Before You Read

In this essay, literacy scholar and educator Dr. Kristen Pennycuff Trent stitches together a pleasantly nostalgic quilt of memories reminiscing on early childhood days spent in rural Tennessee. Inviting readers to reconnect with their own roots, she reflects on experiences of making genuine maple syrup with her family in the 1980s, before unpacking the joys of reviving that tradition with her own children, reliving “a memory made from the lavishness of love and the ingenuity of mountain resourcefulness.” She and her siblings proudly pass this torch to the next generation.

This cozy, autoethnographical piece explores a history of Appalachian foodways while maintaining ties to the present, painting scenes that bridge the gap between what once was and the now. Dr. Pennycuff Trent’s curiosity about, advocacy for, and extensive knowledge of (not to mention personal ties to) Appalachian culture, make for an exceptionally warm piece that explores the very nuanced process of discovering one’s heritage. Most important of all, this essay highlights the infinite details that may be discovered just beneath the veneer of the present, especially when someone actively chooses to explore the rich and verdant history that birthed their own existence.

Introduction by Lauren Blair

Poor Man’s Maple Syrup Cultivates a Rich Family Heritage

by Kristen Pennycuff Trent, PhD

My favorite memory from childhood was making maple syrup in the early eighties. Aunts, uncles, my parents, my sisters, and I all gathered at my maternal grandparents’ cabin in Pall Mall, Tennessee, near Sargeant Alvin C. York’s home site. In my memory, it was fall. We all wore layers of flannel, warm jackets, and boots, first bumping up the steep, washed-out road in pickup trucks to the mountain field, then crunching through thick layers of leaves carpeting the cold earth below our feet. My Mamma’s flaming mane and my Poppy’s white hair topped by a woolen cap were leading the way. I now know that sugaring must take place in the spring, usually between the end of February and mid-March, as the sap flows when temperatures drop below freezing at night and rise above freezing during the day. In my heart, though, autumn winds caused the cold to press against my cheeks and the metal buckets to clang as I tried to keep up with the grownups. I can see the looming blackgum (Nyssa sylvatica), hollowed out in middle, just the right size for a child to step inside and look up into the inky shadows. It is a place my aunts told me that elves lived, but we could never see them because they always had to bake cookies far away on the weekends when we were there. If only we could come during the week…

 The grownups’ laughter and snippets of teasing conversation echoed through the steep side of the mountain. We stopped often, and Poppy, J.C. Copley, would take a wooden chute that he had carved in front of the fire and a wooden mallet to tap the chute into the sugar maple tree (Acer saccharum). He would lift us up, me or one of my sisters, to place the bucket on a notch, holding it in place for the sap that would ooze down in hazy hope. It looked nothing like the amber flow of sticky syrup my pancakes would swim in, but before I could ask questions, we were off to the next tree. 

The next day, we returned to collect our treasure, and I was dismayed to see a few leaves and bugs in the pale liquid. Catching my expression, Poppy reminded me that faith was part of the process. My stomach lurched, and I decided then and there that I would not be eating this concoction. We filled bucket after bucket with the sticky swill, and I remember being unusually quiet as we eased back down the gullied rock road. Every pot in the kitchen was on the stove or the counter, and my great-great-grandmother’s kettle was steaming on the hearth. I watched as the grownups struggled to pour the pale liquid through a sieve before simmering it all day and into the night. The sweet stickiness of being surrounded by love and laughter wafted upstairs in a sugary haze as I drifted off to sleep. 

Rising with the sun, I took the wide log planks two at a time, as my Mamma (pronounced ma’am-maw), Mildred Linder Copley, flipped stacks of pancakes onto her Blue Onion plates. The sweet scent of syrup hung thickly in the air, like my hesitation to try the amber liquid on the table before me. I willed myself to take the tiniest bite, sighing with relief and joy that it didn’t taste like bugs or leaves or liquids that slump into buckets. Digging into my plate, I was lost in an ordinary breakfast in a scene that I didn’t know would come to be so treasured. After all, didn’t everyone have grandparents who read Foxfire books and tried to bring back the old ways?  Who used hand-hewn logs to expand their cabin, and turned the hulled-out bark into an impromptu slip and slide? Who preserved the precious way of life for their children’s children? And created memories and stories that would be shared over and over until they were as soft and worn as an heirloom quilt?  

Over forty years later, my brother-in-law, Matt Harris, a PE teacher and avid homesteader, considered the often-told story of making maple syrup and decided he wanted to give the same experience to Poppy and Mamma’s great-grandchildren. He led seven children from ages seven to sixteen, my sisters and I, our husbands, and our father in search of perfect sugaring maples. The best trees were marked by rings of small holes encircling the trunk at varying heights made by the Yellow-Bellied Sap Suckers (Sphyrapicus varius). We searched in Fentress County, on land that housed my parents’ farm, Matt and Kacee’s family farm, my Uncle Bill Pennycuff’s farm, and our cabin. A new generation tapped the trees, gathered the slow-moving sap, and called out with laughter from tree to tree. “Aunt Kacee, you won’t believe this! Mom, come look! This one is overflowing, Pa! Don’t be a yellow-bellied sap sucker!” We filled several truck beds with our treasure in food grade plastic buckets and soon taught our children how to filter the viscous riches into a galvanized evaporation pan over a brick firebox. 

It was there, sitting around the fire, watching the sap steam and turn from a light yellow to deep amber, that my father, Joe Pennycuff, called “Pa” by my children, nieces, and nephews, shared stories from his own childhood. He told us how his father, Willard Pennycuff, walked several miles to work on a nearby farm from sunrise to sunset for fifty cents a day. He was paid in corn, grateful for a way to provide for his family during the Depression. Pa’s mother, Blanche Manis Pennycuff, raised most of their food but bought flour and pinto beans in 50-pound bags to get them through the winter with their six children. They canned Little White Half Runners, sweet corn, and tomatoes in gallon, not quart, jars. It was a family mission to have at least 100 gallons of blackberries put up at the end of each summer. Additional groceries were traded for Grandma Pennycuff’s freshly churned butter at Johnson’s grocery store and free-range eggs at Arnold Wright’s general store. Pa also recalled a special treat, hickory bark syrup, better known as Poor Man’s Maple Syrup, which his grandmother, Arie Storie Manis (born in 1898), made for him, his sister, and his four brothers. He spoke of eating the sweet, dark brown syrup over biscuits or on pancakes, the smooth caramel flavor marked by a complex sharpness. Intrigued, we decided we needed to make this delicacy too. 

The next weekend, Pa’s sister, Ann Pennycuff Cobb, brought Grannie Manis’s recipe for Scaly Hickory Bark Syrup. Although Grannie Manis cooked as most of her generation did, through memory and feel, Aunt Ann had watched her carefully and written down several of Grannie’s recipes in the practiced script of a teacher for over 37 years (see Fig. 1). 

Fig. 1 Scaly Bark Hickory Syrup recipe from Arie Storie Manis as transcribed by Ann Pennycuff Cobb.

She had gathered strips of shagbark hickory or scaly bark hickory (Carya ovata), which are naturally loosened at both ends of long, wide planks of bark, making it easier to harvest without harming the tree. The grandchildren, Pa, and my sister and I all carefully washed the bark under cold running water (see Figure 2), laying pieces out on cookie sheets to dry and roast in the oven. A deep smoky scent, reminiscent of bacon and barbeque, soon wafted throughout the kitchen. The bark was then taken outside to the evaporator pan where it was broken in smaller pieces to infuse more flavor, covered in water (see Figure 3), simmered over a fire, stirred with a long paddle (see Figure 4), and steeped for approximately one and a half to two hours, allowing plenty of time for more stories to be told until the hickory bark tea was a dark brown color (see Figure 5).

Fig. 2 Washing scaly hickory bark before roasting 

Fig. 3 Roasted scaly hickory pieces added to the evaporation pan with water

Fig. 4 Joe “Pa” Pennycuff stirs scaly hickory bark tea

Fig. 5 Scaly hickory bark tea is ready to be strained 

Those of us who were brave enough tried the tea. Although the cup had been sweetened with sugar, it was too tannic and smoky for our tastes before it was reduced. Once the tea was strained using both a larger and smaller mesh sieve, it was mixed with an equal part of sugar and reduced into large pots on the stove until it became a dark, thick syrup (see Figure 6). We immediately decanted it into pint and quart-sized Mason jars (see Figure 7), hardly being able to wait for it to cool before tasting. Pouring some on a plate, we dipped warm biscuits into the dark syrup, reveling in the complex sweetness that had a sharper, smoky finish. Later, we would experiment using the syrup in homemade ice cream, pecan and hickory nut pies, cakes, and cookies, giving hints of smoke-filled nuttiness and notes of caramel. It also made a wonderful addition to homemade marinades and sauces for roasted vegetables and meats. One brother-in-law enjoyed it in bourbon-based cocktails, while my sisters and I found it made delightful lattes. 

Fig. 6 Reducing scaly hickory bark tea to create syrup

Fig. 7 Pint jar of poor man’s maple syrup

Pa and Aunt Ann reminisced about how Poor Man’s Maple Syrup never lasted long enough to be bottled or stored when they were younger. It was made from humble ingredients foraged from nature. Tree bark and water were steeped to make tea, sugar was added, and the mixture was boiled down to create a treat to go with a special dessert or breakfast. It was used sparingly, not something that would appear every day. The distinctive flavor and process were imprinted in the hearts of two youngsters more than sixty years ago. Today they sought not just a taste, but a memory…a memory made from the lavishness of love and the ingenuity of mountain resourcefulness. 

This made me think of how both syrups were made with foraged ingredients provided by the trees and the land. Sap was collected and boiled down, creating a sticky cloud of sweetness before turning into a sugary stream of amber. How did our forebears learn to gather the sap inside a tree or shear the bark upon it to make such special condiments?  Most likely, it was knowledge shared by the region’s Indigenous peoples. In Aller’s (2010) estimation, European colonists were the fourth group to reside in Appalachia, preceded by Native Americans, Melungeons, and Africans brought by French and Spanish explorers. 

I became extremely interested in finding a recipe for hickory bark syrup in historical cookbooks, and it soon became the source of great distress. Despite searching multiple digital archives, printed collections, and even contacting a few hickory bark syrup manufacturers, my work was futile. The only published recipes I could find for hickory bark syrup were on modern websites.

I was able to locate uses of hickory trees, including to make yellow and green dye with hickory bark and other natural elements (M. Lewis, 1830; The Cook Not Mad, 1831; Williams, 1858; and Chase, 1864). Williams (1858) also guided readers on how to preserve ham using hickory smoke, as did many other authors (Brown, 1871; Corson, 1886; Elliot, 1877; An Old Housekeeper, 1845). Leslie (1828, 1839, 1847) admonished readers to use hickory rods for beating eggs or creaming together butter and sugar. An 1864 (Chase) recipe called for hickory ashes and lime to be used in the brewing of hard cider, as well as adding both to rock salt, copperas, and potash for a fireproof paint. Terrill (1852) advocated for the use of hickory ashes to be mixed with bran and applied to wounds as a pain reliever and to prevent tetanus. He also promoted the use of wet ashes applied to the chest and throat for infections and croup. Lea (1859) advised that hickory ashes and soot could be mixed with water and given before and after meals for those who suffered from “Bilious Colic and Indigestion” (267). Brown (1871) gave readers directions for making hickory ashes into lye for soap and hominy, while Croly (1874) cautioned readers against feeding young children “hard apples, or lumpy potatoes, tough meat, or sour bread, rich cake, or hickory nuts” stating that it would cause “irritation, and derangement” (305).

I found recipes for hickory nut cake beginning in 1859, common in many cookbooks with several tomes printing more than one version of the delicacy (Cary, 1920; Harland, 1873; Ladies’, 1894). Other variations for this cake included Thanksgiving Cake (Wilcox, 1877), Blackberry Jam Cake (Ladies’, 1894), Liebe Kuchen (Church, 1901), fruitcake (Sebewaing, 1912), and Shellbark Layer Cake (Thomas, 1915). Hickory nut frosting and filling were also popular recipes, usually listed separately from cakes (Church, 1901; First M. E. Church, 1900; Wilcox, 1877). These were commonly boiled icings, calling for nuts, sweet milk, sugar, cornstarch, vanilla, and sometimes adding grated chocolate (Cary, 1920; Church, 1901; Wilcox, 1877). 

Hickory nut candy was another common recipe (Church, 1901; Elliot, 1877; Women’s Guild of Trinity Parish, 1899) with variations from cream candy, taffy, and rolled candy logs bearing names such as Aunt Top’s Nug Taffy (Wilcox, 1877), New Year’s Candy (Woman’s, 1908), and Nut Butter Balls (Lewis & Peacock, 2003). Gillette’s White House Cook Book (1887) even suggests that hickory nut cakes and candies may have been served to presidential audiences. Cookies with hickory nuts were also prominently featured (Burr, 1890; Ladies’, 1894; Lewis & Peacock, 2003; Sebewaing, 1912), typically as sugar cookies. One receipt for Hermits called for one cup of chopped hickory nuts (Church, 1901), and another from the great Edna Lewis called for two cups of grated hickory nuts (Lewis, 2006). Lep Cookies (Burr, 1890), Boston Cookies (Farmer, 1896), and Hickory Nut Cakes (Thomas, 1915) were other names for hickory nut cookies, and one recipe for Christmas Cookies with hickory nuts boasted that they would last all winter (First M. E. Church, 1900). 

All this continued to leave me puzzled. While recipes calling for hickory nuts were prevalent, the only other recipes I could find for hickory bark syrup existed on blogs posted in recent years. Why were there no recipes for hickory bark syrup in historical cookbooks?  Certainly, books were a prized luxury for my Appalachian ancestors, but shouldn’t there be some record of the syrup? After all, an 1867 report titled The Market Assistant: Containing a Brief Description of Every Article of Human Food Sold in the Public Markets of the Cities of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn (De Voe) described hickory nuts as being a commercially available product. If the nuts were available in metropolitan areas, wouldn’t the wealthy citizens of those cities also know about hickory bark syrup? I thought I might have found an answer in Kalm’s 1778 report: 

“In some places in Canada and Albany [New York] the inhabitants collect as much of this sap as possible and cook sugar from it, which is said to be sweeter than that obtained from the sugar maple. The hickory gives such small quantities of sap, however, that it does not compensate for the work.” (Kalm, 1778 in Larsen, 1945, 61, brackets added)

While Albany is further east than the Appalachian region, the county in which it is located borders Schoharie County, which is a recognized district in Appalachian New York. Thinking this close enough to tie hickory bark syrup to the region, I first began to wonder if perhaps the amount of work involved in making the syrup, as well as access to the raw material of scaly hickory bark might be part of the problem. Then, it occurred to me that in all my research in historical cookbooks, there was never a recipe for real maple syrup either. Maple syrup was a product purchased or traded for in markets by most home cooks. Perhaps only those individuals who could forage would need such a recipe, and then, it was unlikely to be written down and shared with others. I was perplexed, though, by a current purveyor of hickory bark syrup whose website cited a record of hickory syrup making from 1882. I contacted the owner of the establishment to ask for the bibliographic entry but was told that no recipes existed. She had tried extensively to find one and could not supply the 1882 source. 

My quest continued until, while searching through primary source documents on the Smithsonian Libraries site, I stumbled upon a seemingly irrelevant anecdote from 1906 about a penny-pinching farmer. It said: 

Before the pure-food era, he sold maple molasses, which he manufactured from hickory-bark and corn-cobs. He used to take an apple that had one rotten side, cut it in halves, and stick the good half, by means of a little wooden peg, to the good half of another apple similarly affected. (Railroad Man’s Magazine, 1906, 62)

Fig. 8 Maple Sugar and Sirup

Suddenly, I had a link between maple syrup and hickory bark syrup. With maple molasses as my new search term, I found Maple Sugar and Sirup (Hubbard, 1906). On page 252, I read:

A flavor like that of maple is said to be imparted to sirup by mixing it with an extract of hickory bark. An Indiana man a few years ago took out a patent to protect him in the use of such an extract from the wood and bark of hickory trees for flavoring sirup. 

Fig. 9 The Maple Sugar Industry Bulletin from the United States Department of Agriculture.

A few more searches, and I found the missing links in yet another bulletin from the United States Department of Agriculture, The Maple Sugar Industry (Hubbard & Fox, 1905). There I read:

In regard to the adulteration of maple sirup, an attempt was made a few years ago to make an imitation article which was sold both under the name of maple sirup and mapleine. This product was manufactured under a patent issued to a resident of Madison, Indiana, dated July 18, 1882, and reissued February 13, 1883. (50)

It went on to include the actual patent application: 

The object of my invention is to impart to saccharine matter the flavor of maple sirup, and the invention consists in the use of an extract of hickory for giving the desired flavor. The extract is to be obtained in any convenient manner, such as making a decoction of the hickory bark or wood, or percolating liquid through the same, or drawing off the sap from the tree. The bark or wood of the hickory tree may be ground to facilitate the extraction of its principle, and the extract may be made more or less strong by increasing or diminishing the quantity of bark or wood, or by boiling the extract for a longer or shorter time…The effect of the extract or decoction is to give to the sirup the flavor of maple, producing a sirup which cannot be distinguished from genuine maple sirup. (50-51)

There it was: the first published instance of hickory bark syrup. It even referenced mapleine, which I had read about in Thomas’ recipe for a homemade version of faux maple syrup. This reminded me of something I read in Harland’s cookbook from 1875:

If possible, buy maple sugar direct from “sugar camps,” or their vicinity, and in large blocks. The pretty scalloped cakes offered by peanut vendors at treble [sic] the price of the genuine article, are largely adulterated with other substances. (382)

Apparently, the practice of adulterating maple sugar products was not new. In fact, the state of Vermont passed laws against the practice in 1884 and increased the financial penalization in 1890. Luckily for my family, hickory bark syrup was never about watering down maple syrup. It was always about using ingredients provided by the land we lived on to bring joy to those we love. 

Both maple and scaly bark hickory syrup were products of necessity, created by people who were proud to use what they had to make do and get by. They are both products that are now considered artisanal, with hickory bark syrup selling for upwards of $15.00 for 8 ounces in farmstands, gourmet markets, and even the gift shops of George Washington’s Mount Vernon and Thomas Jefferson’s home, Monticello. Grannie Manis would be shocked to see the prices her homemade confection could bring. I wonder if she knew her humble syrup would bring her grandson’s children and grandchildren such a sense of pride and nostalgia for a simpler time. 

I was reminded of my own two children as they joined in making hickory bark syrup. They were eager to help: washing bark, making up silly songs, asking why the kitchen smelled like Pa’s prize-winning pulled pork, breaking bark into small pieces, begging to stir the concoction in the evaporator, and add the sugar into the hickory tea. Eyes gleaming. Faces tilted back in laughter. Wonder, determination, and pride emanating with every move. Was this the foundation of their favorite childhood memory, beginning to etch itself on their hearts? This moment unfurling: multiple generations, working together for something bigger than each one of them, larger than just making a sugary solution. We were making memories, sharing our family heritage, and passing down our traditional foodways.  

I thought about the juxtaposition between Grannie Manis and myself. She provided hickory bark syrup as a treat for everyday moments of life, breakfast and dessert. I, on the other hand, had scheduled field trips over the years to the Museum of Appalachia and Blue Heron Mine and on hikes in the Great Smoky Mountains and Big South Fork for forced family fun. I booked cooking classes for making homemade pasta and baking French macarons. I enlisted my children’s help in making heirloom holiday specialties, carefully curating the encounters they had to learn about how we produce and preserve culinary culture. I organized adventures to show them who they were and where they were from. Even making Poor Man’s Maple Syrup was a well-planned event, possible only on the weekend when we could be in my hometown for several days. We needed the resources of the land, the expertise of Pa and Aunt Ann, and time to be together. Did scheduling precise moments to impart our culture somehow degrade it?  Will they have to scrutinize their schedules even more to share their cultural heritage with their own children, paring away layers of virtual reality and simulated occurrences? I now understand that my carefully crafted experiences for my children aren’t taking away from the inheritance of place and people, and neither will it detract from the way they will plan moments to highlight their Tennessee traditions. However, they will also know that their inheritance is not just found in the extraordinary, occasional events. We share our rich heritage in ordinary, lived moments, one story and one bite at a time. 

References

Aller, Joan E. 2010. Cider Beans, Wild Greens, and Dandelion Jelly: Recipes from Southern Appalachia. Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC. 

An Old Housekeeper. 1845. The Housekeeper’s Assistant, Composed upon Temperance Principles: With Instructions in the Art of Making Plain and Fancy Cakes, Puddings, Pastry, Confectionery, Ice Creams, Jellies, and Blanc Mange. Boston, MA: James Munroe and Co.

Arthur’s Point Farm. 2024. “Beyond Pecan- Shagbark, Shellbark, and Other Hickories.” https://arthurspointfarm.com/beyond-pecan-shagbark-shellbark-and-other-hickories/

Brown, Theresa C. 1871. Modern Domestic Cookery. Charleston, SC: Edward Perry, Printer, Stationer, and Bookseller. https://digital.tcl.sc.edu/digital/collection/sccookbook/id/1063/

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Cary, Ida Lee. 1920. Cookbook of Tested Recipes. A. V. Haight Co.

Chase, A. W. 1864. Dr. Chase’s Recipes, or Information for Everybody: An Invaluable Collection of About Eight Hundred Practical Recipes. Ann Arbor, MI: Author.

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Hubbard, William F. 1906. “Maple Sugar and Sirup.” Farmer’s Bulletin , 252 , United States Department of Agriculture.

Hubbard, William F. and William F. Fox. 1905. “The Maple Sugar Industry with a Discussion on the Adulterations of Maple Products by H.W. Wiley.” Farmer’s Bulletin , 59 , United States Department of Agriculture. 

Ladies’ Aid Society of the First Presbyterian Church. 1894. Recipes Tried and True. Marion, OH: Kelley Mount Press.

Larsen, Esther Louise. 1945. “Pehr Kalm’s Report on the Characteristics of the American Walnut Tree Which Is Called Hickory.” Agricultural History 19 (1): 58-64.

Lea, Elizabeth E. 1859. Domestic Cookery, Useful Receipts, and Hints to Young Housekeepers. Baltimore, MD: Cushings and Bailey.

Leslie, Eliza. 1828. Seventy-five Receipts for Pastry, Cakes, and Sweetmeats. Boston: Munroe and Francis.

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Lewis, Edna. 2006. The Taste of Country Cooking, 30th anniversary edition. Alfred A. Knopf. 

Lewis, Edna and Scott Peacock. 2003. The Gift of Southern Cooking:Recipes and Revelations from Two Great American Cooks Alfred A. Knopf. 

Lewis, M. 1830. M. Lewis’s Recipe Book. 

Railroad Man’s Magazine 1906. Volume 10 Frank A. Munsey Co. 

Terrill, George F. 1852. “Report of the Committee on Indigenous Medicinal Botany of Virginia.” The Stethoscope and Virginia Medical Gazette, 2 (9): 475-486.

The Sebewaing Ladies. 1912. The Sebewaing Cook Book: A Selection of Tried and Tested Recipes. 

The Cook Not Mad, or Rational Cookery. 1831. Watertown, MA: Knowlton and Rice.

Thomas, Edith M. 1915. Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled During Her Visit among the Pennsylvania Germans. John Hartenstine.

Wilcox, Estelle Woods. 1877. Buckeye Cookery and Practical Housekeeping: Compiled from Original Recipes. Marysville, OH: Buckeye Publishing

Williams, Mary K. 1858. Polk Recipe Book.

Women’s Guild of Trinity Parish. 1899. The Kitchen Counsellor: Tried and True. Asheville, NC: The Citizen Company. 

Poor Man’s Maple Syrup Cultivates a Rich Family Heritage by Kristen Pennycuff Trent is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International.

Pennycuff Trent, Kristen. “Poor Man’s Maple Syrup Cultivates a Rich Family Heritage.” The Commons: Tools for Reading, Writing, and Rhetoric (2nd ed.), edited by Jill Parrott and Dominic Ashby, Eastern Kentucky University, 2026.