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An Old, Sweet Story
Vintage cane mill churns out molasses... the old-fashioned way
By Leslie McDaniel
Photos by Jerry Moore
At the close of the 20th century, mass production of molasses is as mechanized as any manufacturing operation. Highly sophisticated processes and equipment churn out sticky oceans of dark, sweet syrup. Workers punch time clocks; sensors regulate cooking temperatures. It's a far cry from the shade tree operations of years ago - and from a unique enterprise overseen by W.S. "Babe" Howard in Millington, Tenn.
Howard presides over a molasses-making operation conducted as close to the old way as possible. Before being pressed in a nearly 100-year-old sorghum mill, sorghum cane is hand-stripped, an exercise unheard of in today's labor market. Tinder-dry wood fuels a devilishly hot fire. Electronic temperature gauges are used at a critical stage, but the gadgetry only confirms an experienced cook's assessment. It is, quite simply, a step back in time.
"I remember making molasses from when I was 4 or 5 years old," he said.
Decades ago, molasses making was a community effort, not unlike a barn raising.
"A county the size of ours, there were probably 10-12 people who cooked molasses," he recalled.
The cook called the shots: In exchange for his expertise, farmers who brought their cane to that mill gave up every fourth gallon. Along with the cane, they'd provide mules to power the mill and wood for the fire. The right wood was essential.
"You had to use dry willow or cottonwood," Howard said. "You need a real flash fire. You've got to cook this fast. Hickory, oak ... they won't work. The old cookers wouldn't even use a wood if it wasn't dry." The farmer's challenge, then, was to find the right cook and keep him happy.
"Farmers would get touchy about who cooked the molasses," Howard recalled. "They'd haul cane quite a way to get it to a certain cooker."