A Barefoot Thanksgiving

I'm not using Barefoot to describe Thanksgiving in Appalachia. No, no. I got to celebrate Thanksgiving at home. It's great being back in Hallsboro, NC for the first time in over 3 months. I hope you all had wonderful Thanksgivings!


So what is a Barefoot Thanksgiving? My mom's side of the family are Barefoots. We spend every Thanksgiving with the Barefoots, and I don't just mean my mom's parents and brother. I mean close to 200 descendents of my great-great grandparents, Napoleon Bonaparte Barefoot (Poli) and Fredricka Augusta Blake (Freddie). A Barefoot Thanksgiving is truly a Barefoot Reunion and it's been happening for probably over 65 years.


Poli and Freddie had twelve children, three of which died during early childhood. Every year on Thanksgiving Poli and Freddie's sons and sons-in-laws would gather back at the homeplace to go bird hunting. After the men had made their kills, the women and young children (my papa and his cousins) would join the men in the woods and bring with them a black pot full of rice. There, gathered around a spring of water in the woods of Columbus County, they would have their Thanksgiving dinner: bird and rice.

As the family continued to grow, Thanksgiving moved out of the woods and to the grounds of the old Homeplace. After Freddie and Poli passed away, my great-grandparents, Bud and Myrtle Barefoot, kept the family farm and the tradition of Thanksgiving running. Every year family continued to gather in Hallsboro. Somewhere along the line, the bird and rice converted to chicken and rice - or chicken bog as we like to call it. However, one thing didn't change about it: it was still prepared outside in a big black washpot over a fire.

Thanksgiving was held at the Homplace until 1988. By that time Nannie and Poppie had passed away, and my Papa and Aunt Iris (and their families) had taken on the duties of hosting. At that time, some of the "cousins" began to offer their hunting camps as a venue for the big event. For a couple of years we gathered at Cousin John Jay Burney's hunting camp. When it became apparent that our family had outgrown that site, we moved the party over to Cousin Billy Corbett's hunting camp on Long Creek in Pender County (the county where Freddie Augusta was originally from). We've been at Billy's camp for over 15 years now.

So yesterday we once again loaded up and headed down to Pender County. Upon arriving we added our contributions to the seven-table long line of food. Our end of the family can always be counted on (or expected to bring) Grandmama's ham biscuits, butterbeans and corn, deviled eggs, pecan pie, and pumpkin delight. We mix it up a little each year - but if Grandmama's ham and biscuits aren't on the table, someone's in trouble. After making myself a name tag I went and spoke to Uncle Bryant who was standing guard by the washpot of chicken and rice. He's been the man in charge of the most important dish of the day for years now. He now has several understudies who help him stir the pot with a large wooden paddle. They had been out preparing the chicken bog since 8 am. It seemed their friend Jack Daniels had been up that early as well. Next, I headed over to look at the family tree posted on the side of the house to see if any names had been added. Cousin John Jay called us together for the blessing around 1:00. We paused to remember all that we are thankful for and to especially remember the cousins who had passed away since the Thanksgiving before. Then, it was finally time to eat and to continue in the Barefoot Thanksgiving tradition.

My first love in history is the history of my family. Thanks for letting me share a bit of it with you.