A Little Taste of History

A little taste of history is what I got this week — and in the most unexpected way. Just a few days after writing about Grandma Sallie, my great-uncle Alex showed up with a few jars of canned dried apples. Right then, I told Mama we needed to make some jack pies! I had been wanting to make them ever since I wrote about Grandma Sallie, and now I finally had the chance. The timing couldn’t have been better.

The first step was making the apple filling. Dried apples are what make a jack pie unique from other pies. Long gone are the days when country folks dried their apples on pieces of tin, sometimes out in the yard, like my great-grandma did, or even up on a tin roof. That’s an old-fashioned way of doing things you don’t see much of anymore.  Nowadays, people use a dehydrator to dry their apples. The apples we used were dried with a dehydrator and canned back in 2012. Believe it or not, they were still good after all these years. According to Google, dried canned apples can last up to 30 years!

Yesterday, Mama simmered two-quart jars of canned, dried apples in a pot of water until they softened and turned a deep brown color.  When they turn that color, that’s how you know that they’re done. Then, she added sugar and a little cinnamon to taste. She let the filling sit in the fridge overnight so we could make the pies fresh the next day. 

The dark brown apple filling.

The next step is making the dough. Mama mixed up the biscuit dough while I got to help with the part I’d been most excited about — assembling the jack pies. I spooned in the filling, folded the dough over, and crimped the edges with the tines of a fork. It sounds easy, but I noticed that I was not very fast at it. I had to work quickly because the Crisco was already sizzling in the pan, waiting for the next pie to hit the grease. I couldn’t help but think about how fast Grandma Sallie must’ve been after years of making these. I’ve got some practicing to do before I can get them cranked out like she could! 

Here are a couple of my pies- not bad for my first time :)

Once the pies were crimped, they were ready for the pan. Mama fried them in Crisco until they turned crispy and golden brown. I couldn’t resist taking a bite while it was still hot—it was so good. The fried dough with the sweet, spiced apple filling was simple, comforting, and exactly how I imagined Grandma Sallie’s tasted. When Mama said they were “close to Grandma's,” that was all I needed to hear. 

Overall, I can’t describe how special it felt to make these and bring this tradition back. Grandma Sallie made hundreds of jack pies in her lifetime, but today, I got to make them for the very first time. And somehow, in the process of folding and crimping that biscuit dough, I felt a little closer to her.

Final product! They were so tasty!

Granny's Christmas Icebox Fruitcake

 

A slice of the fruitcake :)

Of all the holiday desserts, icebox fruitcake holds a special place in my heart. No other dessert brings that feeling of Christmas like my Granny's icebox fruitcake.  She made many of them every year and gifted them to friends and family. My grandpa, Papa, adored the fruitcake so much that she would make an extra batch for him, and he'd savor every slice well throughout January. It was a tradition she began years ago. The start of the holiday season was marked by her saying, "We need to go to the store to get what I need for fruitcake.'" As a child, I felt so excited. I knew the kitchen would soon be filled with the sweet aroma of cherries, marshmallows, and graham crackers. Best of all, I knew I would get to help her make it! 

A few weeks before Christmas, Granny would gather the ingredients and get to work at the kitchen table. I can still picture her sitting in the ladderback chair with the old cookbook open by her side. First, she would crush a box of graham crackers until they became fine crumbs. Then she'd chop the pecans, cherries, and English walnuts. Occasionally, she'd pull out the old-fashioned nutcracker to crack the pecans, her hands moving with the skill only years of practice could bring. Once the nuts were ready, she'd toss them into a large bowl with golden raisins. 

Next, I would pour marshmallows into a bowl, sneaking a couple from the bag before heading to the microwave. Once melted, Granny would pour the leftover maraschino cherry juice over the marshmallows, transforming it into a lovely pink hue—the same color I've forever associated with fruitcake. Then, she would pour the marshmallow mixture over the dry ingredients. My favorite part came when Granny handed me the big wooden spoon, and I'd become the official "stirrer." The bowl would be filled to the brim, and stirring it could be challenging! But I loved the challenge. After everything was well combined, she would pack the bright pink mixture into small foil baking pans before placing them in the fridge to chill. 

It's been 7 years since Granny last made the fruitcake. Since then, Alzheimer's Disease began to take its toll, taking away her ability to do so many things she loved to do, such as talking, reading books, telling stories, and cooking. The kitchen became quieter, and the fruitcake just became a cherished memory. Last year, my mom and I were flipping through old cookbooks when we stumbled upon the recipe. The smudges on the page immediately caught our attention; it was a sign that Granny had touched the page while making the beloved fruitcake. This little detail confirmed that this was the recipe she had followed all those years before. With nostalgia and inspiration, Mama and I decided to make the fruitcake for Christmas 2024 for us and our family and revive the tradition.

As I crushed graham crackers, chopped pecans, and melted marshmallows, it all came rushing back—the smells, the textures, and the joy of stirring the vibrant pink mixture. It felt like I was again at the kitchen table, helping Granny create something magical. After Mama and I mixed it up, we packed it in a couple of metal pans and put it in the fridge. This fruitcake is a good dessert to freeze. It can be kept in the fridge for a month after you make it. 

Granny's icebox fruitcake isn't just a dessert; it's a piece of our family history. It's light, no-bake, and bursting with cherry flavor—nothing like the dense, dry fruitcakes you might think of. I am not a traditional fruitcake fan but love this old-fashioned one. What's more, it's a recipe that can be adapted—add coconut, pineapple, or your favorite fruits and nuts to make it your own.

Reviving this tradition reminded me of the importance of traditions. Family traditions uniquely connect us to the people we love, even when they can no longer be with us in the same way. These traditions, no matter how small, are part of what makes a family special. They are the threads that weave our past, present, and future together and create special memories.

What holiday tradition do you enjoy with your family? I'd love to hear about it in the comments below! 

85th Shiloh Church Reunion

"Oh come to the church in the wildwood, Oh, come to the church in the vale; no spot is so dear to my childhood as the little brown church in the vale."

Walking through the doors of Shiloh Methodist Church feels like stepping back in time. The wooden pews are backless and have no padding. There is no hum of heating or air conditioning and no buzz of electricity. Instead, the large-paned windows are opened to welcome the breeze, and sunlight provides the perfect lighting to fill the room. Shiloh is simple, which is at the heart of its timeless charm.

Inside the church.

Nestled in the woods off Shiloh Church Road in Troy, North Carolina, Shiloh Church’s history is rooted in a humble beginning. According to Montgomery County deed records, Joseph Haltom donated the land in 1836, and a log building was constructed near a small spring. Furnished with backless benches and a fireplace, it served as a church and a one-room schoolhouse. In 1883, after a fire destroyed the original structure, the congregation constructed a new building at the present site. In the early 20th century, changes in the rural population affected attendance, and many people left the congregation. Abandoned, Shiloh’s doors closed in 1928. In 1939, former students and members met together at the church. It became known as the Shiloh Reunion, and its purpose was to keep the memory of Shiloh alive for years to come. That purpose continues to this day.

This year’s reunion was on Sunday, September 22. It was a beautiful day as we celebrated 85 years! No matter how often I travel down that long gravel driveway through the woods to get there, I always feel excited. I’ve attended this reunion with my family since I was a kid. The Shiloh Reunion is not just an event; it’s a tradition that carries deep meaning for our family. It’s a tradition I cherish, and I look forward to being part of it again every year. As I walked up the weathered steps of the church, I thought about all the family and friends who had passed through these doors over the years. Many of them are no longer with us, and the crowd grows smaller each year. It’s a quiet reminder of how quickly time passes. This year, we were fortunate to have about 35 people join us, including a lady who attended the very first reunion in 1939!

Page 121 from the hymnal

The service began with morning announcements and a prayer. Then, everyone picked up the Cokesbury Hymnal to sing the opening hymns, “The Church In the Wildwood” and “Revive Us Again.” Thanks to the church's natural acoustics, everyone's voices echoed beautifully. This year, Rev. Jim Hunsucker preached a powerful message from the book of Matthew. As the service closed, we sang, “God Be With You Till We Meet Again."

After the service, everyone gathered around the long concrete picnic table for dinner on the grounds like those early Beamans, Russells, Cranfords, Hurleys, and VunCannons did. The table was filled with the best homemade dishes and desserts. My favorites were mashed potatoes, green beans, beef stew with carrots, and my mom's chicken and dressing casserole.  As I sat down, I was surrounded by laughter and conversation. I enjoyed seeing people I hadn’t seen in a year and talking with them and my family. 

Once I was finished, I walked through the cemetery, filled with my family's history. Many of my Beaman ancestors are buried there—my grandpa, great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, great-granduncles, and others. This year, my little cousins joined me, their curious questions breaking the silence as they pointed to the headstones and asked about the names carved into them. The 9-year-old asked me, "Why do you like going to the cemetery?" I told her I like to because I am a genealogist. Then she asked, "What's a genealogist?" I said, "It's a person who studies family history. She grinned and said, "That's what you should be!" The moment made me smile, knowing I was passing pieces of our family’s story to the next generation.

Ultimately, I feel a warm embrace and a sense of belonging when I visit Shiloh, no matter the time of year, but it's even greater when I come for the reunion. When September comes again next year, I'll step back in time for a couple of hours at the little brown church in the Wildwood.