Elizabeth Hutchinson Jackson lived close to the Camden-Salisbury Road in the Waxhaws during the Revolutionary War. Because of her home’s proximity to this busy trek, she met many who traveled to and from Charles Town. News from the war, as well as participation in it, became a routine way of life. Rather than focusing on the seasonal farming of their livelihood, hostilities assaulted their tranquility.
Fighting and battles became the new normal, as the British moved troops to control the colony of Carolina. Men, women, and children all did their part and bore the scars.
Her brother-in-law fought and survived the Battle of Sullivan’s Island. In May, 1780, she nursed the wounded and dying from the Battle of Waxhaws where Banastre Tarleton earned his name Bloody Ban. Her oldest son Hugh, at age sixteen, died at the Battle of Stono Ferry. She relentlessly sought and gained the release of her two younger sons, Robert and Andy, from the British Camden prison. Robert then died from the small pox he caught at the jail. She continued to play a heroine’s role in this war when she left to nurse her nephews on one of the British prison ships in Charles Town’s harbor, and she was buried in an unknown grave after contracting disease from the prisoners.
Setting an example of fortitude and bravery for her family and community, Elizabeth never wavered in making both arduous and costly decisions. Whether it was to board a ship in Ireland with her husband, as well as an infant and two-year-old, to travel to an unknown world or to intentionally travel to a plague-ridden, sea-water jail, this heroine met her life challenges.
Elizabeth’s life story will confront you. As you read about her demanding life in colonial and Revolutionary War South Carolina, I think Elizabeth’s life will captivate you, as she did me. She was one of many ordinary women who lived extraordinary lives. A story-teller and staunch Scotch-Irish Presbyterian, she lovingly took care of her family. Sharing hospitality to both friends and strangers was not a chore, and her home was one of welcome.
I recommend reading Elizabeth Hutchinson Jackson’s fictionalized biography. There are more details about the Revolutionary War in South Carolina than in my other two. This character-driven book shares the every- day life of a woman who defends her hearth and home in the cause of freedom and liberty.
John Adams said, “Let us dare to read, think, speak and write.”
There is nothing like watching a parade from the curb of Main Street. The floats, antique cars, and bands mesmerized us. Each blast from the band, waves from those in cars, and the laughing clowns were within touching distance of my brother and me at the annual Hendersonville, NC Apple Festival Parade.
Since our grandparents and great grands lived in the town, Labor Day was always the destination for this holiday. The parade was in the afternoon, but there was lots to see in the meantime.
Apples were everywhere. Local growers and orchard owners anchored every corner along Main Street, selling everything from apple cider and apple turnovers to apple pie and apple ice cream to candy apples. It was apple heaven, and we loved it.
This hometown celebration was a highlight of the year. It was all about fun!
The city closed the streets and opened them to vendors and foot traffic. Restaurants, antique stores, McFarland’s Bakery, and boutiques opened their doors to invite the public in.
Each year, more and more people celebrate the weekend there. Whereas it was once one day, now it is four days.
Apples are one of the most important agricultural crops grown in Henderson County, NC. In fact, they generate an average income of 22 million dollars each year! The NC Apple Festival celebrates Western North Carolina’s rich agricultural history and the great apple harvest which takes place each autumn. It features arts and crafts, free entertainment, and all of the things that we love about autumn in Western North Carolina.
The 2018 NC Festival kicks off on Friday, August 31, with live entertainment by the Buddy K Big Band. If you love swing jazz and the music of Les Brown, Count Basie, and Glenn Miller, then you need to check out this dynamic group! On Sunday, September 2, you can look forward to the smooth sounds of Atlanta Pleasure Band with covers from Motown to Downtown.
North Carolina is the 7th largest apple-producing state in the nation and Henderson County is the largest apple-producing county in North Carolina – with 20+ varieties. Because of the nine blocks of vendors, there will be plenty of apples to buy at the festival!
GRANDMOM’S APPLE PIE
5 to 6 cooking apples (Rome apples a good choice)
3/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons corn starch
2 tablespoons lemon juice or 1 tablespoon vinegar
3 tablespoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
3 tablespoons butter
Dash of salt
2 pie crusts (top and bottom)
Peel and slice apples. Add lemon juice and toss. Sprinkle some of sugar and cinnamon in bottom of crust. Add 1 tablespoon of cornstarch. Put half of apple slices in crust. Add half of sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and 1 tablespoon cornstarch. Repeat layering of apples, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and cornstarch. Apples will pile high in crust. Dot with butter. Top apples with second crust. Seal crust. Cut vents in top. Bake 50 to 60 minutes or until done. Yield: 8 generous servings.
Source: NC Department of Agriculture
For sixty years, visitors to downtown Hendersonville have enjoyed a weekend of celebrating the changing of the seasons. Since 1946, Hendersonville has bidden farewell to summer and welcomed apple season with the N.C. Apple Festival.
The event owes its longevity to the continued significance of the apple-growing industry to Henderson County. As noted on the festival’s website, the fruit has been influential in the area since the 1700s, and the region currently has about 200 growers, accounting for 65 percent of the apples harvested in North Carolina. Annually, the industry brings an average of $22 million to the region.
In case you are wondering, we will go to the Apple Festival again this year, and no, I won’t sit on the curb to watch the parade. But we will buy apples, and there will be an apple pie in my oven next week.
“An apple tree is just like a person. In order to thrive, it needs companionship that’s similar to it in some ways, but quite different than others.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff
Lucile Hitt Collins, my grandmother, was a diligent and enthusiastic researcher of the stories of history. She shared them with all listeners, including her grandchildren.
Yesterday, I was going through again her “bread box.” Yes, at one time, there were loaves of her salt rising bread in it. As a child, I remember opening it, only to savor the pungent smell.
When she quit baking, it became a treasure trove of old newspaper clippings, her notes on our family, and reminisces of her childhood in Versailles. I am the blessed keeper of the bread box today.
I was going through it to find some information about great grandmother. Bommie Collins was a poet, and I have a typed copy of one of her poems. And, of course, I was waylaid by something else. It’s interesting how a piece of writing leads to other stories and writing pieces. (Yes, you writers and readers are nodding your heads in understanding of exactly what I am talking about.)
Lulu had cut out a copy of a newspaper Letter to the Editor that she had written. It doesn’t smell of old ink after fifty years, but it is full of a description of the world in 1849.
“I found this old sale bill among my clippings, and thought you might enjoy the interesting sidelight it gives on change during the past 122 years.
Sale-Having sold my farm I am leaving for Oregon territory by ox team, and will offer on March 1, 1849, all my personal property, to wit:
All ox teams except two teams, Buck and Ben and Tom and Jerry; two milk cows, one gray mare and colt; one pair of oxen and yoke, one baby yoke; two ox cars; 1 iron foot of poplar weather boards, plow with wood mole boards; 800-1,000 3 ft. clapboards; 1500 10-foot fence rails; 1 60-gal. soap kettle, 85 sugar troughs made of white ash timber; 10 gals. of maples syrup;
Two spinning wheels; 30 lbs. mutton tallow; 1 large loom made by Jerry Wilson; 300 poles; 100 split hoops; 1 empty barrels; 1 32-gal. whiskey-seven years old; 2 gals. of apple brandy; 1 4-gal. copper still.
One doz. real hooks;two handle hooks; 3 sythes and cradles; 1 doz. wooden pitchforks; one-half interest in tan yard; one .32 caliber rifle; bullet mold and powder horn; rifle made by Ben Miller;
Fifty Gal. of soft soap; hams, bacon, and lard; 4o gal. of sorghum molasses; six head of fox hounds, all soft-mouthed except one.
At the same time I will sell my six negro slaves-2 men 35 and 50 years old, 12 and 18 years old; 2 women, 4 and 3 years old. Will sell together to same party and will not separate them.
Terms of Sale, cash in hand, or note to draw 4% interest with Bob McConnell as my security.
My home is to miles south of Versailles, Ky. on McCouns Perry Pike. Sale begins 8 o’clock am. Plenty to eat and drink. J. L. Moss”
Did you notice the names of two of the oxen, Tom and Jerry? Way before Walt Disney created those characters, those were popular names. How about all that molasses? Obviously, Jerry Wilson and Ben Miller were familiar artisans of note. Included for sale were so many staples that I wonder about the wife who had taken such good care of her household to have extra soft soap and tallow for candles.
I noticed that none of the cast iron pots and skillets were put up for sale. These necessaries could be used over the camp fires on the prairies, as well as in the wood fireplaces in the home.
President Herbert Hoover said, “My conception of America is a land where men and women may walk in ordered freedom in the independent conduct of their occupations; where they may enjoy the advantages of wealth, not concentrated in the hands of the few but spread through the lives of all; where they build and safeguard their homes, and give to their children the fullest advantages and opportunities of American life; where every man shall be respected in the faith that his conscience and his heart direct him to follow; where a contented and happy people, secure in their liberties, free from poverty and fear, shall have the leisure and impulse to seek a fuller life.”
Mr. Moss chose to sell much of what he had to seek a new life in Oregon. He heard the call of “Go west, young man.” I wish I knew the rest of his story, don’t you?
After the fall of Charleston SC in May 1780, the British army worked to win support for King George III and put an end to any uprisings from the Patriots.
In July, American General Horatio Gates moved his army of 5000 troops into South Carolina to push General Charles Lord Cornwallis out of this Southern colony. Unfortunately, because of false information and sick men, on August 16, Gates was defeated at Camden. And then General Thomas Sumter lost to the British at Fishing Creek.
At twilight on August 18, 1780, 200 mounted militiamen left their Broad River camp near the North Carolina border and headed south. Their attack goal was a Tory encampment at Musgrove’s Mill on the south side of the Enoree River. The commanders were Colonels Issac Shelby, Elijah Clark, and James Williams.
Traveling through the darkness, they covered approximately forty miles to reach to arrive above the river for their surprise attack. It was a long, arduous, and tense night, as they galloped across rivers and streams. At sunrise, the march ended about half mile from Musgrove’s Mill. An enemy patrol then stumbled upon them.
But they arrived in the area only to receive some other unwelcome news. The Loyalists had been reinforced. Instead of attacking a camp of 200 men, the Patriots would be attacking a camp of 500.
The Patriot commanders struggled to make a decision. Their horses had been ridden hard all night and were too tired to continue. The scouts also told them of the additional 300 British troops, who had arrived the day before. How to still have an advantage over a larger force was a necessity, so a final plan was made to drive the enemy out.
These Patriot militia had learned guerilla warfare from fighting the Cherokee. Using those tactics, a band of about twenty men under Captain Shadrach Inman crossed the Enoree and engaged the enemy. The small group, faking confusion, retreated, luring the Loyalists with them until all were nearly on the Patriot line.
Waiting, like a cat does for a mouse, the some partisans took up a stand across the road and took the high ground. The surprised Loyalists fired too early. The Patriots held their fire until the Loyalists got within killing range of their muskets.
Cracks of musket fire and shouts destroyed the silence of the river. Men dressed in homespun and others in scarlet red soon lay side-by-side. Years after the battle, Colonel Shelby wrote that “the smoke” from the battle of Musgrove’s Mill was so thick as to hide a man at the distance of twenty yards.
The whole battle took less than an hour. As the Patriots shrieked Indian war cries, sixty- three Tories were killed, and seventy were taken prisoner. The Patriots lost only four men, including Captain Inman.
The untrained militia defeated the seasoned Tory troops in a hit-and-run attack. Small successes, like this one, gave confidence to the partisans. Neither having to monitor and adjust their battle plan or the extreme Carolina heat kept the Patriots from winning their prize. Huzzah!
“[L]iberty must at all hazards be supported. We have a right to it, derived from our Maker. But if we had not, our fathers have earned and bought it for us, at the expense of their ease, their estates, their pleasure, and their blood.” John Adams
A formal Revolutionary War Battle Commemoration Ceremony will take place at the Visitor Center location at 10 a.m. on Saturday, Aug. 18, 2018. It will be a celebration to enjoy and another opportunity to celebrate our freedom.
My granny/great grandmother/Minnie Earlene Justus made chow chow. She used what was in her garden in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Whether she was at the Rock House, the boarding house, or her little two-bedroom cottage on Kanuga Road, she always planted a garden. Along with her melt-in-your-mouth biscuits, there was always a pint jar of chow chow on the table.
I learned early that I did not like what was in that jar or in her glass dish served with all that wonderful food. In later years, I noticed my dad didn’t care for it either. This didn’t keep my mom from having it available in the frig; she enjoyed it with beans and pork. She even put it on hot dogs sometimes.
Chow chow is popular in parts of the American South, Pennsylvania, New Mexico, and Appalachia. It’s made by combining a whole lot of different vegetables (usually with a cabbage and/or green tomato base) with vinegar to quickly pickle the vegies.
It is one of those end of the season recipes that utilizes things that are quickly fading from the backyard garden. It’s a way to use those tomatoes that are still on the vine, but will never turn ripe before the first frost gets them. So this is usually made in the fall. That goes for the other vegetables that are included in it. Some folks use cucumbers, some use cauliflower, some use pretty much just cabbage. If you start looking for recipes, you’ll find lots of variations.
Of course, if there is an abundance during the growing season, it makes sense to make a batch then.
And before you get confused about this word, this is not that cute dog that I am writing about this morning.
Have you ever eaten chow chow? If you live in the South, you might have. It is part slaw, part pickled relish, and part side dish. The mixture is served cold, and some variations also kick it up with condiments like ketchup and mustard. It’s tangy, sweet, a little spicy, crunchy, and it pairs well with just about any savory food.
John’s mother used to make it, but none of her sons liked it either. Wonder if it is a generational, as well as regional food?
As to the origins of chow chow, the late Southern food historian John Egerton believed the origins of chow-chow began in the sauces brought over by Chinese railroad workers in the 19th century. The Food Lover’s Companion links it to a ginger-and-orange-peel condiment of that same Chinese origin, but it bears little resemblance to what we call chow-chow today. Others say that the name originated in the French language, where the word cabbage is chou. As it became popular, family recipes over a century were handed down from grandparents. (This makes sense as to how it came into our home.)
The Amish – especially of Lancaster County – have become well known for their chow chows. Chow chow has established itself as a favorite “end of garden” relish for many Amish cooks. They include string beans, celery, corn, kidney beans, and carrots. Perhaps, theirs is another way to consume leftovers.
The process of making it is easy. Chop and combine cabbage, corn, onion, green tomato, hot pepper, garlic, mustard seeds, coriander, and celery. Toss with vinegar and honey. Boil water, add vinegar, and pickling spices in a large pot. Add sugar for sweetening. Bring it to a boil for about five minutes until tender. Cool it off and put it in the fridge. There are many versions available on the Internet for you to personally check out.
Preserving family recipes, as well as stories, is important to me, as you know. I guess the chow chow delicacy stops with John and me. And, I love pulling out those old recipes, written by their hands, to cook and share with my family and friends. Giving those women credit puts a smile on my face.
I agree with one of my favorite authors. “I hold that a strongly marked personality can influence descendants for generations,” said Beatrix Potter.
If you are interested in buying chow chow, Bellew’s Market in Spartanburg and the Hendersonville Farmer’s Market still sell it.
When I think about my mountain, Appalachian roots, I see strength in Granny and on up her family line. They made do with little and stretched everything feasible to feed their families. Chow chow seems to be another sign of that by using the left-overs from the garden. Their hands were hardened with work, as well as rearing children. They fought hard for their families. Survival was based on know-how, and I guess that also includes knowing how to make chow chow.
This post has not been what I thought it would be today. I really thought I was going to share information about an old recipe that I didn’t particularly care for. What happened is another realization about the heritage the women in my family tree have passed on to me.
As C. S. Lewis wrote, “Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.”
Welcome to the Willard Hotel in Washington, DC. Only two blocks from the White House, elegance and charm greet guests and visitors, as they walk in the door.
Famous and powerful men and women are among those who have frequented this hotel, located on Pennsylvania Avenue and 14th Street.
This grand, international hotel had its origin in a row house, built by Captain John Tayloe in 1816, was leased to Joshua Tennyson for a hotel. Benjamin Ogle Tayloe hired Henry Willard to operate the City Hotel after years of failing profits. When brother Edwin joined the team, they changed the name and enlarged the building.
Twenty- five year-old Henry was special, “meeting his guests as they alighted at the hotel from the stage,” reminisced Ben Perley Poore, a veteran Washington journalist. He was involved in all areas of the business and strived to treat his paying customers as guests; it worked. At dinnertime, “Mr. Willard stood at the head of the dinner table wearing a white apron and carved the joints of meat, the turkeys, and game.” Before dawn, Henry was down at the Central Market selecting the best for what he would serve in his dining room that evening.
In 1855, the famous poet, Emily Dickinson and her sister sojourned there.
Word began to spread about the elegance. A lavish ball, attended by 1800 guests in honor of retiring British minister Lord Napier brought prestige to Willard’s Hotel in 1859. The food, entertainment, and lavish setting made eyebrows raise. The guests feasted on steak tartare and blinis in the Willard Room. They ate Schwartzwalder torte, chocolate candy, pecan balls, mint squares cake, petit fours, and dozens of other desserts in the Crystal Room.
For the Japanese delegation that arrived the next year, the Willard’s mirrors, piano, gaslight, running water, and toilets were wonderful. All was first-class.
The hotel would remain among the first to try the latest conveniences and attractions, including the telephone in 1878, the first moving-picture show in town in 1897, and air-conditioning in 1934.
Constant individual attention to details was important to Henry, and his standard was continued.
President-elect Lincoln and his family had a comfortable suite on the second floor for the ten days before his inauguration. The problem of his aching feet was solved quickly with typical Willard ingenuity. In the rush to conceal his arrival in Washington, Lincoln had forgotten his bedroom slippers. But Henry’s wife had just knitted a colorful pair for her grandfather, who had big feet, like the President. Lincoln borrowed them for the duration of his stay at the hotel. On a side note, for Lincoln’s inaugural dinner, he was served a simple meal of Mock Turtle Soup, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Parsley Potatoes, and Blackberry Pie at the hotel.
During the War, author Nathaniel Hawthorne described the hotel as “may be much more justly called the center of Washington and the Union than either the Capitol, the White House, or the State Department… Hawthorne added: “You exchange nods with governors of sovereign states; you elbow illustrious men, and tread on the toes of generals; you hear statesmen and orators speaking in their familiar tones. You are mixed up with office seekers, wire pullers, inventors, artists, poets, prosers until identity is lost among them.”
In 1862, Julia Ward Howe penned the immortal words of the Battle Hymn of the Republic in her room there.
A British newspaper man covering the war wrote about his breakfast of “black tea and toast, scrambled eggs, fresh spring shad, wild pigeon, pig’s feet, two robins on toast, oysters and a quantity of breads and cakes.” (Quite different from President Lincoln’s meal.)
Willard’s, seen here during the Civil War, was full of well-furnished rooms.
“The writer Nathaniel Hawthorne, who visited Washington in 1862, observed that ‘Willard’s Hotel could more justly be called the center of Washington and the Union than either the Capitol, the White House, or the State Department. . . . You are mixed up here with office seekers, wire pullers, inventors, artists, poets, editors, Army correspondents, attaches of foreign journals, long-winded talkers, clerks, diplomatists, mail contractors, railway directors—until your identity is lost among them.'”
When Ulysees Grant arrived in Washington with his son Fred on March 8, 1864, checking into the Willard Hotel, where the desk clerk, gave the once-over to this scruffy looking soldier, assigned the two to a small room on the top floor. Then he told Grant that he would have to carry his luggage himself as no porters were available. Grant agreed and signed the register “U.S. Grant and son, Galena, Illinois.” The stunned clerk realized then that the new commander of all Union armies was standing in front of him. The embarrassed man swiftly backtracked and switched Grant to a suite on the second floor. He then personally carried Grant’s luggage to his room.
What a difference a few years can make in a greeting to the same man.
Leaving the White House, President Grant would often settle in the Willard lobby for a cigar and brandy. It is said that he began to call those that accosted him “lobbyists.” (Even now in 2018, frequent visitors spend time in this same venue.”
This hotel constantly hosted those seekers in Washington. Established in 1848, the Red Robin bar was a frequent meeting place. The University Club of Washington was founded in the hotel’s Red Room in 1904, then in 1908, the National Press Club was founded.
Nothing was too lavish during the Gilded Age, as visitors thronged the dining room.
Presidents Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln, Grant, Taft, Wilson, Coolidge and Harding stayed at the Willard. Besides other notable guests mentioned, others have included Charles Dickens, Buffalo Bill, David Lloyd George, P.T. Barnum, and countless others. Walt Whitman included the Willard in his verses, and Mark Twain wrote two books there in the early 1900s.
(a 1900 view of the rebuilt hotel of 12 stories)
“Besides living at The Willard during his entire term as Vice President, Calvin Coolidge remained at the hotel while Mrs. Harding moved out of The White House. It was during this time in which the Presidential flag flew outside the hotel.”
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. sat in the hotel lobby with his closest advisors to make final edits to his famous “I Have a Dream” speech just hours before delivering it on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963.
The Willard closed its doors in 1968 and opened them to new ownership and restoration in 1983. And then in 2000, another multi-million dollar renovation took place.
Today 335 rooms are available.
Tradition, elegance, and style continue to abound at this Washington address, as they have for almost 2002 years.
“It takes an endless amount of history to make even a little tradition.” Henry James
The Willard Hotel oozes tradition, and I want to sit-a-spell there.
I grew up in a family that loved ice cream. There was always ice cream in our freezer and at our grandparents. Sometimes it was even homemade.
A favorite way to celebrate a weekend during the summer was my dad making ice cream. Mother made the custard, and then we did the rest. They invited neighbors and friends to enjoy the ice cream with us. Any leftovers went into the freezer.
After the custard was poured into the metal container, Daddy carefully layered ice and salt around it. And then the work started! My brother Critt, Daddy, and I took turns turning the crank until it wouldn’t turn any more. Of course, it was ready for eating right then, but there was always a wait period to let it set. We didn’t care if it was a little runny, but management had different ideas.
In Shelbyville, Kentucky, where my grandmother Lulu lived, there was a family-owned ice cream parlor. At Mirror Lake Farm, there was never any grocery-bought ice cream, only from the small parlor. My dad’s favorite was banana, mine chocolate, Critt’s strawberry, and Mother’s butter pecan. What was at Lulu’s house was never enough. During our vacation visits, there was always at least one stop to get cones filled with our favorite flavors.
Granddaddy, my mother’s father, ate a large bowl of ice cream every night before he went to bed. He was not picky as to the flavor and would even mix flavors sometimes. This 5′ 10″ man had a phenomenal appetite, but stayed skinny his whole life. Even if ice cream was served for dessert at supper, he still was ready for his bedtime snack.
Biltmore ice cream was a favorite to all of us. Often Sunday afternoon sojourns were made to the Biltmore Dairy Bar in Asheville. Absolutely decadent treats, like banana splits and ice cream sundaes, were enjoyed. And it is no wonder that all was delicious: the ice cream was 15-18% butterfat! There was always a line to even get in that building. Daddy, whose aversion to lines since his time in the Army, never seemed to fuss about this line.
Biltmore Farms was organized in 1897, and delivery trucks took milk, cream, butter,and ice cream to their Asheville neighbors. Comparing the two photos below shows how these trucks evolved. Thank you, George Vanderbilt, for bringing those Jersey cows to North Carolina!
I continue to be startled by my ignorance. It was only in watching the news this morning that I found out it was National Ice Cream Day! Who knew?
Obviously, President Ronald Reagan was a fan of ice cream, too. I found this Presidential Proclamation issued by him in 1984. The celebrations were originated by Joint resolution 298, which was aptly sponsored by Senator Walter Dee Huddleston of Kentucky on May 17, 1984. The President wanted to promote our dairy farmers (my grandmother Lulu was one), and of course, ice cream is certainly the best product made out of milk.
National Ice Cream Month and National Ice Cream Day, 1984
By the President of the United States of America
Ice cream is a nutritious and wholesome food, enjoyed by over ninety percent of the people in the United States. It enjoys a reputation as the perfect dessert and snack food. Over eight hundred and eighty-seven million gallons of ice cream were consumed in the United States in 1983.
The ice cream industry generates approximately $3.5 billion in annual sales and provides jobs for thousands of citizens. Indeed, nearly ten percent of all the milk produced by the United States dairy farmers is used to produce ice cream, thereby contributing substantially to the economic well-being of the Nation’s dairy industry.
The Congress, by Senate Joint Resolution 298, has designated July 1984 as “National Ice Cream Month,” and July 15, 1984, as “National Ice Cream Day,” and authorized and requested the President to issue a proclamation in observance of these events.
NOW, THEREFORE, 1, RONALD REAGAN, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim July 1984 as National Ice Cream Month and July 15, 1984, as National Ice Cream Day, and I call upon the people of the United States to observe these events with appropriate ceremonies and activities.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this ninth day of July, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and eighty-four, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and ninth.
Fact checkers say that over 90% Americans eat ice cream, and our country eats more ice cream than any other country in the world. If you read the above proclamation, you will notice the words that we should “observe these events with appropriate ceremonies and activities.”
So here it is the third Sunday in July, 2018, and it is National Ice Cream Day. Google is helping us with places to go for free ice cream, frozen treats, and deals. Since Brusters is our favorite ice cream place here in Spartanburg, I do believe we will find ourselves in line there this afternoon to help observe this day.
“My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it’s on your plate,” said Thornton Wilder.
Or you could wait for another treat to enjoy tomorrow on Fresh Spinach Day!