Harrowsmith – September 2019

246

Excerpted from I Call Myself a Prospector by Bob Durnin, with Frank Durnin
(Coreshack Publications, 2015). Available at amazon.ca and coreshackpub.com.

I had helped dad-in-law smoke
bacon and ham for a couple of
years. The smoker was an old
steel-lined refrigerator with the
compressor removed, a short
stovepipe at the top and one of the
original wire shelves to hang the
meat from. It was a dandy smoker.
There was room to hang two slabs
of side pork (cut in half it equaled
four slabs of bacon) and two ham-
hocks. Smoke from a slow fire at
the base would percolate up past
the meat and 24 hours of slow
smoking did the job perfectly. Like
farm-killed free-range chickens,
home-smoked bacon and hams
are far superior to store-bought.
Dad had taught me well. The
fire must be watched carefully,
otherwise the dripping fat would
burn and the fire must be kept
under control. At nightfall, sticks
would be removed and the coal
bed would slowly produce some
smoke and heat until sunup. I had
the procedure down pat—sort of.

So we brought the smoker

to our hobby farm and made

preparations. Our neighbours,

Joe and Mary, had a little butcher

shop in one of their outbuildings.

We bought a whole pig and had

chops, roasts and our side pork

and front shoulders for ham.

We had a ten-gallon crock—the

real deal. We put the side pork

and shoulders down in a proper

brine for ten days, and I collected

smoke wood. Dad always used

a mixture of old punky poplar,

a piece or two of an old oak

fence post and sticks of green

chokecherry. I decided to add an

extra flavour—apple wood.

The previous winter, the

doggone mice ringed (eaten the

bark) one of our four apple trees

and I salvaged the dead wood.

I found the cure in a local farm

paper and had I known of it a year

earlier I could have fooled those

rascally rodents sooner.

The cure is as easy as walking

in circles. After the first snowfall JUNE DURNIN

Makin’

Bacon

Smoke signals

and a bottle

of rye.