Making Ribbon Cane Syrup

Opened a fairly costly bottle of syrup recently that boldly proclaimed itself to be Pure Ribbon Cane Syrup.  I know what ribbon  cane syrup is and this  stuff  more resembled black strap molasses used on horse feed. When we used to open a bucket of ribbon cane syrup the underside of the lid would have drops of a golden elixir free from impurities.   It brought back my memories of growing cane and making syrup.

One of the hardest jobs on the farm, for man and beast, was making syrup, but it was fun and in a way an enjoyable social occasion.  First the cane had to be harvested.  We grew ribbon cane, a thick purple stalk with stripes running down the cane.  The stalks were stripped of blades (leaves), cut down and hauled to the syrup mill.   Our mill was situated on a bank of the Bellevue road half way between our house and that of  Uncle Perry. The mill consisted of  heavy metal rollers attached to a beam pulled by teams of mules and horses. Juice extracted by the rollers ran into one end of a copper pan, which was some three feet wide by l2 feet long.  The pan had baffles, which allowed the juice to be moved along as it cooked, coming out as syrup at the far end.  The pan was over a  brick structure open at both sides to allow wood to be fed to keep the fire burning. Dad said the secret to making syrup was keeping the temperature right and constantly skimming.  We made syrup for other farmers, some who brought  cane  while others brought sorghum. We collected a toll and when I found that we charged a higher rate for sorghum I asked why. Dad explained that sorghum syrup wasn't worth much and was hard on the mules.  He would be amazed if he saw  the price that sorghum syrup in cute little jugs sells for today. 

We got out of the syrup business and even quit growing cane a few years after Uncle Perry was killed in a crash with a train.  Dad had bought an expensive new copper pan but  he let it go for scrap, seeming to lose heart after his brother died. They had a long history of making syrup together. (I have a copy of a postcard which shows Dad and Uncle Perry and three hands harvesting cane and is inscribed as taking place in 1905 on T. T. Lowe's farm at Waldo, Ark.)