The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1901-02-22
VINEGAR PIE.
Pathetic story of Early Days In Ohio
When Fruit Was
Scarce.

Scarce.
When one understands how pie is
the glad epiphany of the souls
yearning for beauty of living, as it
were, the bud tip of plant cropping
Ats way upward between the dull,
hard clods to sunlight and the air,
he understands also how some kinds
of pie have story to tell, a pathetic
story for those who can appreciate.
writes Harvey Sutherland in Aims
lees.
In the early days of Ohio there was
vinegar pie. A paste was made of
-four and water. Enough vinegar was
added to give it pleasant tartness
and sugar was stirred in to suit the
taste. Then this was used as fill
ing for the top and bottom crust.
Smile, if you can, at this poor eff
fort, but bethink you who it was
that made it and where and why.
We may set the scene in log cabin
in the wild woods of the Western Re-
serve and people it with settlers from
Connecticut, an ambitious husband
and his young wife who have left
behind them the old folks at home,
knowing that they will never look
upon their faces more. They have
come the long, long, journey in their
covered wagon to the far west of
Ohio to seek home in the wilderness.
Tie Indians are but barely gone.
The timber wolves still howl nights
while the young mother bushes her
babe to rest. In the twilight bears
shuttle at the door sill of the rude
cabin. Tt was sufficient shelter
from the weather. but no rag carpet
covered the puncheon floor to soothe
the eye with it's soft coloring, no pic
lures hung upon the mud-chinked
wall of logs. There was no lack OF
food to eat. The virgin soil, never
before turned by a plowshare,
brought forth riotously. Standing
at his door, the husband might kill
wild turkeys with his rifle. There
was game in plenty, deer and squir-
rels, 'possums, wild ducks, wood pi-
geons and, once in long while. a
feast of that most highly priced OF
all meats, pork. Wild berries grew
all about, and here and there up
sprung tree planted by Johnny Ap-
pleseed, ragged, wild enthusiast that
he was, almost a legendary hero in
his bene6cent resolve to scatter far
and wide over the new country the
best fruit ever God gave to man
There, was plenty to eat, but when
at last the store of fruit for win.
ter was exhausted, the soul sickened
at the plenty of mere animal food.
II woosh't twas soft we could hey
pie luck them we use to git back
hum" signs the husband
Land sakes! Uriah Kinney! 1 amt
got one mortal thing I could make a
pie aout o." retorts the wife.
''No, s'pose not. / amt a-faultin
ye. was unly sayin' I woosht twas
so't we could hev pie luck them we
used to git back hum. 'Twould kind
o. seem more luck livin'."
Then the wife falls to biting the
end of her forefinger. She plans;
she meditates. Oh, woman of thou.
sand wonderful inventions! Some.
thing has got to give when thy brain
throws its weight against problem
Result in this instance, vinegar pie
"Gosh, Polly! This is lickin' good!'
exclaims the husband, wiping his
mouth with one hand while he holds
out the other for third piece OF
pie. (Crockery was scarce in those
days.) Then he spreads the news.
by darn!" says he to the next
man heemeets, my Polly Ann med q
pic'f' me day b'fore yistiddy was the
.all-fredest best pie l ever et."
'Sho!" doubts the man that hears
him. Cant git nup-pie this time o
yer. Fruits all gin aout."
by darn she med it anyhow" anG
he smacks his lips. "Smartest woman
I ever see. Med it aout o. vinegar
she'd Tell yeou, fetched the spot
it did"
81 want to KNOW" says the other
man, admiringly. And he did. The
recipe was passed around, and vim
egar pie spread like wild-fire to the
southwark to the people that call g
pail a bucket and basin a pan, anG
where they have letter So broad
enough and fat enough to roll out
pie crust on in case of an emergency
Years have passed, and with them the
memory of that dear soul that first
discovered vinegar pie; yes, ever
vinegar pie. itself has passed away
too, save in the recollections of the
older people, so complete is the tri
umph of the self-sealing fruit can
l have used the name of Kinney, but
that was because l thought it sound
ed kind of Yankee, but l should like
to know her real name, and where
she sleeps, that I might stand be
side that weed-grown hollow that was
once mound above her, that I might
read the messy epitaph on her lean
ing tombstone:
"A Faithful Friend, Mother Dear,
A Loving Wife lies buried here"
A lady, who was unfamiliar with the