Sorghum Time in Tennessee

by Lindy Gladson, age 16 and of TN

“It’s sorghum time in Tennessee,” I thought as we drove up Rose mountain. Just as the leaves start to change colors you know somebody will be pressing some sorghum cane. Getting out of the truck I hear the steady clip, clop of the horses hooves going round and round the old sorghum mill. As I take a look around and I see the steam coming off the cooker, children playing on the squeezed sorghum cane piles, and a genuine smile on everyone’s faces. Walking up to the cooker, I can tell they’ve just started cooking, “Hold this here skimmer” JJ tells me and I take it. Skimming has never actually been my favorite job but on this beautiful October morning I find the joy in skimming. The golden light from the evening sun makes the fall colors look like one great big watercolor painting. I hear the old folks arguing about this and that, then one of them asks me “you gonna be playing that fiddle for us young lady?” “yes sir” I said “as soon as the rest of the band gets here” and we all laugh. As a day full of laughter and “are they done yets?” comes to a close, the smell of hot molasses fresh out of the pan fills the air. “They’re done now I tell ya” someone says, I take a taste and agree. Driving down the mountain that night I think of the thought I had this morning, it really is “sorghum time in Tennessee.”