From the book about Northeast Georgia, Field Mules and Buttermilk Cornbread

The Syrup Bucket

Submitted by Helen Gaddis of Dahlonega, GA

Born 1942


      My story begins when I was about 3 ½ years old, maybe 4. My sister was about 9 months old sitting on a quilt on the floor. We were at my great aunt and uncle’s house. They were making syrup and they had new syrup buckets stacked up along the wall of the kitchen where we were. My aunt was ironing. Back then, all people ironed clothes.

      I was playing with my baby sister while they worked so I thought about making a hat out of one of the new buckets. I put it on my sister’s head and it fell all the way down over her face. She started to cry inside of the bucket. What a loud sound! So I tried to take it off and I remembered saying, “It won’t come off.”

      The rim of the bucket had a lip like a paint bucket and it caught on the little fat part of her chin and I couldn’t get it off.

      My mom came in and tried. Still couldn’t get it so I was in big trouble. They put some Vaseline on it and it slipped off. I was so glad to get her out of the bucket.

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