Boiled peanuts, penders, ground peas, or goobers, whatever they are called in the particular locale one is in, are a true Southern delicacy. They are much better in a very early stage of maturity, hand-pulled and hand-picked, without all the stems, leaves, and "pops" that are invariably found in the machine picked nuts.
From the time I was six years old (1954) until I was about 15, my brother and I sold boiled peanuts on the streets of the little town near our farm every summer. We got up at daylight, pulled up the peanuts and picked them off, and boiled them in a big, black cast-iron washpot. Our Daddy would buy old houses, constructed of another Southern commodity called "fat lightard." These were sharecropper houses and cotton houses constructed between 1850 and 1920, many still standing in those days. He would pay maybe $50 for them. We would split the lightard boards, often 16" wide, and boil a bushel of peanuts every day, and two bushels on Saturday.
We did this for about six weeks each Summer. We bought most of our school clothes each year, and always bought something for ourselves, baseball gloves, bats, and the two grandest things of all, a Remington Sportsman-48 for my brother, and a Marlin Golden 39A for me. I still have my Marlin, and it is one of my most prized possessions.
I bought that rifle in 1960 or 1961. I wouldn't trade that particular rifle for a Registered Magnum. That's a fat lightard board it's on, by the way. I put the scope on about 20 years ago.
The most peanuts I ever sold in one day was four bushels. I sold 420 bags at 10 cents a bag. This was when a cotton mill worker might make $1.00 an hour. The same bag today sells for $1.00. My brother became a coin collector, culling through all the Standing Liberty halves, Barber quarters, Buffalo nickels, Mercury dimes, etc. that we took in.
I believe I learned more about people and human nature then than I have for the rest of my life. Nothing was off limits. I went in the bank, sold to the bank customers, and then straight back to the board room and bank president's office. He always bought a bag. I learned the people who genuinely wanted the product I was selling, those who were glad of the chance to help a little kid while enjoying some good peanuts, and those who didn't have time to be bothered with me. Up until about ten years ago, there were a couple of old-timers who still called me "peanut boy." I guess the main lesson I learned was that if you worked hard, you might be able to afford some of the things you wanted.
'Scuse me for hijacking. You just reminded me of some of the best days of my life.
