Time collapses in 1869 guidebook

In the 1970s, UF Press published the
Florida Bicentennial Commission's
reprint of an 1869 guidebook 

The reprint edition included a
new introduction and index.
(Photos by Gerri Bauer)

Do I laugh or wince at the "new disease" mentioned in an 1869 guidebook to Florida? The ailment is described as a state of "nerves and mental exhaustion." Its cause? "... the harassing strain of our American life, our over-active, excitable, national temperament," a result of "... our artificial, unquiet lives."

I'm not laughing. The condition plagues millions today. Yet the author, a medical doctor, wrote those words 157 years ago. That was long before the internet, smart phones, social media, 24/7 news, automobiles, electricity, television, computers. It's odd to realize people without those distractions were just as unsettled by ever-changing realities and a quickening pace of life as we are today. 

That's not the only commonality I discovered in A Guide-Book of Florida and the South (University Press of Florida, reprint 1978), by Daniel Garrison Brinton (1837-1899). Brinton was esteemed in his day. In addition to practicing medicine, he was a research scientist, author, scholar, professor and leader of national organizations.

He seems ahead of his time in many ways, not just in recognizing a new malady. His guidebook's chapter on Hints for Health Seekers showcases some practices we consider essential in the 21st century. 

In addition to suggesting travel to healthful climates, he shares these ideas that still hold merit: 

• An attempt at cheerfulness by valetudinarians, meaning persons unduly anxious about their health (yes, I had to look that up). A good traveling companion was essential, so that the anxious person wouldn't fall prey to "Giant Despair, who is still as ready as ever to pounce on unwary travelers, especially on wet days, alone in dull country taverns.''
• The valetudinarian should collect something. In other words, have a hobby. Collecting ideas included bugs, butterflies, mosses, fossils, flowers, minerals (rocks?) and the wrong-to-me "Indian curiosities, birds' eggs and skins." The pursuit would get the person outdoors, and the organization and arrangement of items would keep them busy indoors during bad weather.
• Deep breathing. Brinton gives step-by-step instructions and emphasizes the slow exhale that we know contributes to quieting of nerves.
• Free use of olive oil; and coffee and chocolate were permissible.
• No tobacco - "absolutely prohibited in every form."

Other recommendations are dated:

• Five or six glasses of milk daily for consumptives, occasionally spiked with "a trifle" of cognac or rum. 
• Three or four eggs daily, some taken "in the guise of a 'flip' with pale sherry."
• Free use of butter
• Tea sparingly; it being "barely permissible."
• Rye or whiskey, well diluted, allowed three times a day if tolerated.

The book was written before the discovery that mosquitoes carry yellow fever. Quinine's curative effect, however, was known. Brinton advised health seekers to always carry quinine pills and to take them if exposed to "marsh miasmas." 

He also recommended what we today call exfoliation, done then by salt and water scrubs or by dry rubbing.

Years separate us from this 1869 gem, which the Florida Bicentennial Commission reprinted in the 1970s. Yet, as I've discovered through my other avocational journeys through historical  material, time also collapses. That's when our common humanity shines through, no matter how many differences separate us.

Of haw jelly and cassava pancakes

****Recipes in this blog post are for historical interest only.****

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, I can focus on a small treasure of a cookbook, a bicentennial edition published in 1968. Yes, eight years earlier than the 1976 Bicentennial the rest of us remember. But for New Smyrna (Beach), 1968 was indeed a bicentennial year. The coastal city was settled in 1768 in what is believed to have been the largest British colonization attempt in the then-New World. 

You can access Smyrna colony textual documents at the University of North Florida's Florida History Online, and I highly recommend a stop at the New Smyrna Museum of History next time you're in the area. It's run by the Southeast Volusia Historical Society, which in 1995 issued a reprint of the 1968 Keepsake Recipes of New Smyrna, Bicentennial Edition. The cookbook is the focus of this blog post soon as I stop rambling about New Smyrna Beach. I lived there for seven years, and have a soft spot for it.

The New Smyrna Junior Woman's Club published the original edition of the book. Many residents who contributed recipes had local roots far back into the 19th century. The women shared a number of pioneer culinary treats, including the haw jelly and cassava pancakes of this post's title. Eileen H. Butts contributed both those recipes, and she has this to say about the pancakes: "A most wonderfully different taste delight." Hmmm. Maybe, but after reading the recipe I'm not so sure I'd be willing to try them out:

Grate the fresh cassava root. Soak for a couple of hours in salted water. Squeeze out water. Stir grated pulp in any good pancake batter.

However, they do sound a tad more appealing than the Golden Cattail Pancakes recipe, which calls for a cup of cattail pollen.

The haw jelly sounds delicious, and Eileen notes that, "There is no jelly in all the world more beautiful - a lovely rose color and nothing else has the delicate haw flavor." Berries of the Florida native hawthorn are hard to come by, and people who know where haws are growing tend to keep mighty quiet about it. I've traipsed around a lot of Florida and  have yet to encounter the plants. Consider yourself lucky if you come across some "summer haws," the kind transformed into the jewel-tone jelly of the recipe. 

After the work of finding the main ingredient, the rest of the recipe is equally demanding. It calls for the cook to wash the haws, "pick over carefully" and then boil them until they burst. The hot pulp is placed into a jelly bag and set aside until all the juice has dripped out. Only then does the cook proceed with typical jelly-making steps of boiling the mixture with sugar until the jell stage is reached. 

Finally, there's a note that if haws are in scant supply, a "very few" green apples may be added at the juice-making stage.

After all that, a recipe for Orange Leaf Tea is a breeze.  Contributer Mary Elizabeth (Mrs. Walter M.) Pace instructs the cook to first search for tender young leaves of an orange tree. Then, "bring water to a slow boil, add leaves, cooking slowly several minutes." And that's it. Done. Sweeten to taste if you wish. 

Essentials of living often served double and triple duty in pioneer homesteads, and Orange Leaf Tea fits in that category. Mrs. Pace ends her tea recipe by advising: "Good for breaking fever and bring out the measles." I may try the tea for its taste - it does sound yummy - but on matters of ill health I'll defer to modern medicine. With a dose of tea for good measure.