At a very young age I went to work in our local grocery store. I remember exactly how the store was laid out and what each aisle held on its shelves. When you walked in the front door, on the far left side at the very end, on the bottom shelf, sat the flour and the cornmeal. The cornmeal was local.
That cornmeal was ground at McKinney’s Pond with water that was diverted from the pond itself. People came from near and far to buy that meal which was in white bags. The label had the name and a description of the meal. Water ground. Made from white corn. Those two statements carried great weight for people that knew.
At the time I'm not sure I fully understood the connotation of those words. What I did understand was the fact that people loved that cornmeal. My Bigma made fried cornbread in a cast iron skillet from the meal packaged in those bags. I certainly understood that part because I loved that fried cornbread.
So, early on I began to fully understand why we as rural southern people love corn meal so much. It has always been a staple in our homes. It is used to bake a pone of bread, fry hoecakes on the stove and batter the fresh fish that we catch. I’ve often said I don’t know what we would do without it.
As time began to pass by, I learned more and more about cornmeal, and it became such an integral part of my very existence. I learned which meal is the best and why. They quit grinding meal at McKinney’s Pond during my formative years at that old grocery store. The taste and the texture of that meal lingered in my mind, however.
There was cornmeal available from other places and it was good, but it was not the same. In the late 1990’s I opened a restaurant, and I went in search of the best cornmeal I could find. I was led to Mayfield,Ga on the banks of the Ogeechee River. There on the riverbank stood a gristmill, painted red and it was operated with water from the river that turned the gear.
There in Hancock County I met “Cabbage” who was the miller at The Ogeechee Mill. I think grinding cornmeal was really all he had ever done. He lived not far from the mill and had spent most of his life along the waters of The Mighty Ogeechee. We became friends as I went there quite frequently to buy meal.
He was a good man and was so very patient with me as I always had a plethora of questions for him. He willingly answered them all. He imparted a lifetime of knowledge and wisdom to me at no cost. I hung on to his every word. He always told me you simply could not grind meal slow enough with electricity.
He said you couldn’t grind it as fine as they did without scorching the meal. To this day I have not found anything comparable. So, for the last thirty years I have been able to enjoy Ogeechee Meal. I have never tired from making the trip to the mill to get what I needed.
“Cabbage” died a few years ago and there was a sign erected by the road that told the story of the mill and “Cabbage”. It was a fitting tribute to a fine man. Although I have missed seeing “Cabbage”, I have continued to buy that meal after his passing. There was a lady there these days, who obviously learned under his tutelage.
I made the journey to Mayfield a couple weeks ago to get a few bags of meal. I pulled up to the sign and in the background were two brand-new gates blocking off the entrance to the mill. My heart sank. I knew what happened. The sign on the fence had an area code I did not recognize. Apparently, the place has sold.
I went to the Piggly Wiggly in Warrenton and there was no meal on the shelves. I went to The Hometown Market in Gibson and was met with the same result. The lady at the store told me the lady at the mill had stopped making the meal.
I got in my truck and headed home. I shed a tear for “Cabbage” and the loss of The Ogeechee Mill. That mill represented so much for me. It was a gateway to our past, to our heritage and our simple way of life here in the Deep South.
