Bread

Prairie Recipes

By Collette

One of the more popular forms of bread for Native Americans was fried bread. It had many names, but the ingredients were the same.

Squaw Bread

5 cups of flour                                            1 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons baking powder                     2 cups hot water

Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt; add water, stirring to moisten all ingredients. Let stand for five minutes. Place remaining flour on a board; pinch small pieces of dough. Knead lightly on floured board; shape into round cakes. Repeat until all dough is shaped. Fry in deep, hot fat until brown on both sides. Drain and serve with butter, honey or jam.

My children and grandchildren prefer Butter Dips over any other kind of bread or roll. Lucky for me they are easy to fix.

 Butter Dips

1 stick of butter (salted)
1 can biscuit dough

Melt stick of butter in a 9x9 inch pan after spraying with cooking spray. Open can of biscuits; using kitchen shears cut each biscuit into fourths. Gently roll into a long cylinder shape and place in butter. Since there are 40 rolls they will fit closely together. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 15-20 minutes until lightly browned. Yield: 40 dips, but never enough.

 

The Blond, Blue-eyed Baby

The Blond, Blue-eyed Baby

My mother’s family left Illinois seeking land and were among the earliest settlers in this region. Bands of Osage Indians had roamed the area for generations and contact with them occurred often. An encounter happened when my great-great-grandfather left grandma and his baby girl alone while he traveled to town for supplies. My grandmother turned and saw an Osage brave standing inside the door near the baby. I cannot imagine her fear upon witnessing him. The man was over six-feet tall and had roached his hair up with porcupine quills like a Mohawk thus adding to his height. The baby was awake and watched the visitor. Like most new babies she had blue eyes and blonde curls.

The Native Americans spoke different languages and had as much difficulty understanding each other as the white men experienced. Sign language was universal and the only means of communication among the tribes and white, also. The man indicated through gestures he wanted the baby. What the Osage offered to trade for her did not survive the retelling of the story throughout the generations of my family. My grandmother told him, “no,” and he soon left their home. Apparently blonde, blue-eyed little girls represented value to the Osage.

 

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Up the Family Tree



Destiny by Judy 

My husband was born in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Eight months earlier I was born in Kansas. While our births were no doubt life-changing events for both sets of parents, mine also decided that was a good year to take a three-week automobile trip to the west coast. So, early one August morning my mother and father, along with my grandmother, grandfather, and aunt set off in grandpa’s new Nash automobile.

There were no Pampers or car seats. The Nash did not have an air-conditioner either. The route to California, long-planned by Grandpa, was through the southwestern states. (Think soiled diapers in the back of a hot car trunk in August in the vast desert of the Southwest.) The trip continued up the Pacific coast through Oregon and Washington, then to Idaho to visit relatives. They returned home through the mountains of Colorado. Much planning and pouring over maps preceded the trip.

I’m told all went well on the trip except for one particular day. I had not cried much as I was held constantly by my mother, grandma or aunt. More surprisingly, I hadn’t broken out in a heat rash. Nights were spent in rented cabins where my mother washed my diapers which dried overnight. On the third day, however, for some reason the Nash developed a serious mechanical problem. My father was an excellent mechanic but either didn’t have the right tools, a needed part, or the know-how to fix the Nash.

Fast forward twenty-three years. My soon-to-be husband and I were talking with my parents. During the conversation my soon-to-be husband mentioned he was born in Tucumcari, New Mexico in August.

“What date?” my father asked.

“August 12, 1947,” my fiancé answered.

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” my father answered. “Your bride-to-be was in Tucumcari on August 12, of that year. We were on our way to California, and the Nash wouldn’t start that day. Took all day to get it fixed, too.”

My father then told us about the mechanical problem with the Nash and the long, hot summer day spent in Tucumcari. No doubt, it was one of the few mechanical problems that ever stumped my farmer/rancher/implement-dealer dad as some twenty-three years later he remembered the exact date, place and nature of the problem.

Shortly after my husband’s birth, his family moved to Kansas, and we met, married and raised our family in Kansas. Several years after the California trip, my aunt married, and she and her husband had five children. After all their children were grown, my parents and my aunt and uncle took many road trips together. I’m guessing, though, my mom and aunt commented on every trip that travel was much more pleasant without a pail of soiled diapers.