Planting By the Signs: Mountain Gardening: The Foxfire Americana Library (10)

by Edited by Foxfire Students

  Now you’ve seen these single-foot plow stocks that people would lay off a row at a time with just one mule to it. Now that was the only kind of a plow they had to get the land prepared. After they got the land prepared and the rows laid off, they’d have what they called a double-foot that would have two feet on it—one plow in front of the other. The front plow would be next to the row and a little ahead and this one would come along and go along like that and get some of the dirt to the row sort of, and then they’d turn around and come back down that row and throw the dirt to the other row. Now that’uz what they called a double-foot plow. And that’uz the only kind of a plow that they had to cultivate corn with. They had this single-foot plow that they plowed up the land with and laid off the furrows, and then they used this double-foot to cultivate the corn with and to plow up the weeds. Then along behind that the children would hoe. Lots of times one of those harrows would belong to three or four families. Every family didn’t have one—couldn’t afford it. So they’d work together and when they got the land ready, they’d go somewhere to a good neighbor’s over there and they’d get his harrow maybe and they’d go in together and all [work together].

  ILLUSTRATION 6 A homemade drag harrow with wooden teeth. Drawn behind a horse, this harrow would break up clumps of earth in a garden before planting.

  HARRY BROWN: We didn’t have nothin’ but a little bull-tongue or single-foot plow t’plow it with—didn’t have tenners back then. They call’em single-foots now, but back sixty years ago they called’em a bull-tongue, because most everybody plowed with a steer. I can remember seein’ one fellow plowin’ with a plow he made out of a locust tree—just a stick hangin’ down t’dig up th’ground.

  For a long time, hand wooden plows were all we had. Then people began t’learn how t’work with iron; they made the plow-shoe out of that. Later they had turnin’ plows, an’ shover or [a] lay-off plow for layin’ off rows, an’ twister plows for hilling your dirt.

  MARY CARPENTER: They had a drag harrow that was a big old iron thing with bars across it and sharp teeth. They’d put a big rock on there and a log and sometimes they’d stand on it, when they’d get in a place that was pretty clotty, you know. That’d help to mash it down. And you could harrow it when the ground was damp. Why, it’d be as smooth as a lettuce bed.

  ILLUSTRATION 7 Robbie Letson holds another homemade drag harrow, this one with metal spikes for teeth.

  FAYE LONG: Well, they used a horse in those days. We didn’t have a tractor and we hoed the corn. We planted big fields of corn, and we plowed the corn about three or four times. Every time we plowed, we had to hoe it, but now we just spray the corn instead of having to hoe it. That was a lot of work, having to hoe the corn every time it was plowed. But you had to keep the weeds down. We used a single-foot to lay off with, and a cultivator to plow with. We used one horse, and hooked it to the cultivator. That turned the soil real good and if you could plow it, if your corn was big enough, you plowed close to it, throw the fresh dirt from the far side of the row over to the next. That would cover up a lot of the little weeds that were coming, but you still had to cut the big weeds that were in there, and if it was a dry season that would kill’em. But if it was rainy, they’d grow right back.

  ILLUSTRATION 8 Horse- (or mule-) drawn cultivators such as this one are still in use.

  SEEDS

  Everyone saved almost all of their seed, but many people did buy some; lettuce and cabbage seed, for example. Gathering and storing seed for next year’s crops was serious business. A supply of healthy seed assured a family that, barring great misfortune, they would be able to make it through the next year as they had made it through the last. Precautions were taken to insure that the seed would remain safe and dry, as next year’s food supply depended on that.

  ESCO PITTS: I don’t reckon there’s not much of anything a fellow can plant but what he can save th’seed off of. Let’em get ripe on th’stalk or vine, get’em up, shell’em out, dry’em, save’em in little pokes or jars. Pepper seed, tomato seed, cucumber seed, all kind of bean seeds, all kinds of seeds. People used t’never buy seeds. An’ people used t’save their onion seeds, too. Had th’multiplyin’ onions—red button onions—that’d run up an’ make their buttons on th’stalk. Save th’buttons. We never did save no cabbage seed, but you could save your cabbage through the winter, and then set’em out in th’spring of th’year. And they’ll make you cabbage seed. Beets, the same way—save them through the winter, put them out in a row in th’spring of th’year, and they’ll run up an’ make seed. If you leave’em in th’ground, they’ll make seed th’next spring. [My daddy] picked him out some purty potatoes, and he’d take some hay or somethin’, maybe leaves, put that in a hole in the ground and put his potatoes on that and put hay over them. And rake dirt over it and put a piece of tin over that to keep the water out. That was the seed. Now sweet potatoes he couldn’t save. He just had to buy them.

  LON DOVER: You get your seeds from pretty ripe vegetables, put them on something and let them dry. Then you take them up and put’em in jars. They have to be dried, or you can’t keep them through the winter. We’d put th’seeds in a jar or a tin can back then. When th’bugs got t’gettin’ in, people would store their bean seed in a snuff can an’ kept enough snuff in there t’cover’em up. For tomato seeds, you’d just squeeze the seeds out on a cloth, then lay them down somewhere to dry. Then put the cloth up somewhere to save for the next year. The seeds stuck to the cloth. You do the same thing for cucumbers, squash, and pumpkin, but you had to let the seeds dry before you packed them away. People were more anxious in savin’ seeds then than we are now, freezing things. That was a big thing.

  MARY CARPENTER: There was nowhere to buy seeds, so we saved them. Once we got’em, we kept’em. We’d leave a row of beans in the garden to seed for next year, then we’d shell them out when they dried up, and put them in a can and put a spoonful of soda in’em and shake it real good. And that’s your seed for next year. It’s the same way with peas.

  For corn, when we were shucking it out after it was dried on the ear, whenever we found a big pretty ear, we’d throw it in a separate pile to save for seed. Even mustard—we’d let one or two grow up and make seed, and they’d leave one cabbage stalk to grow up and make seeds. Same way with spinach. The pea and bean seeds are the only ones I put soda in—the rest I’d just put them up in a cloth bag in a dry place and hang it on a nail somewhere.

  ILLUSTRATION 9 Belle Dryman hung these bean plants in her barn to dry in the fall, and will use the seed next spring.

  BELLE DRYMAN: We growed our own seed. For sweet potatoes, we’d save some from the last year and, in the spring, bed them down. Fix up a seed bed, ever how big y’want, and put manure in it. Cover that with dirt—don’t mix it in, then put your potatoes pretty close together on top of that, and cover’em up with some more dirt. When they start t’sprout, watch’em and let those slips get six, eight inches tall, and pull’em off and plant’em where y’want your sweet’taters.

  SIGNS

  It appears that many more people used to plant by the signs of the moon than do now. Some may call this practice silly or superstitious, but many swear by it. They would no more plant corn under the wrong sign than farmers now would plan to cut hay during a rainy spell. We don’t know if any carefully controlled scientific experiments have been done on planting by the signs, but several people have told us that they have conducted their own simple experiments and found that the seed planted under the proper sign did much, much better than the same kind of seed planted under the wrong sign.

  LON DOVER: I wouldn’t plant nothin’ only by th’signs. Now they’s lots of people that don’t believe in that, but I do. I’uz raised that way, and I go by it yet. Don’t you plant anything till th’moon gets full. Don’t plant nothin’ on th’new moon for it’ll grow up high and it won’t make nearly as much t’eat. Now roastin’ ears planted on th’new moon grow small ears right up at th’top of th’stalk. An’ planted on th�
��old moon, it makes a bigger ear an’ kinda falls over. I plant by th’signs or I won’t plant at all. Irish potatoes, plant them on th’new moon and they’ll grow that [three feet] high and they won’t make a total failure, but they won’t make half as many. The old moon [is] any time from the time the moon fulls till it gets its smallest. You can plant all the way to the new moon. Plant everything on th’old moon. Now mustard or greens, if you plant on the new moon, they’ll run way up an’ won’t have much leaves on’em an’ they’ll go to seed.

  I don’t know what causes the signs to do what they do. I just plant mine like I told you, and I don’t know much about how it works. I plant by th’signs an’ gather when it gets ripe. I learned it from the old folks. If you want to make a good yield, you better go by th’signs, I’ll tell you that now.

  The dark nights is when th’moon is going down, last quarter before it news, there’s three dark nights before the new moon. My daddy [planted by the moon]. I don’t know what the signs were, but it was th’moon, a certain time he planted his corn, a certain time he planted his watermelon patch. Whenever th’signs are in th’arms is the best time t’plant your beans. An’ you shouldn’t plant corn when th’signs is in the heart—y’get black spots in your grain. There’s certain times as th’moon goes down that I won’t plant. Sometimes as they go down, they’ll be maybe in th’bowels an’ get in th’legs an’ feet is a real good time to plant. An old friend of mine—the best potato raiser I ever saw—said t’plant your taters when th’signs is in the feet even if it’s on the new moon. The best time in the world t’make Irish potatoes is when th’signs are in the feet. The signs are good from the head down to th’heart, then from just below th’bowels on down to th’feet. The signs get t’every part of th’body ever’month. They go from the feet back to th’head all over again.

  HARRIET ECHOLS: [There are certain signs to plant under], and that is on the new of the moon when you have dark nights. When you plant your cabbage, plant when the signs are in the head. Now the dark nights is for onions and potatoes. The new moon, I believe, is for corn where it won’t grow so tall—if it’s planted on a full moon, see, it grows straight up. You sow your plants at different signs, and when you plant your beans the best time is to plant’em in the arms. When you set out plants, start with the signs in the thighs and you’ll have good luck. That’s the old-time rule, now, and we still go by it. ’Course, I’m old timey myself, you know. My parents went by this and I found [usually] the old timer’s go by the zodiac signs. When the sign is in the bowels, you don’t plant because your seed rots.

  ETHEL CORN: An’ if you plant beans on th’new of the moon, if y’ever like t’raise any, they’ll rot an’ speck. They’ll make good vines, but they’ll rot and speck. I didn’t b’lieve that at one time—then I tried it once.

  PAULINE HENSON: If you want a lot of cucumbers, plant [the seeds] when the signs are in the twins.

  R. M. DICKERSON: Well, some people’d plant by the signs, ‘specially beans, but we never did take much stock in plantin’ by the signs. A lot of people believed in’em and sometimes it worked out and it’d look like they’s right; then again maybe it won’t. But what most ever’body had to do back then when they got their land ready and the time come, they’d plant signs or no signs. It’s kinda’ like Uncle Bob, that lived in this two-story house over here. Somebody was asking him one day about plantin’ by the moon. He said he always planted his down here ’cause it was so far to go to the moon to work it that he’d never get it worked.

  LIZZIE LOVIN: Mamma planted beans when the signs was in the arms. They’d never plant corn when the signs was on the new of the moon; it would grow so high you couldn’t reach the ears. They planted corn on the full moon, and it’d grow short and the ears would be full. And potatoes the same way—if you plant them on the new of the moon, they’d make all vines and no potatoes. So we’d plant potatoes on dark nights in March or April. My mamma used to say the moon was just like a man. It changes every eight days. She’d plant things that grow leafy on the new of the moon.

  ESCO PITTS: You want’a put onions out in March. You can put them out earlier, but they do better to put them out on a dark moon, for they make under the ground.

  COMMON VEGETABLES

  The different kinds of vegetables grown here years ago are still prevalent today, with some variations in particular varieties. The Jerusalem artichoke, which many people used to cultivate, appears to be the main exception, as it isn’t grown very widely here now.

  Corn was one of the most important crops—it was a staple for both people and all their animals. They ate it fresh on or off the cob; in fresh corn cornbread; used it dried to make cornmeal, popcorn, parched corn, grits, and hominy; and sprouted it to make moonshine. The fodder (leaves) was used dried to feed the animals, and the shucks were made into mats, scrub brushes, hats, and various other things.

  The vegetables are listed in the general order in which people said they planted them, starting with the cool-weather ones in the early spring, and going to the warm-weather ones in late spring and through the summer.

  Potatoes

  R. M. DICKERSON: Usually the first thing they would plant was Irish potatoes ’cause they’d stand the cold. We used to plant’em back in February. ’Course they never came up maybe until sometime in March. Then you’d have some to eat because more’n’likely you’d eaten up all your potatoes that you’d made last fall by that time.

  EDNIE BUCHANAN: We always planted potatoes on a dark moon in April, but some folk’d plant’em in March or even February. We’d cut the potatoes from last year that we saved for seed into a couple pieces each. Had to be sure there was two good eyes in each piece. Well, we’d already have our rows ready and fertilized with manure, and just plant those pieces.

  LON DOVER: You can plant potatoes real deep. We used to always take th’turnin’plow an’ lay off for our potatoes an’ then cover’em with a tennin’plow, an’ that’d ridge’em up.

  ADA KELLY: After we planted the potatoes, we’d work’em and ridge the soil up some as the vines grew. We found that if we made a small ridge, we’d get big potatoes. We always put ashes on our potatoes, and it made them grow really well. We’d dig new potatoes around the time the vines were blooming, but wouldn’t dig the whole patch until all the vines had died down. We’d plow them out—that plow’d run along under the potatoes and run’em out on top of the ground. But I guess some people would dig them out.

  LAWTON BROOKS: [To store] potatoes, we’d dig out a round hole, not too far. Then we’d take us a big sack of leaves, put right in th’bottom of that hole, pile th’potatoes up. You can pile them up over the level of th’ground, then you put some leaves over th’top of them, or straw, an’ cover that with dirt. You end up with a sort of mound, then when you want some potatoes, scratch you out a little hole right down at th’bottom an’ them potatoes keep a’walkin’ right to you. You can do apples th’same way.

  Onions

  AUNT ARIE CARPENTER: [The onions were] planted early. We put them out in March if it got dry enough. The earlier you get them out, the better they do. We always bought onion buttons, and Mommy had some of those multiplying onions. A big onion made little onions and a little onion made a big one. And we had these little white shallots, as they call’em. Set out one and they’d just make a whole big bunch.

  ILLUSTRATION 10 Aunt Arie Carpenter getting some help digging her potatoes from Foxfire students.

  LON DOVER: If I don’t get onions out in March, I might just as well not plant. Seems like they never would do no good [if they were put out any later]. They do best in a pretty loose, rich dirt, and they need lots of sunshine. Sometime along in August when the tops dies down, we’ll pick’em and spread’em out till th’dirt gets dried off, and they get cured good. You can’t store them till they’ve dried and cured. Then we’d put’em in a box’r’somethin’ and not let’em freeze. Lots of people’ud tie’em in bunches an’ hang’em up in a dry, cool place.

 
BELLE DRYMAN: We always raised our own onions. We had what they called th’multiplyin’ onion back then. [They were biennial because] the first year, a little onion would grow into a big onion. Save that big onion till next spring, plant it, an’ it’d grow into a whole bunch of little onions [each of which, when planted next year, would grow into another big onion, and so on]. An’ we had some that made what we called buttons on the top o’th’stalk, where them blooms grow. You save those buttons till next spring and pull’em apart and plant’em. Now if you planted the buttons or the little multiplyin’ onions in the late summer, they wouldn’t make too big of onions, just green onions.

  ILLUSTRATION 11 Onions and lettuce may be planted in February or March.

  Lettuce

  FLORENCE BROOKS: They did have leaf lettuce; you didn’t never see a head lettuce. We planted it early, and when it give up, we planted it late. It needs cooler weather—we didn’t try t’grow it in th’middle of th’summer. Plant it around March if the ground’s dry enough. Our seeds—we bought’em in th’store.

  ESCO PITTS: My mother grew it every year. She had two kinds—leaf lettuce and some that made heads. She planted it very early in the spring, even before th’frost quit, because lettuce is a hardy plant. She had a corner of th’garden where it seemed t’grow better than any other place. Then she had lettuce along in her onion rows.

  EDNIE BUCHANAN: I just sow my lettuce in sort of a bed. It loves cool weather, and once it gets up some, even a freeze don’t kill it. It does real good where the ground is rich, but now it’s something you have to use when it’s ready, or it will ruin.