Here are some timely tips on surviving the coming depression

I see by the media that we are entering another Depression,

 Our fearless leader, Georgie W., has conceded that the economy may be in a “little trouble,â€� but not to worry, hang in until the next president takes office and it will rebound.

I’m not waiting. And you shouldn’t either. Herewith, then, are some timely tips on how to survive the onrushing collapse of the rest of our economy.

Hot dogs? Put them on the top of your shopping list, with John F. Kennedy baked beans, and religiously serve the duo at your Saturday night dinner. With a side of cole slaw.

 That’s one of the ways my parents, my three brothers and I made it through the Great Depression of the 1930s. I have other tips, but first a few salient words about geography.

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Practically all the readers of this eminent news weekly live in New England, or in close vicinity, e.g. Millerton. Stay here. Don’t plan to move to the Midwest or Far West.

 In the Midwest, you are more than likely to watch your house wash away in a flood or suffer complete destruction from the fury of a tornado or hurricane. In the Far West, your homestead and lifestyle is vulnerable to annual wildfires, earthquakes and possible tsunamis. And if you live in Gilroy, Calif., the garlic capital of the world, you may succumb to the world’s healthiest, albeit, stinkiest odors.

 Now I’ll concede that an occasional stiff wind will zip through these parts and darken the lights for a spell, but the damage, compared to Iowa or Kansas, is minimal: a few trees, a busted car, maybe an occasional casualty, but not entire communities wiped off the map.

So what else do we eat? Crawl up into the attic and dig out your mother or grandmother’s Settlement Cookbook, the bible of the depressed.

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Start with breakfast. I was reared in Hartford and until I was an advanced teenager we didn’t use oil to heat our big Victorian house on Oakland Terrace. While my father was tending to the patrons at his downtown drugstore, Mom was feeding a coal furnace. Twice a day, she descended into the basement, shook out the ashes and shoveled more coal into the furnace. She was so good at it, she would have qualified as a member of the “Black Gang,� the men who shoveled coal into the furnaces of big ocean liners. She said, to her, the thermostat was the greatest boon of technology.

 We also had a huge black stove with gas burners and a combination oven that used either gas or wood. Oatmeal hadn’t been milled to a fine powder in those days so Mom put it on the stove, stoked a wood fire and the oatmeal slowly cooked all night.

Today we buy jelly in the supermarkets, but in the ’30s we picked the grapes off the vines in our backyard and Mom made enough grape jelly to last us until the next harvest. (Plant a grape vine.)

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In those long-ago days  the Grand Banks off the New England coast were teeming with fish. Cod, now practically an endangered species, was so plentiful it was one of the cheapest items in the market basket.

 Mom stretched even this inexpensive commodity by cutting it up and turning it into fish stew. I hated it because the fishmongers didn’t completely fillet the fish and a bone or two always managed to lodge in my throat. Mom verbally agreed not to serve me fish stew, but she reneged so I made her sign a contract eliminating it from my diet.

My, I was a cheeky teenager.Today I love fish and while I can’t suggest lobster or crab or even cod as a cost saver, canned tuna goes a long way. (When my Mom was incarcerated in a nursing home, I tore up the contract as a present for her 90th birthday. She gave me a weak but sincere smile of thanks. I’m not all bad!)

 We ate lots of pasta during the Depression before bottled spaghetti sauce hit the shelves. Mom made her own with a 5 cent can of tomato paste, water, a dash of milk and Velveeta cheese. Delicious.!

   I took an egg-salad sandwich on rye bread to school with me every day until I departed for college. No high school cafeterias for the Laschever boys. Sandwiches are another way of feeding the family on a budget. So is mammaliga (cornmeal mixed with butter or milk and sometimes cottage cheese or sour cream) and homemade corn muffins.

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Then there is my mother’s famous Aunt Ida’s Raisin Cake. No milk, no butter, no eggs. No spoilage. Mom baked one, wrapped it so it would go to Mars and sent it to me at my Army base in Caserta, Italy. When it arrived, I had been transferred to Germany. The Army couldn’t find me; the cake was shipped back to New York, my APO number retrieved and the cake was put on another troop ship. When it arrived in Pfungstadt, it was just as fresh as the day it came out of the oven four months earlier.

 I’m running out of space so before you start harvesting and eating insects (a great source of protein), click on Amazon and order “Stories and Recipes of the Great Depressionâ€� by Rita Van Amber. It’s had rave reviews and completes my sermon for today.

 Freelance writer Barnett Laschever, the curmudgeon of Goshen, didn’t know he was poor during the Great Depression. He considers himself lucky. He’s the co-author of “Connecticut, An Explorer’s Guide.â€�

 

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