Welcome, children, to the sunny--and squashy--South.

Aunt Peg's Squash

Casserole

4 lbs. squash (cooked until water is evaporated almost completely; I cook the squash with about a Tbsp. of sugar, salt and pepper.)

4 eggs, 1/2 C. onion, chopped, 1 pkg. crushed Ritz crackers, 1 can mushroom soup, 1 pint sour cream , 1/2 stick butter, 1-1/2 C. grated New York State ultra-industrial strength sharp cheese, 1 C. pecans, chopped, Salt and pepper to taste (you know, heavy on the pepper) To hot squash, add everything but pecans and about 1/2 C. Ritz crackers. Pour into buttered casserole dish. Top with the remaining crackers and pecans. Dot with butter and bake at 375 degrees for about 40 minutes--until bubbly and crunchy and brown. (Genuflect, genuflect. This is my Aunt Peg's recipe, and she taught the Lucy Epps Sunday School class at Central Methodist Church for nigh' over 40 years.