A good mess of fresh caught fish, frying in a big iron wash pot brought people together like nothing else. A fish fry was a major social event at Myrick's Mill. It was hard to tell which was most important -- the food or the occasion.

Think about it. A gathering, whether family, a church or a few friends always includes breaking bread together. When new neighbors move to town, someone or group declares themselves host to a gathering that includes eating. A death in the community sends neighbors scurrying about gathering food for the family of the deceased. Civic clubs gathering for a regular meeting do so around a table of food. Business deals are often consummated over a meal. The purpose of most hunting camps is allegedly to support the pursuit of game. But to many, the best part of the hunt is the camaraderie that flows around the camp and the meals. Stories, often enhanced, about the biggest deer and the most fish caught usually reach receptive ears sitting around the camp table.

Myrick's Mill social life was no exception. Fish frys were a community event of the best kind. They might happen on any night of the week but usually took place in the evening after someone fishing in the pond had caught a big mess of fish.

Someone in the community might have a couple of days off or just may have laid out sick from work at the chalk mine; I'm not quite sure. 'Twas interesting to notice that there was a lot of sicknesses when the shellcrackers were bedding. The cure seemed to be a cane pole and a box of crickets, a can of vienna sausage and a box of saltine crackers. Anyway, two intense days were spent in the head of the pond, dabbling amongst the lily pads, pulling big shellcrackers off the bed. No one knew the meaning of legal catch limits. I'm not even sure there were catch limits back then. But, no fish were wasted. If the catch was excessive, the fishermen would come to the store about mid afternoon of a big catch and announce to everyone around that they were having a fish fry that evening. The fishermen gave Daddy instructions to spread the word to everyone. Invitation was by word of mouth. There were no telephones. The store served as the "telegraph office". By sundown a big crowd would gather under the grove of huge old pine trees between the store and the mill house. There was no such thing as a social class structure. Everybody was invited and everybody came including the chillun. If a local politician heard about the gathering you could be sure he would be there, too! Fish frys and funerals created great exposure for politicians. They seldom missed these handshake opportunities.

A big black wash pot, only used for fish frys, stayed on the makeshift table built between the big pine trees between the store and the mill house. It sat upside down on the table ready for duty. This seemed to be the community pot. I'm not real sure who it belonged to but it was always ready for use. The pot was set on bricks and fire was built around it. A couple of four pound buckets of lard were dumped into the black pot, melted and brought to just the right frying temperature. 'Just right" was determined by carefully observing the semi-boiling lard and dropping a small fish into the pot. The fish had to behave a certain way in that steamy black iron caldron before the word was given: It's ready. Put a batch of fish in!

Most of the time, the meal consisted of fish, hush puppies and pickles. With enough notice and time for word to spread, some of the ladies would bring cole slaw. Most people were gathered by the time the first batch of fish hit the grease. No one would think of showing up just in time to eat. This was a fish fry--- a social event. Being there to participate in the process, talk, laugh and joke about anything and everything was essential. Taking part in the social aspects of the event, by offering your own story, wasn't critical. Listening was an equal contribution, in fact, essential. Showing up to eat without participating in the foreplay was bad manners at least, and caused suspicion at worst. I sort of got the feeling that one had to be there to keep from getting talked about.

Join us here next week at the fish fry and you'll meet some of the neighbors.

©2003 - William C. Humphries, Jr.