Quote: Quote: When I was growing up we lived in the city of St. Louis but we had a hundred acre farm about 100 miles south of here. There we raised cattle, hogs, horses and pheasant. We also did hay, corn and a big garden for sprawling things like melons and pumpkins. In the suburbs of St. Louis in what is now Black Jack, my dad's family also had a 40 acre truck farm that my grandfather, father and uncles operated just a mile up the road from where I live now. That's where we raised all the chickens.
My grandfather stowed away on a boat from Germany and learned about a community of Germans living north of St. Louis, so after jumping ship he made his way here. He worked as a farm hand until he made enough to buy that farm that was being sold for back taxes. That was in the 1880s. The house was a small log cabin built in the 1830s. He added on to the house and it is now a restaurant with the original log cabin still being the core of the building. They let me take people on tours. The restaurant's bar is in what used to be the 'summer kitchen' where they canned produce, processed animals and made sausage. Under the summer kitchen there is a fruit cellar and under the fruit cellar is an ice cellar. The whole community cut their ice for the summer out of my grandfather's pond. My family would fill the ice cellar during the winter and everyday through the rest of the year they would pull a block of ice and put it in the ice box. (yes, that's why some people still call a refrigerator an ice box)
After I got out of the army, I couldn't afford an apartment so I built a loft in the old 'summer kitchen'. I had a wood stove and a tub. The outhouse was just around back.
Every one of my family except my father died in that house. Restaurant workers frequently reported ghostly encounters there. A couple years ago, as the only living person in the area that knew the history, I participated in one of those ghost hunter shows at the house. I remember sitting on the steps leading from the children's bedrooms to the attic of the log cabin where they played. I was holding one of those EMF sensors that ghost hunters use. I started talking to the spirits of my uncles and aunt. The more personal my comments were, the more crazy the monitor got till it was just beeping like mad. I was up all night and I was worried because the next day, I tried out to be on 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire'. I passed all the tests but by the end of the day, when it came time for the personal interview, I was so tired I must have seemed like too much of a dud to be TV material. I was probably a little too weird too. After all, I told them I was up all night as the subject matter expert on a ghost hunter episode. The raw paleo diet thing probably wouldn't have benefited their junk food sponsors either. - Oh, so many reasons not to choose me!
When my dad and uncles were growing up, the boys would work the farm and my grandfather would take the fruits and vegetables by horse drawn wagon to 'Produce Row' in north St. Louis. That's exactly 12 miles one way and he did that every day when there was produce to sell. The horses knew the way home so he would sleep and wake up when the horses stopped in the driveway. They had a greenhouse, eight 5X20 concrete hotbeds, peach, apple and pear orchards, 2,000 tomato plants every year as well as peas, beans, squash, peppers, potatoes, corn, onions and grapes were the primary crops. Oh, and with 100 leghorns, they sold lots of eggs. The chicken houses were in a wedge between the peach orchard and vineyard so would forage the orchards all day. My dad's primary job year round was tomatoes. Even years later when most of the farm was sold for a subdivision we still had a 2 acre garden. About 1/8 acre was in rhubarb and had been growing in the same place for over 100 years. When my wife was pregnant with our daughter (our first child), we were living in the old log cabin part of the house. I decided to put in a huge garden and planted close to an acre of lettuces, tomatoes, peppers, chilies and a few other vegetables to sell. I was working 10 hours a day and knew I wouldn't have time to tend it so I laid newspaper covered by horse manure mixed with a lot of straw. I laid soaker hoses between rows and only had to water once a week since my 'mulch' kept water in. That happened to be one of the hottest, driest summers we had. Several people nearby had big gardens and would sell tomatoes and other vegetables. I was the only one with tomatoes that year. Every morning before it got hot, my wife would go out and pick veggies, put them on the harvest table I would set out before work with a scale, a stack of bags, price labels and a cigar box for money - honor system. She'd then go back inside to sit in the air conditioning (daughter was born in late august so she was always hot). When I'd get home, I'd put everything back in the garage and collect the money. One day there was no money in the box. I shrugged and thought, "it was bound to happen that I'd get ripped off". When I picked everything off the table, all the money was sitting under the cigar box. I guess someone put it under there because there was so much, they thought someone would take it. I never once had a penny or a tomato missing that I'm aware of.
My grandfather was part of the St. Louis Fruit and Produce Association. Produce Row predates the civil war and was primarily to supply grocers, restaurants and confectioners. It started on the Mississippi riverfront where both merchants would bring produce by river or buyers would purchase and take away by river. To this day, Produce Row is a $100,000,000 business. It employs 1200 people and 1500 buyers a day come to the Market from as far North as Iowa, the West to Jefferson City and Columbia, the South to Cape Girardeau and the East to Indianapolis, Indiana.
My grandfather was also the community's leather smith and cobbler making harnesses, saddles, shoes, boots and the like. At his leather shop, which still exists, there were 3 huge black jack oak trees where travelers would rest. Those oaks on his property were how the town got its name- Black Jack, MO.
When I had to fight city hall a couple years ago for the right to keep chickens, among my arguments I reminded city council and the Mayor that Black Jack became a city in 1970 and my family had been raising chickens in Black Jack since 1870 (ok, I stretched the truth by a few years but it made for good courtroom drama to the sold out house)
Interesting history there CC. I am from MO also, but the other side. KCMO. We really never heard much history about the St Louis area in school curriculum. Even though Kansas City was in to teaching their school children about the Sante Fe Trail, Old Westport, etc.
My grandfather stowed away on a boat from Germany and learned about a community of Germans living north of St. Louis, so after jumping ship he made his way here. He worked as a farm hand until he made enough to buy that farm that was being sold for back taxes. That was in the 1880s. The house was a small log cabin built in the 1830s. He added on to the house and it is now a restaurant with the original log cabin still being the core of the building. They let me take people on tours. The restaurant's bar is in what used to be the 'summer kitchen' where they canned produce, processed animals and made sausage. Under the summer kitchen there is a fruit cellar and under the fruit cellar is an ice cellar. The whole community cut their ice for the summer out of my grandfather's pond. My family would fill the ice cellar during the winter and everyday through the rest of the year they would pull a block of ice and put it in the ice box. (yes, that's why some people still call a refrigerator an ice box)
After I got out of the army, I couldn't afford an apartment so I built a loft in the old 'summer kitchen'. I had a wood stove and a tub. The outhouse was just around back.
Every one of my family except my father died in that house. Restaurant workers frequently reported ghostly encounters there. A couple years ago, as the only living person in the area that knew the history, I participated in one of those ghost hunter shows at the house. I remember sitting on the steps leading from the children's bedrooms to the attic of the log cabin where they played. I was holding one of those EMF sensors that ghost hunters use. I started talking to the spirits of my uncles and aunt. The more personal my comments were, the more crazy the monitor got till it was just beeping like mad. I was up all night and I was worried because the next day, I tried out to be on 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire'. I passed all the tests but by the end of the day, when it came time for the personal interview, I was so tired I must have seemed like too much of a dud to be TV material. I was probably a little too weird too. After all, I told them I was up all night as the subject matter expert on a ghost hunter episode. The raw paleo diet thing probably wouldn't have benefited their junk food sponsors either. - Oh, so many reasons not to choose me!
When my dad and uncles were growing up, the boys would work the farm and my grandfather would take the fruits and vegetables by horse drawn wagon to 'Produce Row' in north St. Louis. That's exactly 12 miles one way and he did that every day when there was produce to sell. The horses knew the way home so he would sleep and wake up when the horses stopped in the driveway. They had a greenhouse, eight 5X20 concrete hotbeds, peach, apple and pear orchards, 2,000 tomato plants every year as well as peas, beans, squash, peppers, potatoes, corn, onions and grapes were the primary crops. Oh, and with 100 leghorns, they sold lots of eggs. The chicken houses were in a wedge between the peach orchard and vineyard so would forage the orchards all day. My dad's primary job year round was tomatoes. Even years later when most of the farm was sold for a subdivision we still had a 2 acre garden. About 1/8 acre was in rhubarb and had been growing in the same place for over 100 years. When my wife was pregnant with our daughter (our first child), we were living in the old log cabin part of the house. I decided to put in a huge garden and planted close to an acre of lettuces, tomatoes, peppers, chilies and a few other vegetables to sell. I was working 10 hours a day and knew I wouldn't have time to tend it so I laid newspaper covered by horse manure mixed with a lot of straw. I laid soaker hoses between rows and only had to water once a week since my 'mulch' kept water in. That happened to be one of the hottest, driest summers we had. Several people nearby had big gardens and would sell tomatoes and other vegetables. I was the only one with tomatoes that year. Every morning before it got hot, my wife would go out and pick veggies, put them on the harvest table I would set out before work with a scale, a stack of bags, price labels and a cigar box for money - honor system. She'd then go back inside to sit in the air conditioning (daughter was born in late august so she was always hot). When I'd get home, I'd put everything back in the garage and collect the money. One day there was no money in the box. I shrugged and thought, "it was bound to happen that I'd get ripped off". When I picked everything off the table, all the money was sitting under the cigar box. I guess someone put it under there because there was so much, they thought someone would take it. I never once had a penny or a tomato missing that I'm aware of.
My grandfather was part of the St. Louis Fruit and Produce Association. Produce Row predates the civil war and was primarily to supply grocers, restaurants and confectioners. It started on the Mississippi riverfront where both merchants would bring produce by river or buyers would purchase and take away by river. To this day, Produce Row is a $100,000,000 business. It employs 1200 people and 1500 buyers a day come to the Market from as far North as Iowa, the West to Jefferson City and Columbia, the South to Cape Girardeau and the East to Indianapolis, Indiana.
My grandfather was also the community's leather smith and cobbler making harnesses, saddles, shoes, boots and the like. At his leather shop, which still exists, there were 3 huge black jack oak trees where travelers would rest. Those oaks on his property were how the town got its name- Black Jack, MO.
When I had to fight city hall a couple years ago for the right to keep chickens, among my arguments I reminded city council and the Mayor that Black Jack became a city in 1970 and my family had been raising chickens in Black Jack since 1870 (ok, I stretched the truth by a few years but it made for good courtroom drama to the sold out house)
Interesting history there CC. I am from MO also, but the other side. KCMO. We really never heard much history about the St Louis area in school curriculum. Even though Kansas City was in to teaching their school children about the Sante Fe Trail, Old Westport, etc.
