Mandy Newham-Cobb illustration
Buckeyes and boiled peanuts
Superstition and innovation—the delicate dance between the two just about sums up our region in a nutshell.
Actually, make that two nutshells: that of the buckeye, an Appalachian amulet when carried in a pocket, and also the boiled peanut, a soft and salty snack.
These two enigmas of mountain charm largely represent the poles of this landscape, northern and southern. The traditions of both also serve as disparate reminders of our will to be more than nature provides.
Unlike any of its nut kin, the indigenous buckeye teases American folklore with its precarious position as both poisonous and lucky. A buckeye is only considered lucky if carried in the right pocket, mind you. Should one carry a buckeye in the left pocket, the intent is to ward off rheumatism.
When I was a girl, my father taught me how to identify the difference in the sweet meat of the chestnut, with its spiny encasement and typically one flattened side, and the buckeye, its lethal promise betrayed by the nut’s rounded shape. Or at least he tried to teach me—always fearful of poisoning myself, I typically turned to him and other adults for verification.
As I grew older my father told me of another nefarious use for the nut: the buckeye as political rhetoric. He recalls attending the funeral of my mother’s grandfather, a staunch partisan. As the family waited on the porch to receive condolences, a well-known state senator approached my father. Impressed that such an important man would show up for the somber occasion, he reached out his hand to thank the legislator. As the senator continued down the receiving line, my father opened his hand to find that the politician had left him with a buckeye that read, “Good Luck, Joe Palmer!”
“Some people would find that rude, to be politicking at a funeral,” my father reflects. “But I think your mom’s grandfather would have loved it. He would have thought it smart not to miss an opportunity to pick up a few votes.”
Creative as it may seem, Palmer wasn’t the first to co-opt the nut’s mojo. During his 1840 bid for the presidency, William Henry Harrison handed out buckeye shells as organic campaign tokens.
Buckeyes, though they may shrink, never rot. While this did not necessarily factor into either campaign slogan, the observation may help us understand the allegiance to the majesty of the buckeye—and the irony of distributing them at a funeral.
Deadly if ingested raw, the buckeye is known to be high in protein when boiled and leeched of its toxins. Of course, this leads us to another nut heralded for its simmered superiority.
My favorite roadside stand sign this season displays a hand-written advertisement for ‘Flip’s boiled P-nut.’ Yes, singular. Commodity of Sharpie or casualty of poor grammar? I care not. I want to know more about this boiled “p-nut” and, of course, Flip. Unfortunately, as is typical with roadside stands, Flip has disappeared from his Route 441 corner before I can pay him a visit, and so I choose to stop at a more established vendor.
I couldn’t have been luckier had I been carrying a buckeye. I soon am told that the energetic man spooning the saturated salty treats into a plastic foam cup is none other than Flippo.
He tells me about the wood used to fire the large cast-iron pot every day, “primarily for looks… for the tourists.” The firewood is delivered free of charge.
“We get onto them though if they bring us too much sourwood.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Sourwood’s for the bees,” he explains nonchalantly. “They need to leave it for the bees.”
He refers to the rows of honey jars lining shelves behind him. Flip and his stand compatriots sell organic honey, fruits, and dried meats along with the nuts. Flippo, it seems, makes an unlikely—but no less passionate—environmental steward.
Even more improbable is the soggy snack’s circuitous history. Peanuts reached the States during the 18th century as they made their way from South America to Africa to North America, by way of the slave trade. The protein in boiled peanut mush sustained many African slaves and later Civil War soldiers through harsh conditions. During embargo, soldiers were known to substitute boiled peanut water, among other things, for coffee.
According to Robert Moss in The Brief History of the Boiled Peanut, by 1903 Southern aristocracy had adopted the boiled peanut as an ironic delicacy, serving it at state dinners and high society functions in cities such as Charleston. Consider the trend similar to today’s culinary use of ramps on high-dollar menus and on mountain family tables alike.
But what does it all, er, boil down to? More than regional symbols, the buckeye and boiled peanut represent an inherent truth of humanity. Everyone wants to exceed his or her hereditary expectations. If the fruits of labor are poisonous, perhaps they can be lucky. If bland, perhaps they can be refined as a delicacy.
About the author: Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle is an award-winning author and member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians.