It was a catch-22-- the best place to grow sugar cane was some fertile bottom land, but this land was next to the road and the cane was accessible to being stolen. We had very minor problems with other crops being stolen. Sometimes some one would cross the field and steal a water melon or some corn roasting ears, but I don't recall anybody stealing cotton or digging up potatoes. For some reason cane was looked at differently. People figured we wouldn't miss a stalk or two but if enough of them acted on that feeling we could suffer a significant loss. Once we discovered 20 stalks gone at one time.
When we were making syrup visitors would drive five miles to our mill to drink cane juice. That was too fast for me; I preferred to chew the cane.
Dad and his brother, my Uncle Perry, joined in some operations, including buying farm machinery and especially operating the syrup mill.. When Uncle Perry was killed accidentally, Dad lost heart and no longer kept the mill. He had just bought a new copper pan but never used it, donating it to a scrap metal drive in World War II.
That did not mean we stop growing cane and making syrup. We contracted with another mill a few miles away. I was hauling a load of cane to that mill, having to deal with everyone I met begging for a stalk of cane. As I passed one house a guy I went to school with dashed out the door yelling, "Give me some cane." I handed him a stalk and he yelled, "I said give me some CANE!" I gave him another stalk and he yelled again. I ignored him and got the mules to speed up.
As I said, people looked at cane as if it belonged to everyone.
When we were making syrup visitors would drive five miles to our mill to drink cane juice. That was too fast for me; I preferred to chew the cane.
Dad and his brother, my Uncle Perry, joined in some operations, including buying farm machinery and especially operating the syrup mill.. When Uncle Perry was killed accidentally, Dad lost heart and no longer kept the mill. He had just bought a new copper pan but never used it, donating it to a scrap metal drive in World War II.
That did not mean we stop growing cane and making syrup. We contracted with another mill a few miles away. I was hauling a load of cane to that mill, having to deal with everyone I met begging for a stalk of cane. As I passed one house a guy I went to school with dashed out the door yelling, "Give me some cane." I handed him a stalk and he yelled, "I said give me some CANE!" I gave him another stalk and he yelled again. I ignored him and got the mules to speed up.
As I said, people looked at cane as if it belonged to everyone.
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