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DeSoto Parish in the mid 1800’s was a port parish both from the west boundary by the Sabine River to the east by Bayou Pierre. Both were important to the parish and Mansfield benefited from each – probably more from Bayou Pierre. The steamboats as they approached the landing began blowing their whistles a couple of miles before their landing. The boat’s lonesome whistles blew out through the hills and hollows announcing their arrival. People in the surrounding areas would come to the port to see the boats and the people arriving and the merchandize being unloaded. The merchants would be there waiting for all types of goods: furniture, coffins, saddles; small items such as copper pots, iron skillets; cooking supplies like sugar, flour, and spices. The boats brought letters from loved ones back on the east coast also newspapers from New York and London. The date on these wasn‘t that important because all news was new news to the frontier.

History has been made by the citizens of yesteryear. It is the feeling of this writer that these people should be remembered and appreciated. The main character of this article is such a person and his name is Henry Adams who claimed DeSoto Parish as his home although he was born in Newton, Georgia of slave parents. They were sold to a DeSoto planter in 1850 when Henry was seven years old. As slaves were sold they usually took on the name of the new owners just as women usually take on the last name of the man they are marrying.

Henry grew to manhood on this plantation and was treated well by the owners. His aptitude for learning was evident and he was taught to read and write. In addition, he learned how to get along with both whites and blacks. He married a young lady named Malinda and they had four children – Lucy, Rena, Josephine and Henry, Jr. They acquired property, horses, a fine buggy and some money. It was evident that Henry had ambition as well as ability.

A Forest Interlude

It was such a pretty Saturday with temps in the 60’s a light breeze from the southwest and a partly cloudy sky. The perfect day to do some Autumn yard chores before the wet cold Winter arrived. I’ve been cutting up the four fallen trees and chopping them into firewood and after several loads I decided to take a break about midafternoon on the back patio and hydrate with a frosty adult beverage.

Last Thursday, we all gathered at the family hunting camp in Grand Cane for Thanksgiving.

It was the first time we had done this, as we usually go to Mom and Dad’s house in Mansfield.

There were “the sixteen of us”, as we call ourselves: Mom, Dad, my family of five, and my sisters and their husbands and families. Cousins galore.

All was going well. The Bears vs Lions game was blaring. Several of us were in the kitchen preparing and laying out dishes. There was the usual chattering and laughing.

The dressing, sweet potato casserole, corn casserole, yeast rolls, salad, and iced tea were all placed around the island in the kitchen.

Finally, someone said, “Well, where’s the turkey?”

Things suddenly got quiet.

People stood very still and got that deer-in-the-headlight look in their eyes.

Stone-faced, Mama said, “I don’t have a turkey.”

“Quit teasing, Mama!” my sister Ashley said. “We know you’re joking.”

We all know people who just hate mushrooms (they taste musty) or onions (too strong) or pickles (they’re vinegary) and a LOT of people really can’t stand Brussels Sprouts. Those little unassuming baby cabbage looking vegetables that our Mothers always told us we had to “at least try”. Someone posted on Facebook a pretty good looking picture of some covered in cheese sauce and asked, “Does anyone actually EAT these?”

My answer is YES! I do and have a real good sounding recipe for them. Wait, wait I know you’re getting ready skip to another portion of the paper but hear me out. The Title of the recipe is actually the four ingredients that go into it “Olive Oil toasted Brussels Sprouts with Alfredo Gruyere’ Sauce” so I don’t have to bother you with the actual recipe. I thought that they sounded good paired up with a Shrimp Scampi or Broiled Snapper main so I thawed out a handful of Sprouts in preparation for the Friday night dinner.

We all know that Thanksgiving is a time to express gratitude for the big stuff: family, friends, good health, food, job, and home.

But I also like to give thanks for those “little random things” that are easily overlooked.

This year, a few things come to mind, in no particular order:

The lifting of the mask mandate at LSU Baton Rouge. Now my college freshman son can finally live un-muzzled and free.

“Larry’s Chicken” at El Cabo Verde on Southern Loop in Shreveport. It is just perfection.

The YouTube channel “Eternal Call.”

Amazon. Need I say more?

4C Coffee in Grand Cane, and the upcoming Rhino Coffee on Southern Loop. (Hey, I’m just thankful for good coffee!)

Our recent purchase of Blink home security cameras.

Reruns of The Golden Girls.

Cinnamon TicTacs being available after a decade of being discontinued.

In the past this column has been devoted to individuals that have made contributions to the parish in various ways. Today’s person was born in DeSoto and devoted to making it a better place to live and rear a family.

J.A.H. Slawson was born in June 1893 on a small farm in Ward 5 DeSoto Parish and his father, Joseph William Slawson, taught him how to plow and do field work at an early age. He attended primary school in Carmel, La. and went to Rambin School from 1905 – 1907. He once stated that when he moved back to Carmel in 1908 and worked for Mr. A.V. DeSoto he saved $75.00. He spent $15 of that money then bought a horse for $50 but the horse died after three months.

Only the Recipe! I’ve always loved Mexican Cornbread but have never (ever) had good results. I know the theory and all the different good ways to make it – Heck, I can cook up a plain cornbread pretty darned good. But I always get carried away. The last time I added baking powder AND baking soda to the self-rising meal and had a beautiful, puffed up, fissured brown top …. With an underdone middle. Yep, when I dumped it out on the chopping board the middle just kinda oozed out. Of course the top few inches and the bottom were done but we all had to just laugh. This recipe from Bill

This recipe from Bill and Cheryl Jamison called “Spicy Jalapeno Cornbread” looked so good that I thought I’d try it with the big pot of chili I was planning on making during the weekend. For fun I’m going to list the actual ingredients that their recipe called for and in parenthesis what I’d planned on adding or substituting;

In an over - heard conversation the other day (not a participant), “Old Geezers” was being discussed. Not being familiar with the term, it interested me; therefore, I set out to find out more about what an Old Geezer was.

Most everyone is carrying a “chip on their shoulder” about nick names. This word sure sounded like one of those bad names. So this is what I found by asking people and doing some real “serious” research about “What’s an old Geezer”.

At a sporting event when the National Anthem is played an Old Geezer stands and holds his hat over his heart and believes every word in the song. An Old Geezer might have been born in the Great Depression or his parents were and he knew what a penny was. Gosh – an Old Geezer might have gone bare footed in the summer to save his shoes to wear to Sunday School and Church.

An Ack-a-neyam?

My funny friend really has a way of butchering words but, somehow, it turns out right. She was talking about a “Word” that is made from the first letters of its name or of its members – or, in other words – an “Acronym”. Think “SCUBA” or ‘Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus’ which is what my friend, Bill Olive, called a “Latin word for diving” in his Speech Class presentation. Oh, Ha Ha! AND this all is actually going somewhere but, first, let me tell you about the unusual but good dish I created last weekend.