By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

On February 16, 1963, San Antonio Express and News staff writer Jerry Deal ran a story in the San Antonio Express and News about Laredo, Texas. This is an out take: “… the friendly city of Laredo is not only the oldest independent town established in Texas (1755) — it is one of the most famous. The only Texas city to have been under seven flags.”

Laredo’s seventh flag was the flag of the Republic of the Rio Grande. This republic, fighting against Mexico, lasted from January 1840 to November 1840.

For those not blessed enough to be born-and-raised in Texas, Texas has had the flags of six nations fly over it. An unknown author penned, “It has not been a simple plot that has unfolded to produce the Texas of today…(one) that brought a succession of six flags while sovereignty over Texas changed eight times….” (yes, we used to speak and write this way even without AI).

The sequence of the six flags follows: 1. Spain (1519-1685) and (1690-1821), 2. France (1685-1690), 3. Mexico (1821-1836), 4. Republic of Texas (1836-1845), 5. United States of America (1846-1861) and (1865 to present) and 6. Confederate States of America (1861-1865).

Upon reading the SA Express and News article, Oscar Haas, local NB historian and record-keeper, promptly informed New Braunfels Chamber of Commerce Manager Tom Purdum of a major oversight — New Braunfels had also had a seventh flag. He asked Mr. Purdum to address the egregious statement in the SA Express and gave him “ammunition” to fight with. Tom Purdum wasted no time in sending staff writer Jerry Deal a short concise letter three days later (Feb 19).

“This is in reference to your article on Laredo appearing in the Saturday Feb. 16 edition of the San Antonio Express. We wish to offer you a correction concerning your statement that Laredo is the only Texas city to have been under seven flags. If you will refer to an article appearing in the San Antonio Express Monday, July 2, 1962, entitled “New Braunfels Once Under Austrian Flag”, you will notice there are two cities boasting seven banners in their history. Also, New Braunfels is probably the only Texas city founded by a prince of a foreign power.”

Brilliant gentleman. Referencing the paper to its own published article — an article which states that Prince Carl of Braunfels raised the Austrian flag up on Sophienburg Hill on April 27, 1845. Why the Austrian flag? A German flag could not be found among the immigrants. Why? Because a unified Germany did not exist until 1848; before that, it was just a collection of independent states. My question is who brought an Austrian flag with them?

But Oscar knew even more about that ceremony. The black and yellow Austrian flag was hoisted by Prince Carl under cannon salutes with lots of pomp and circumstance, including a banquet for his friends. Seems the new immigrants had different ideas. Those in opposition to the reminder of a feudal system they had chosen to forget, met at the newly plotted-out Main Plaza at the same time to hoist a flag of their own — the flag of the Republic of Texas. They also formed their own citizen-based militia to protect the new settlement from possible Native American attacks. It didn’t take these new Texans long to feel the pull of this great state and the power of new freedoms.

Did Jerry Deal respond to Mr. Purdum’s letter? I didn’t find a response per say. I did find another article published a year later in the San Antonio Express on Monday, Feb 17, 1964. It is almost the same article about the history of Laredo, and its title, “Texas Seventh Flag Flew Briefly for Rio Republic” didn’t bode well for our miffed letter-writing townsmen. In fact, it seemed that the San Antonio Express ignored the letter. But, as I read through the article several times, I noticed that the words, “the only Texas city to have been under seven flags” had been omitted. I guess they did sort of get the point.

Now I know you will be saying, “But NB has only been here since 1845, so really only four flags have flown over it.” Yes, that is true, but if Laredo can claim seven flags, so can we. As part of Texas, the land we love living on has been under the flags of seven nations.

Thank you, Oscar and Tom, for standing up for our fair city of New Braunfels and letting the San Antonio Express, nay, the world know that we, too, have lived under seven flags. Proud to be a Neu Braunfelser! Proud to be TEXAN!

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives, #0009 Oscar Haas collection.

“Around the Sophienburg” is published every other weekend in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung.

The post Seven flags over New Braunfels appeared first on Sophienburg Museum and Archives.

By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

This is the story of two mark­ers. One was put up at Co­mal Springs in 1968, and the other was placed out­side the yard of Franz and Mary Joyce Coreth on Hwy 46 (it now stands in front of Chick-fil-A). They both mark the lo­ca­tion of Mis­sion Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe.

So the ques­tion is, why? Some back­ground on the mis­sion is needed to un­der­stand.

Very ba­si­cally, the es­tab­lish­ment of the mis­sions in Texas be­gan in the 1630s. Spain needed to hold the land, and they wanted to Chris­tian­ize the na­tive peo­ples. Fran­cis­can monks were tasked to set up and over­see mis­sions across Texas which would gather the mi­gra­tory tribes into per­ma­nent set­tle­ments with the hope of con­vert­ing them to Chris­tian­ity, as well as teach them agri­cul­tural tech­niques and trades.

Spain usu­ally sent sol­diers along with the Fran­cis­can mis­sion­ar­ies to es­tab­lish pre­sidios (forts) for the pro­tec­tion of the mis­sions and set­tle­ments. The pre­sidios and the mis­sions were hardly com­pat­i­ble, both with dif­fer­ing agen­das. Trou­ble be­tween the sol­diers and the Na­tive Amer­i­cans led to fric­tion be­tween the mis­sion­ar­ies and the sol­diers. The monks ab­horred the abuse and an­tag­o­nis­tic mea­sures the sol­diers used against the na­tive peo­ple they were try­ing to be­friend.

Our mis­sion, Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe was born out of this strug­gle.

Three mis­sions were es­tab­lished on the San Xavier (San Gabriel) River in Milam County in the 1740s: San Fran­cisco Xavier de Hor­c­a­sitas (1747), San Ilde­fonzo (1748) and Nues­tra Señora de la Can­de­laria (1749). These were re­ferred to as the San Xavier mis­sions. The pre­sidio San Fran­cisco Xavier de Gigedo was set up to guard all three mis­sions.

The re­la­tion­ship be­tween these mis­sions and the neigh­bor­ing pre­sidio broke down over the mis­treat­ment of the Na­tive Amer­i­cans. The con­flict went on un­re­solved for sev­eral years, cul­mi­nat­ing in the mur­der of Friar Juan Jose Ganzábal and a civil­ian at the Can­dalaria Mis­sion in Feb­ru­ary 1752. Sol­diers, Na­tive Amer­i­cans and civil­ians were gath­ered and held for ques­tion­ing. Of­fi­cial pro­ceed­ings held at Pre­sidio San An­to­nio de Be­jar (the fort pro­tect­ing the San An­to­nio mis­sions) took place from May 13 to June 14, but reached no real judg­ment and with­out con­vic­tions or any­one pun­ished.

By 1753, the San Xavier mis­sions were full of fear and faced the added tragedy of drought which led to bad wa­ter and “pests” which brought sick­ness; the mis­sion­ar­ies were plead­ing to be re­lo­cated to the San Mar­cos springs. San Ilde­fonzo no longer had priests or Na­tive Amer­i­cans and Can­de­laria was left with only one friar. San Fran­cisco Xavier man­aged to hold onto 70 con­verted Na­tive Amer­i­cans and one friar. Even the pre­sidio cap­tain was re­quest­ing to move to the San Saba River.

In 1755, mis­sion­ar­ies and re­main­ing Na­tive Amer­i­cans fled with­out Church or Span­ish sanc­tion to the San Mar­cos River. Some of the na­tive peo­ple moved to the San An­to­nio de Valero mis­sion (Alamo): Co­cos, Xaraname, Te­jas, Bidai and Or­co­quiza tribes were among them. The May­eye peo­ple re­fused to go to San An­to­nio and stayed with the friar of San Fran­cisco Xavier at San Mar­cos. He re­quested and was given per­mis­sion to es­tab­lish a mis­sion on the Guadalupe River. He also re­quested and was given per­mis­sion to not have a pre­sidio but civil­ians “of good fam­ily” to help pro­tect the mis­sion.

In 1756, the mis­sion San Fran­cisco Xavier de Hor­c­a­sitas was re­lo­cated and reestab­lished in New Braun­fels as Mis­sion Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe. The site cho­sen had been scouted out by sol­diers and priests from San An­to­nio and de­scribed in records:

There are sev­eral large springs flow­ing from a rocky hill nearby, and ad­van­tages for an ir­ri­ga­tion ditch on the west side of the river a short dis­tance from the springs; there is ex­cel­lent lands for crops, plen­ti­ful tim­ber, pas­ture lands, and the ridge north of the stream is thought to con­tain min­er­als.

The new mis­sion was vis­ited in 1757 and said to be com­prised of a small mis­sion build­ing (most likely of wood con­struc­tion) with two fri­ars, 41 Na­tive Amer­i­cans (May­eye) of which 27 were bap­tized, and sev­eral huts in which lived four civil­ian fam­i­lies.

At this point, in­for­ma­tion on Nues­tra Señora lit­er­ally van­ishes from records. All that is ref­er­enced is a re­quest of the fri­ars for the re­turn of San Fran­cisco Xavier’s equip­ment (6 bells and some uten­sils val­ued at $1804.50. The equip­ment even­tu­ally went to the new San Saba mis­sion. There is also a state­ment in 1762, that says at the time of the San Saba mis­sion’s de­struc­tion in March 1758, Mis­sion Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe had al­ready been aban­doned due to its in­abil­ity to sus­tain it­self against mul­ti­ple en­e­mies.

Know­ing all of that, we can re­turn to the dilemma of two mark­ers. Based on the de­tailed de­scrip­tion of the site in 1756, it seems the short-lived mis­sion could have been down by the Co­mal Springs (1968 marker). And al­though the mis­sion name in­cludes “Guadalupe” we need to re­mem­ber that early Span­ish ex­plor­ers of­ten called the Co­mal, from the springs to the con­flu­ence, the Guadalupe. This seems to be a good fit.

The 1936 marker up on Texas Highway 46 claims Nues­tra Señora to be near or on Mis­sion Hill. Was it likely that they would es­tab­lish a set­tle­ment on the hill and travel through Pan­ther Canyon to Co­mal Springs? Would they have used the spring at Alt­gelt’s pond be­low Mis­sion Hill? Per­haps Mis­sion Hill held some sort of sig­nif­i­cance as the high­est point? Could it have been named be­cause of its just over a mile lo­ca­tion from the mis­sion down by Co­mal Springs? It seems a less likely lo­ca­tion.

Also, who gave the hill that name: Na­tive Amer­i­cans? Span­ish? Texas Rangers? The early Ger­man im­mi­grants called it by that name and there are two maps that rec­og­nize it as Mis­sion Hill from 1878. Af­ter scour­ing the So­phien­burg Archives and talk­ing to archivists at the Texas Gen­eral Land Of­fice and at the Span­ish Col­lec­tion of the Bexar County Archives, hard, prov­able ev­i­dence of the lit­tle mis­sion’s lo­ca­tion just has­n’t been found.

So, the mys­tery around Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe will re­main — a mis­sion lost but not for­got­ten.

Sources: Roemer’s Texas in 1848 by Ferdinand Roemer; “Texas in the Middle Eighteenth Century” by Herbert E. Bolton, “Proceedings Year of 1752” by Don Torivio de Vrrutia (Bexar County Archives); Handbook of Texas; Texas Almanac 1936; Texas Historical Commission; Texas General Land Office map collection; Sophienburg Museum & Archives map collection and Liebscher and Haas manuscript collections; https://www/texasalmanac.com/articles/the-spanish-mission-in-texas.

“Around the Sophienburg” is published every other weekend in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung.

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There are times, during the course of researching a topic, that we come across a story that just says it all. The following, a reprint of a story written by Susan Flynt England, is exactly that. It appeared in the Herald-Zeitung on Sunday, January 7, 1996.

Local family traces heritage to prominent pioneer hotel owner

When Prince Solms of Braunfels, Germany came to Comal county, the area was occupied and its residents weren’t all Native Americans. Some of them were Milletts. Nathan Millett of New Braunfels is their great-great-great-great grandson.

Samuel Millett, born in Maine, came to Texas in 1827. Millett’s wife Clementine was born in Tennessee. Samuel and Clementine moved to New Braunfels in 1845. They bought Lot # 32. Joshua Bartlett, Clementine’s grandfather, signed the Declaration of Independence. The Milletts opened a hotel, called the Samuel Millett Hotel. It stood about were the Comal County Courthouse does now.

They bought the hotel and the property on which it sat from Nicholas Zink, the original surveyor of New Braunfels. Joseph Landa with his young bride lived in Millett’s Hotel until Landa bought the north corner lot where the family lived for more than 75 years,’ said the Haas history of New Braunfels.

Samuel Millett also fought for Texas independence. He volunteered in Captain Moseley Baker’s company at the battle of San Jacinto. He received land donation certificates for his part in the battle. The Samuel Milletts eventually moved to a farm near what is now Navarro School. They also operated a school out of their farm house.

Samuel and Clementine Millett had seven children, two of whom were twin brothers, Alonzo and Leonidas. Both twins fought in the confederate army. Leonidas died at Manses, according to “The Trail Drivers of Texas” in the Texas State Archives.

Alonzo signed up with General Wood when he was 16 years old. He distinguished himself in battle and was promoted three times, said “Trail Drivers.”

Nathan Millett traces his ancestry to Alonzo Millett. He married Arlene Wilson, who was a slave. Alonzo Millett prospered as a rancher after the Civil War. Millett brothers’ ranches were scattered over Kansas, Idaho, Texas and the Dakotas. The town of Millett, Texas, about 90 miles south of San Antonio, was named after Alonzo Millett, who had a ranch in the area.

The 20th Century

Early New Braunfels ancestry did not exempt the 20th Century Milletts from 20th-Century discrimination. Cora Coleman, 22-year nursing assistant at McKenna Memorial Hospital, remembers many changes in New Braunfels during her long life in the area.

“Segregation was the biggest change, “Coleman said. “I came through when it was the back door.” Coleman grew up on a farm near the Comal-Hays county line. “My daddy worked on the farm and had a business down at the county line, “she said. “He ran it. We worked a farm and raised our own food.”

“Back in those days the blacks who lived in New Braunfels spoke German very well,” Nathan Millet said.

Coleman’s brother, Eddie Millett Jr., was a Methodist minister. “He had churches here – Allen Chapel in New Braunfels with others in San Marcos and Luling. He passed on in 1988,” Coleman said.

Mary Johnson grew up on a Millett farm. “My growing up years were beautiful,” she said. “We were poor, but Mama and Daddy were together. We grew about everything we put in our mouths. Farm life would benefit today’s young adults,” Johnson said. “Maybe they wouldn’t sit and watch those idiot boxes and not do anything else.”

Nathan Millet teaches in Austin and owns High Sierra Company in New Braunfels. A charter member of the Greater Comal County Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, he served as its first treasurer.

Millett is also instrumental in the success of the New Braunfels Black Heritage Society.

(Sources provided by the Sophienburg Archives, Annette Boenig Waite and the Millett family.)

Update

Since this article appeared in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung in 1996, the Millett family legacy continues. Nathan Millett, a 1974 graduate of New Braunfels High School, completed his Ph.D. in Education and moved to the Austin area. He has since retired from public school systems and teaches math at Gary Job Corp. in San Marcos. Nathan has one son and three grandchildren living in New Braunfels. High Sierra Company, owned by his father Robert Millett, is run by his son, Kevin Millett.

The Black Heritage Society dissolved around 2002 due to declining membership; however, Beverly Millet and Karen Wilson are working to get it started again this spring. If you are interested in helping re-establish the New Braunfels Black Heritage Society, please send inquiries to drnathanedu@yahoo.com

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

An English-language advertisement in the German-language Neu Braunfelser Zeitung caught my eye:

Mexican Restaurant Seguin Street — New Braunfels
Meals at all times during the day for 25¢
Chili con carne, frieholes, tomales,
fresh oysters, hot coffee and chocolate
Cruz Gonzales

That might sound pretty normal to you, but this ad ran in the November 19, 1880 issue. 1880 and NB has a Mexican restaurant! Mr. Gonzales continued to advertise his establishment weekly until September 1881 when the ad refers to him selling fresh oysters next to Hampe’s Store on Seguin Street. Then he disappears.

I have so many questions.

Who was Cruz Gonzales? Where was he from and where did he go? Where exactly was the café? Did he live above the place? Why did he close?

I put my coworker, Sylvia Segovia, on the hunt. Together we have begun compiling an index and chronology of Mexican food restaurants in NB — both Mexican and Anglo owned. By collecting newspaper advertisements, phone listings and personal family info we have a good start. But we found nothing on Mr. Gonzales.

While Sylvia continued on the index, I looked into the origins of chili — not as cut and dry as you would think. Some have proposed that San Antonio’s Canary Islanders first concocted the mixture of meat, onions, garlic, chili peppers and cumin. Others, including me, think indigenous peoples have been stewing venison, turkey, and “whatever” meat with native spices for centuries. BTW there is a story written down in 1568 by conquistador Bernal Diaz del Castillo that tells of the capture of some unfortunate Spaniards by the Aztec. It seems they were thrown into a stew pot full of tomatoes and chili peppers. Ok, not true chili but they were sort of on the right track?

Most believe that chili, as we know it, was introduced by the “chili queens” in San Antonio. By the late 1880s, Mexican women were setting up rows of stalls and tables on Military Plaza. From morning’s light to evening’s dark, they sold chili con carne, tamales, enchiladas and chili verde. But before that in the 1870s, visitors and locals could visit humble homes in Laredito, a neighborhood near the Plaza, and be served “savory compounds, swimming in fiery peppers which biteth like a serpent” according to Edward King in Scribner’s magazine 1874. Sounds like a great bowl of chili! Mr. King also wrote that all classes of society frequented these home restaurants. It was an addicting dish.

Going back further, food historians have found that in 1862, an unruly group from the Confederate garrison set off a riot in Military Plaza destroying food stands of stews (read here, chili) and tamales. However, it wasn’t until the 1870s that the words “chili” or “chili con carne” appeared in print. There are mentions of chili-like stews as far back as the 1820s, so maybe chili was known by other names in the tri-lingual state of Texas (Spanish, English, German).

I found two other stories, almost myths, that tell of the dawn of San Antonio’s chili queens. One is of a young Creole named Louis St. Clare, who was part of the Gutierrez-Magee expedition of 1812-1813. This group, comprised of Spanish-Texan revolutionaries, Louisiana Creoles, Anglo soldiers of fortune and Native Americans, wanted to free Texas from Spanish rule (this actually happens about 25 years later!).

Long story short. The expedition does pretty well capturing Nacogdoches, Goliad and San Antonio. And then it gets messy. The Spanish colonial governors of Texas and Nuevo Leon and a dozen or so other Spanish supporters in San Antonio are taken prisoner and marched out of the city and not shot — their throats were slit.

Naturally, the citizens of San Antonio turned against the revolutionaries, and while they couldn’t throw them out, they could decline giving them any food. Here is where young St. Clare comes into the story. He falls in love with a local girl, Jesusita de la Torre. Their romance turns the residents of San Antonio against the de la Torres. In order to fend for themselves, St. Clare sets up a table and benches on the Plaza and the de la Torre women serve spicy meals to the nearly starving soldiers. The first chili queens?

The second legend is of the lavenderas, or washerwomen. These women followed the numerous armies that marched over and through Texas during the 1800s. Not only did they wash and mend clothes, they also cooked meals of, you guessed it, stews made with venison or goat seasoned with chili peppers. They, too, could be considered chili queens.

The chili queens reigned over Military Plaza for several decades, serving up their amazing spicy dishes to locals as well as travelers and soldiers who frequented San Antonio.

So there you have it. Chili, in various recipes, has been a Texas dish for at least 200 years. But I’m of the opinion that something like it has been here for much longer. I’m thinking it might just be the right time to make your way to your favorite local Mexican restaurant in honor of those wonderful women who shared chili with all of us Texans.

Sources: Neu Braunfelser Zeitung Collection; “The Bloody San Antonio Origins of Chili con Carne”, John Lomax, www.texasmonthly.com; Oscar Haas Collection; http://firstwefeast.com.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

Request from Fargo, North Dakota: Do you know anything about a New Braunfels photographer named J. Serdinko? “Uhhh…yeah,” I thought to myself, “but not enough to answer this request!”

The Sophienburg photograph collections contain several hundred thousand images; about 300 of those are impressed with Serdinko’s name. These take the form of carte de visite (small business card-size photos), cabinet cards (hardboard-backed photos larger than a postcard) and stereoviews (two-image cards for use with a stereoptican viewer).

Yes, Serdinko was a photographer in New Braunfels. But who WAS he?

John, or Ivan, Serdinko was born in Bohemia in 1849 and emigrated to Texas in the 1860s. He became a naturalized citizen in 1867. I found him, and his partner Alonzo Newell Calloway, setting up a photo studio in a tent in Columbus in 1875. By January 1879, Serdinko had set up shop in New Braunfels and in November of that year he married Ernestine Fernanda Reich, daughter of Julius Reich of Hortontown. The couple moved to Fredericksburg to set up a studio.

In July 1880, John and Ernestine were back in New Braunfels and opened a studio on Seguin Street across from the woolen manufacturing company. The quality of his work was highly praised in the Neu-Braunfelser Zeitung.

Serdinko proved to be more than a good photographer; he was also an inventor. In February 1882, John received his first patent for “a portable darkroom for dry plate photography.” Serdinko was thinking of ways to improve and adapt his profession to the changing times.

In March of that same year, John and Ernestine put down roots and bought a house in New Braunfels. He purchased all new, up-to-date equipment and life for the couple looked bright. Tragedy struck in January 1883. The Serdinkos lost their 14-month-old son. That September, the studio moved closer to Main Plaza, two buildings down from the NB Zeitung office on Seguin Street.

John seemed to settle into life in NB and his studio did well. There had been photographers in New Braunfels as early as 1855, when a man set up a studio to produce daguerreotypes. You will find many photographers’ names on carte de visite and cabinet cards made in New Braunfels from the 1860s to the early 20th C: Carl Iwonsky (who was also a painter), William DeRyee, J.M. Slater, Doerr, Ranney, Winther, Jacobson, Jakobi & Parks, J.H. Chapman, Hoffmann, Schwarz and Klenke are a few.

Serdinko received a second patent, this time for a “rotary force pump,” in April 1885. He got a third patent in February 1886 for a “wind machine.” Like so many of the early citizens, he was a highly educated man with many interests, very much a man living up to the ideals of the Victorian Age and the industrialization it brought. With glowing reports that the quality of his work was “as good as anywhere in the States,” Serdinko purchased all new photographic equipment.

The Serdinkos were blessed with a second child, Rosa Lee, in 1887. John was mainly producing cabinet cards and selling them for $3.50 per dozen. He became a trustee in the newly formed fraternal organization, Knights of the Golden Rule (sort of a mutual aid society). Folks dropped by his studio to have both posed and candid photos taken. Serdinko photographed the first members of the Six and Sixty-six Card Club.

In November of 1887, trouble was brewing in the domestic life of the Serdinkos. Mrs. Serdinko had a sale which included household items, a windmill, pumps, and handwork, to be paid in cash. Ernestine then informed the public on March 1, 1888 that she was leaving NB in two weeks and was selling what was left of her furniture, picture frames and more. She also said she would finish all her photos at a very low price; she must have been doing some of the processing for her husband. She left and the studio on Seguin Street was rented to J.W. Writer who came from the studio of Serdinko’s friend, Alonzo N. Calloway, in San Antonio.

In April, John Serdinko returned from travelling to California and reopened a studio. When did he leave? Where did he go? I followed his trail west, and I found the reason for the North Dakota request. During 1887, Serdinko somehow met up with F. Jay Haynes of Fargo. Haynes was the official photographer of the Northern Pacific Railroad. He had his own railcar fitted out as living quarters and photography studio and is best known for his early views of Yellowstone National Park. There are several stereoviews, from the “Northwestern Pacific Views” series, depicting Native Americans and one view of Yellowstone that are published by Serdinko in Fargo. There are also cabinet cards with “Serdinko, New Braunfels” found in Fargo.

John may not have been the best husband, but he was shaping up to be an interesting man.

When the new IG&N railroad bridge across the Guadalupe River collapsed in 1891, John Serdinko was the photographer who chronicled the tragedy. In 1892, Serdinko designed and fabricated “an excellent telephone apparatus” which was installed to connect Henry Streuer’s Two Brothers Saloon on Main Plaza with the Streuer home in Comaltown. This was the first telephone in New Braunfels!

Serdinko sold his studio and took off for the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago — – THE perfect place for an inventor and photographer. After his return to NB in October, John received his fourth patent for “an automatic telephone exchange system.” He then rented his home on Seguin Street and moved to San Antonio in 1894. Serdinko got a patent for his telephone in April 1895.

The photographic business was sold to L. J. Wilson in 1899. Serdinko is listed in the 1900 Census for Colorado County and in March of 1901, Ernestine filed for divorce in the District Court in San Antonio.

And this is where I lost the trail for John, or Ivan, Serdinko. I found the last tidbit of his life in Ernestina Serdinko nee Reich’s family tree, “He died 11/15/1919 in Austria.”

How this free-thinking, intelligent, wanderlustig photographer and inventor made it to Austria remains a mystery.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives: Reich family genealogy; New Braunfelser-Zeitung; New Braunfels Herald; Lens on theTexas Frontier, by Lawrence T. Jones III; Nesbitt Memorial Library, Colorado County History, Part 8, by Bill Stein; 1900 Census, Colorado County, Texas; https://texashistory.unt.edu/explore/collections/TDNP/; https://dsloan.com; https://www.ha.com/; https://www.yellowstonestereoviews.com/

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

Day two of the 25th Jubilee of the founding of New Braunfels turned out to be just as wonderful as the day before. As it neared 10 am on Monday, May 16, 1870, citizens once again assembled at the school on Academy and Mill streets. The front of the building was gaily decorated with wreaths and garlands of evergreens and the old Academy flag. Today was not just a procession of citizens and guests, but an honest-to-goodness, full-blown extravaganza of a parade. It was to be a day showcasing the history and development of the town but also one of joyful fun.

While the parade was forming up, a sixty-gallon barrel of beer was tapped and glasses served to the participants and spectators. A sixty-gallon barrel of beer? Yeah, let’s try this today!

A group of young men, dressed as Native Americans, rode on horseback at the front of the parade. The grand marshal and the US flag led the group of First Founders and their descendants. They were followed by a plethora of floats and societies

The Turnverein float, drawn by six white horses, carried the 37 young ladies who had presented the banner to the men the day before. Dressed in white with blue scarfs, they represented the 37 states of the Union. At the top of the float stood a tall young lady in white with a golden belt and crown holding a flag emblazoned with “USA” and “Liberty”.

The groups of children from all the local schools walked in the same order as before. They were followed by an immigrant wagon pulled by four mules. The driver smoked a pipe and wore a Staubkittel (blue duster). The recently arrived Börner family joined 70-year-old Mr. Riedel, Mrs. Sacherer, Mrs. Merz and Mrs. Pfannstiel in the wagon already full of immigrant trunks and a spinning wheel.

The next float entered was the New Braunfels Woolen factory which portrayed industry in New Braunfels. Examples of lovely colored fabrics, green wreaths and a sign created with flowers decorated the float. A large working loom was being used causing spectators to cheer as it passed by.

Marching and singing, the members of the Neu Braunfelser Gesangverein and the Turnverein came next. They were followed by a float drawn by four oxen with gilded horns. This float carried Mr. Schuster dressed as Gambrinus in “a costly cloak of real red satin trimmed with ermine” and wearing a crown (Gambrinus is the legendary “King of Beer”). The float carried the sixty-gallon barrel of beer that was tapped at the beginning of the parade; the barrel was marked “From the First German Brewery in West Texas”. It had been donated to the festivities by W. A. Menger of San Antonio. Two smaller 15-gallon barrels from Rennert’s brewery were hitched to the back. King Gambrinus reigned over four boys dressed as pages who served beer to the thirsty parade members.

Various other businesses and groups participated in the parade that took the same route as the procession the day before. Each new section of the parade was separated with horse-back riders carrying US standards. The parade participants played “tin music” and cheered as they walked along. The shout of “Hoch!” (High! Raise up!) was sounded each time the parade passed through the arches on Main Plaza. A very loud cheer arose from both participants and spectators when the parade paused to take on new barrels of beer from Rennert’s Brewery.

Cheers from the spectators greeted groups and floats. Float riders sang German songs as they travelled along. The agent who worked for The Union and Bulletin in Galveston was hailed. Parade participants shouted, “Prost!” as they passed the homes of the mayor, Jubilee committee members and Dr. Koester. The “Indians” on horseback randomly attacked and tried to raid the floats. They were successfully fended off with guns, smoking pipes, a crutch and yes, one woman used a sausage! The “Indians” managed to steal a boot and a bottle of whiskey, but these were soon confiscated by the sheriff.

Even with all the unbridled levity, the boisterous crowd became silent and bared their heads in honor as they passed the home of Dr. Remer on Seguin Street. He “who had worked so diligently for the success of the Jubilee, who had labored so faithfully with the founders for the town’s development” was very ill. (The day before, he had been in a chair on his porch and received loud cheers and the well-wishes of friends as they passed by.)

The parade continued and finally passed over the Comal Bridge. When Joseph Landa’s coachman turned the oxen of the Gambrinus float to pass the triumphal arch, Mr. Landa seized the reins and guided the float smoothly under the arch to the applause and cheers of “Landa, the driver of oxen!”. The crowd dispersed and found one of the many bars scattered around that dispensed beer and both native and imported wines. There was also an all-day lunch room which served hot meals and “good coffee” for a nominal price. Just past the festival grounds were two shooting ranges where contests took place — – one for target shooting, the other for shooting flying targets and skeet.

Mr. Seele delivered another speech and read congratulatory letters from absent dignitaries. Gambrinus stepped onto the platform and gave Seele a glass of beer to drink to the health of these well-wishers. Later in the day, Seele addressed the American population, in English, emphasizing how they helped, encouraged and stood by the Germans. He ended with a “Lebenhoch” (Good luck cheer) for the town’s American friends.

In the evening, the grounds were again lit up with colored lanterns and large kerosene torches. The triumphal arch was lit in a manner that made it seem transparent with changing red, blue and white lights. Music and dancing lasted late into the night only to be finished by another dramatic firework display.

Over 200 cannon shots were fired during the two-day festival!

On Tuesday, several citizens and Jubilee committee members “held a cozy post-celebration on the festival grounds and at Mrs. Josts, and so the Jubilee which will always be dear to the memory of all came to a close.”

Did these guys know how to party or what!?!

Sources: Faust Collection, Heilig album, Seele collection, Neu-Braunfelser Zeitung: Sophienburg Museum & Archives

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman –

“Peyote!” in muffled but gleeful voice shouted the Comanche medicine man. Two other Indians sprang from the sedan which had been parked on the shoulder of the road. Carefully the two crawled through the barbed-wire fence and hurried to where their fellow aborigine was standing. Constable Bill Jones, who happened to be behind a cluster of huisache bushes, noticed that the three men quickly filled a sack with a certain specie of cactus.”

So begins a story written by former county clerk and city historian Oscar Haas for the San Antonio Express-News in 1965. There is no reference to time and place but I didn’t care; I was hooked and read through to the end.

Constable Jones watched as the medicine men gathered sticks made a small fire of leaves and sticks near the ground where the peyote cactus had been harvested. Each man placed a hand-woven rug on the ground, threw some peyote on the fire and inhaled the smoke. After a while, they rose, turned around three times and hurried off to their car.

The constable went over to the fire and stirred it. He looked up and saw an old Indian chief motioning to him to follow, and so he did, all the way to a cave by a creek. Constable Jones had known of the cave since childhood and let the old chief lead him down a side passage to a deep chasm. On the opposite side of the chasm was a pile of jewels in heavy gold mountings. Guessing that the treasure was from an old Mexican temple and had been hidden during a war, he looked over at the old chief in time to see the chasm’s edge give way and the old man plummet into its depths.

The following day, Constable Jones returned to the cave with a load of wood planks, long enough to bridge the chasm. Where was that side passage? Day after day he looked for it. Friends and neighbors told him that he had had a peyote- induced vision, but the constable refused to believe that what he had seen had not been real. Poor Constable Jones continued to visit the cave, searching, yearning for the treasure.

The medicine men in the story had come from the reservation in Oklahoma to acquire peyote. Native Americans still travel to buy peyote (Lophophora williamsii) from the “peyote gardens” on the Mustang Plains in south Texas — Starr, Jim Hogg, Webb and Zapata counties. The cactus is utilized by over a quarter of a million Native Americans as ceremonial sacrament in the Native American Church.

Peyote has been used by native tribes in its growing areas in Central America for thousands of years. Current thinking is that the Carrizo Indians of South Texas brought the peyote ceremony to the US and taught it to the Lipan Apaches who in turn shared it with Plains tribes like the Comanche in the 19th century. The increased use of the cactus by more tribes led to the birth of the peyoteros around 1900. These men and women find colonies of the cactus in the brush country and carefully cut the “buttons” or tops off — – preserving the underground root so that it can grow again. The buttons are then carefully dried before they are sold. Before 1900, this cottage industry went on relatively unnoticed as the peyoteros quietly supplied the Native Americans with the cactus.

In 1909, William H. Johnson was appointed chief special officer of the United States Indian Affairs Bureau, His job was to reduce the alcohol problem on the reservations. While investigating in Laredo, Johnson learned of the peyote trade that was centered in the small town of Los Ojuelos (Mirando City). He was not happy, and confiscated 200,000 peyote buttons and burned them. (I can only imagine how that affected the local area…). He continued his crusade eventually making the cultivation, harvesting and shipping of peyote illegal and subject to stiff fines. Reports from the reservations on the disastrous effects of the loss of peyote, both physically and spiritually, on the people led the government to scale back their crack down and allow shipments by special permit to only “wet” counties. The Native American Church was formalized, and recognized in part, so peyote could continue to be used legally as sacrament in certain ceremonies.

During Prohibition, the peyote was looked into as a possible “whiskiless drunk” alternative according to several newspaper accounts. Later in the 60s and 70s, hippies from all over traipsed into the South Texas peyote gardens to try out the cactus. Through the years, Native Americans from many tribes have adopted the traditions of the Native American Church and have continued to go to South Texas for peyote.

Texas is the only state where selling peyote is legal — it is also the only state where the cactus grows. Peyoteros must register with the Drug Enforcement Administration in order to legally sell peyote to members of the Native American Church. They also have to register with the Texas Department of Public Safety. The handful of registered peyoteros keep records on how much is harvested from the wild, who purchases the peyote and how much is sold. They have to renew their license annually.

The peyoteros see themselves a little like pharmacists dispensing a medicinal product to the right person. To buy peyote, church members must prove their ancestry; they have to have their Certificate of Indian Blood, because that shows who they are, who their parents are and their blood quarter. It is necessary to be at least one-fourth American Indian to purchase or possess peyote in the state of Texas.

It is not legal to grow peyote; it must be harvested from naturally occurring patches on private land that is often leased by the peyoteros. Ecologists have noted a drastic decline in the cactus and in new growth due to the use of “root plowing” by ranchers who need grassland for cattle and for the creation of lucrative hunting leases which limit the time peyoteros can search. The increase in the Native American tribes who utilize peyote has upped the demand which makes harvesting smaller buttons necessary and doesn’t allow the cactus to recover. Hopefully, the end result will not be the eradication of the cactus and a change in the habitats of South Texas.

There you have it — one more strange collection of facts to impress your friends with.

Sources: Cactus and Succulent Journal, Vol. 6 (1995); www.texasstandard.org ; www.texasobserver.org ; Haas collection, Sophienburg Museum & Archives; San Antonio Express and The Houston Post, April 28, 1909, May 7 and 9, 1909, May 14, 1913.

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Texas is the perfect environment for many creatures. One of them is snakes, and here in central Texas we have poisonous ones: copperheads, coral snakes, cottonmouths (water moccasins) and rattlesnakes. Early Comal Countians were very familiar with our slithering neighbors. The NB Zeitung records many encounters by citizens all around the county — – many of them deadly. Here are some of the early ones:

• 1855 — Joseph Scherz of Cibolo DIED of snake bite.
• 1859 — 6-yr-old son of Mr. Hazeldanz of 8 Mile Creek DIED of rattlesnake bite.
• 1860 — Son of Wilhelm Fehlis of York Creek found DEAD of snake bite where he was picking dewberries.
• 1861 — G. Sacherer killed 6’8” long, 10” diameter rattlesnake.
• 1868 — Son of Kresche DIED of snake bite and Bartels loses horse from snake bite, both from Hortontown.
• 1874 — Morhoff of Comaltown bitten on hand by rattlesnake.
• 1880 — C.J. Wells, caretaker of mail and stagecoach stop, DIED of snake bite.
• 1881- Child of Mr. Riesling of York Creek bitten by rattlesnake while picking cotton; Johanna See DIED of rattlesnake bite; Henry Lueers of Purgatory Springs killed 6’ rattlesnake that had 10 baby rabbits inside; Mrs. Wilhelm Uhle bitten by snake.
• 1882 — Child of Christian Pape and child of Jacob Heidrich bitten by rattlesnake.
• 1886 — F. Alves killed large rattlesnake with 13 rattles; F. Donnerberg of Blanco, killed rattlesnake with 15 rattles and five unhatched eggs.
• 1887 — 8-yr-old son of W. Fenske of Davenport bitten by copperhead.
• 1890 — Julius, son of Fritz Coers, DIED of rattlesnake bite; son of Theo. Heise of Hancock Valley bitten by rattlesnake.
• 1894 — Carl Brehm of Selma and Fritz Buch of Schumannsville bitten by rattlesnakes; 8-yr-old daughter of Heinrich Jentsch of Huaco Springs and 4-yr-old child of George Beierle DIED of snakebite.
• 1895 — Mr. Thormeyer bitten by rattlesnake; John Sippel killed rattlesnake with 12 rattles; 65-yr-old Marie Werner DIED from rattlesnake bite; Heinrich Jentsch of Hueco Springs killed 30 rattlesnakes on his farm from January until October (he lost his daughter to snakebite in 1894).
• 1896 — Hermann Dierks and Mrs. Frank Nowotny bitten by rattlesnake; 10-yr-old son of Syl. Steubing DIED from rattlesnake bite.
• 1900 — 2-yr-old son of Carl Tonne of Davenport bitten on the leg by rattlesnake.
• 1901 — 10-yr-old daughter of Fritz Scheel of Anhalt DIED of rattlesnake bite while walking to school.
• 1902 — Willie Bremer of Bracken bitten by rattlesnake; son of Friedrich Jonas bitten by rattlesnake while picking cotton.
• 1903 — Heinrich Harborth and H. W. Glenewinkel found nest of snakes in Harborth’s pasture and killed an 8’ prairie snake and 12 rattlesnakes; Max Heimer of Smithsons Valley and Theodore Holekamp bitten by rattlesnakes; Marie Syring bitten by snake while cutting corn tops on her father’s farm.
• 1904 — 19-yr-old Eduard Jonas bit by rattlesnake in cornfield; Arno Jentsch bitten by snake; 8 yr-old son of Heinrich Schneider bitten on finger by rattlesnake.
• 1906 — Franz Preiss and Ottomer Linnartz were at Twin Sisters and came upon a rattlesnake running with 12 babies. She saw them and swallowed all the little snakes. 8-yr-old daughter of Rudolph Jonas DIED of rattlesnake bite.
• 1919 — 9-yr-old daughter of Ernst Pape of Sattler DIED of rattlesnake bite.

The paper also has articles on how to treat snakebite. In 1855, it suggested the use of whiskey and button snakeroot (Eryngium yuccifolium or Liatris squarrosa, both go by the common name “rattlesnake master”). I had to do some research. The chewed roots were applied to wounds and used as a cure for snakebite by Native Americans. They also used it to expel worms, induce vomiting and treat liver trouble. The plant could be used in the treatment of disorders of the kidneys and sexual organs since it had diaphoretic, diuretic and (in large doses) emetic properties. Other ailments treated with button snakeroot were infectious fevers and respiratory complaints. Did the whiskey just make it go down easier?

My dad recently told me a story about my granddaddy. When he was a little boy growing up in Schumannsville, he stuck his hand down a rat hole. He got bit by a rattlesnake. His mom ran to the chicken house and grabbed a hen “that was sitting on eggs.” Ripping it apart down the middle, she wrapped the chicken around his hand and left it on the wound until the “meat turned blue.” Granddaddy got sick, but it didn’t kill him. David Hartmann recently shared this same cure on a Facebook post, so it must have been common knowledge for folks around here. A friend of mine who grew up in Mexico says they used to do the same thing. A dead chicken? Apparently, the chicken’s body temperature is higher and this draws the poison into it and out of you. I don’t know the medical reason, but it saved my granddaddy’s life.

Back then, fewer people meant more places for these creatures to live. Today, with all the new building and loss of farm and pasture land, you’d think we would see a decline in the snake population. But not around my house. I know some of you like snakes and just walk around them. That’s fine. But even when I know the role they play in “the circle of life,” I’d rather not share my space with them. I live on property known as “Rattlesnake Hill” by old-timers. A couple of years ago, my mom killed over 20 rattlers one spring. This spring we have had three sightings and two exterminations….one got away into the bushes. One of the deceased had actually moved in under my back porch. For over a month we could hear the rattles go off every time we walked over the floor. Named the thing Sparkles. Sparkles scared my exterminator away…literally. Finally, my son met Sparkles on the its way out from under the house, with a .22.

RIP, Sparkles.

Sources: https://pfaf.org/user/Plant/aspx?LatinName=Eryngium; https://gardensoftheblueridge.com; https://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/s/snabut57.html; Neu Braunfelser Zeitung collection, Sophienburg Museum and Archives

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I’m on the riding mower last weekend and encountered some of the least-friendly Texas botanicals: stickyweed (Galium aparino), greenbriar (Smilax bona-nox L.) and agarita (Berberis trifoliolata). I totally detest the first two. The only thing stickyweed is good for is to use in a throwing fight against your friends and siblings, not unlike a poor man’s version of paintball. And, I’ve yet to come up with a way to live peaceably with greenbriar — nature’s own version of barbed wire. But agarita? Now that’s an unfriendly with a good side.

Agarita, or algerita, or agritos, or Texas currant, or chaparral berry (so many names…) is a wild evergreen shrub with bluish-grey/green holly-like leaves. It puts on very fragrant yellow flowers in the spring that lure bees and butterflies. The blooms are followed by bright red-orange berries that are favorites of birds and small animals which leads to the plant’s propagation through — well, you know.

I have many good childhood memories of harvesting the tasty berries. Riding on the back of Grandpa’s pickup truck to “a spot” with lots of agarita bushes, my Grandma, aunties and cousins and I would traipse through pastures thick with mesquite and prickly pear. At a nice full bush, we’d carefully spread a big old sheet underneath the prickly branches and “beat the bush” with and old wood pole to cause the berries to fall. The filled sheet was gathered in and the results poured into big buckets. One by one, each agarita bush was attacked until all the buckets were full. We’d jump back on the truck for the trip home to Grandma’s house where the sheets would be spread out again on the grass. The aunties would pour out the buckets and scatter the berries and leaves over the cloths.

There were so many bugs mixed into the harvest! As the sheet lay in the sun, a lot of the bugs ran off to find cover. I hated this part because there were a lot of what we called stinkbugs and blister beetles crawling around. Then, the berries were winnowed with wind (sheet lifted up and down) and hand-picked to get rid of the pokey leaves. Hours later, the berries were washed and then boiled in water to get an amazing red-orange-pinkish-colored juice. The berries were also smashed and put into a piece of cheesecloth that was gathered up and then hung on a knob of the kitchen cabinet to let more flavor-filled liquid drip into the pot. This juice was then made into one of the most delicious jellies I know. My mom is from north of Fredericksburg; they call agarita jelly, Johahnisbeeren. Apparently it reminded the early pioneers of red currants that grew wild in Germany (named in honor of St. John the Baptist’s birthday). My dad comes from this area where folks call it Berberitzen Gelee — from the Latin name for the agarita. It has always seemed funny to me that these German communties didn’t use the same name.

One of my aunts also took berries and produced agarita berry wine in a storeroom off her garage. She’d bring it out to share with the family at Thanksgiving. It, too, has its own unique flavor — sweet like most homemade wines, with a delicate color and unexpected punch. Most years, you can find homemade agarita wine to taste out at The Museum of Handmade Furniture’s Folkfest (April 13-14). There are usually several different kinds of homemade wines to sample at the booth.

The agarita doesn’t just give us delicious berries. Native Americans found uses for almost every part of the shrub. While seeds and dried berries were identified in the rock shelters of the Lower Pecos River and wood from agarita has been found in campsites around Uvalde, present archeology shows that very few tribes consumed the tart little berries. The Mescalero Apache did make a sort of jelly mixing the berries with an unknown sweeetner which some feel might have been sugar introduced by Anglo settlers.

The Havasupai, some Navajo and other tribes used agarita roots in a tea for treating stomach upset and as a laxative. Other tribes used the antiseptic qualities of the alkaloid-rich root and branches, soaked in water, to create a treatment for wounds, skin, gum and eye problems. Navajo also used a cold infusion to treat scorpion bites (that’s useful info for around here) and a decoction of the leaves and twigs to treat muscle ache and stiffness in joints. And here is an interesting historical tidbit: The Paiute used a decoction of agarita to treat urinary infections and venereal disease.

I haven’t tried any of the medicinal uses of the agarita, but a friend and I had read about Navaho and Mescalero Apache dyeing buckskin and hides yellow with agarita and we decided to try and get a dye. Salvaging a root bulb from an agarita dug out to put in a fence line, my friend and I chopped the yellow wood into small pieces and soaked them in water for a couple of days. The concoction then got more water and was boiled for a few hours. We had made a brilliant yellow dye! We dyed alum-mordanted wool in the dye bath and then spun it into beautiful yellow-colored yarn. Fun fact: During WWII, agarita root dye was one of the hues used to color-code parachutes.

The wonderful agarita’s little green berries are starting to turn red in this beautiful sunny weather. Have those sheets and poles ready for this year’s harvest. Jelly or wine? You win either way.

Sources:

• https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu
• https://rangeplants.tamu.edu/
• https://texasbeyondhistory.net/
• http://www.wildedibletexas.com/

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Many of us grew up eating “pannas.” My grandmother made it often, especially when the menfolk were butchering and making sausage. She would take the hog head into the kitchen and put it in a big pot of water. I would come into the kitchen and see that big snout sticking up out of the top of the pot. As the water boiled, all that good meat in the hog’s cheeks fell away and created a lovely rich broth. She took that broth full of meat bits and added spices and cornmeal before pouring the whole lot into pans to cool. Grandma then cut the cooled pannas into slices, turned it in flour, and fried it up for all us waiting children. Yummmmmm …

But why did we make pannas? Back in the day, nothing was wasted. The making of blood sausage, liver sausage, and pannas, was a way of making sure everything from the butchering process was used.

Corn is a “New World” food — the cultivation of corn began about 7,000 years ago in central Mexico and spread into North and South America. It was introduced to Spain by Columbus. Early Anglo-Americans would have died of hunger had the Native Americans not shared with them how to cultivate and eat corn. They showed them how to make corn into bread, porridge, pudding, soup, and fried cakes. The early German immigrants to New Braunfels were not in the habit of eating cornmeal, as back home corn was something they fed to pigs. They were used to using wheat as the main staple in their diets. Pannas helped them get used to — and learn to embrace — corn.

There are a lot of different spellings and names for pannas. In the Midwest and northern US, many folks call it “scrapple.” Scrapple even has its own national day — November 9th. Although scraps of meat are used in the recipes, the word “scrapple” comes from the process of scraping the large cast iron pot used to cook the pork. Our archives coordinator at the Sophienburg remembers her grandfather making scrapple in a huge cast iron kettle when she was a child. She’s from Pennsylvania and they called the result “ponhaws.” They ate it fried for breakfast and smothered it with King Syrup, a blended golden syrup of corn and sugar syrups.

We have several volunteers from Northern Germany who did not grow up eating pannas, but the Sophienburg has had German visitors who have told us it is made and eaten in parts of Germany now. They call it Grützwurst or grain sausage.

To me, pannas is sort of like a deconstructed tamale with different spices. Maybe the Germans just didn’t get into the whole tamale preparation thing and came up with their own quick way of using pork and corn. It really doesn’t matter because the result of both is DELICIOUS.

Is pannas is new to you? If you are curious or just feeling adventurous, you can try the recipe from Ora Mae Pfeuffer in the Guten Appetit! Cookbook sold by Sophie’s Shop. This recipe uses pork bones, pork sausage or hamburger. Pannas can also be made with beef, turkey or ham. My mom always uses the leftover ham and ham bones from Thanksgiving and Easter to make us pannas. We eat it for any meal: Fried with eggs or fried and laid on toast — and we put mustard on it.

The old Krause’s Café used to sell pannas in the butcher shop area. My brother has been trying to recreate that recipe, but if you ask him for it be prepared. It makes a ton of pannas. Today, the only place I know of that you can buy pannas “readymade” is at Granzin’s Meat Market. Let us know what you think.

P.S. In regards to the “gold” treasure chest story, I was given information that descendants of one of the gentlemen who found the chest still have it! They bought it and keep it safe. Imagine passing down a treasure chest in your family. Real or fake it would be amazing!

Sources:

• Tri-County Farms — http://www.tricountyfarm.org/
• Smithsonian — http://www.mnh.si.edu/

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