Every year the matriarchs of the Gunter family would travel to The Forgotten Coast; a place in Florida far from where the tourists loaded with sunscreen, neck hanging cameras, and mouse ears go. The place Floridians know as “real Florida”. Located in the panhandle, it was a central place between the all the Gunter sisters to travel to that had all the right pieces; nature, beaches, privacy, and a cabin with AC.

While most of the trip would be typical back roads driving, we always seemed to go while the wild flowers were in bloom and it brought life to the trip that was studded with little abandoned towns along the way. The closer we would get the more magical the land would become. As we traveled up the coast of Apalachicola we passed cypress knee peaking out of tea stained waters and tall legged wading birds looking for snacks. The winding roads that hug the curves of the Florida coast flickered with the shade of the big pines and the well-known relentless sun. And the ocean breeze would catch stiff palm fronds that rustled them around loudly against each other.

We would arrive at T.H. Stone Memorial St. Joseph’s Peninsula State Park right off the coast of Port St Joe. A small town with a history of import/export. The state park is located on a piece of the coast where indigenous tribes once lived and is home to some of Florida’s spectacular wildlife. You can view middens and artifacts along the coast line. Unfortunately this part of Florida is no stranger to hurricane activity so the landscape often changes. Most recently in 2019, category 5 hurricane Michael came through and turned the peninsula into an island for a short while by wiping out the protective dunes. Its why I am writing about this place now. We have not been able to go back and visit since and will probably be a few more years before the cabins we would stay in are open again.

Guests can camp at sites along the beach in this park. But if you’re a planner then you can grab one of the coveted cabins a year in advance. It requires someone to log into Reserve America and click fitfully to beat whomever else in the world is trying to book to win a cabin. Each year it got harder and harder as more people learned of what we knew to be a veiled venue just for us. The hilarious task of four late-aged women navigating the internets ensued about a week after the trip every year. Between the slow internet and random button pushing, it really was an annual miracle when we got a cabin booked.

For the past 14 years the matriarchs of my family met up every year to spend a week refilling their energy buckets. For 7-9 days the ladies caught up with family stories new and old, health updates, and a little commiserating amongst sisters that know how to empathize with each other. But most importantly they relaxed and enjoyed each others company doing whatever they wanted, and weren’t bothered or forced to do things for anyone else unless they wanted to.

Preparation for this trip starts months out. To ensure their ability to sit and do nothing for as long as possible, preferably in the bay with umbrellas, a list is created with planned out designated meals each matriarch could easily make and bring along. (pic of lists)

In addition to meals they also brought any of their annuals items they prepare so they can share with each other and bring back home. Mom triples her batch of pimento cheese and Florida shrimp to divvy out. Auntie Gingers list would include her olive cheese spread. Auntie Lynn brought pecans from her grove and a few desserts including pound cake. They all brought meals; Mama Rella’s tomato sauce, chicken pot pie, beans and sausage. And finally there is the trade of canned goods: corn salad, assorted canned veggies, fig preserves, misc. fruit jams, squash pickles, and sauces.

When I got old enough I was finally invited to join the matriarchs, a very special invitation as the Gunter sisters were very particular about keeping their peace on vacation. And my favorite part of the reunion other than seeing family and being at the beach with them was the exchange of food. I would include pecan cheese also known as devil cheese, because what’s a vacation without a snack tray full of cheese while sitting in the bay and drinking bubbly? It was like Christmas or Thanksgiving where everyone brings their best family favorite dishes and we have a week enjoying the fruits of our labor but on paper plates and with much less hassle.

I would always look forward to bringing home Auntie Lynn’s squash pickles. Specifically to recreate a favorite salty sweet dish of beans and rice with smoked sausage. A meal Aunt Lynn would bring for us to have at the beach. Herb stewed red beans over white rice are cooked on the stove while I would gather wood to throw on the grill to cook the sausage if we pulled ourselves out of our chairs to labor. Most of the time though the sausage was pan-seared in a cast iron pan stove top.

If you already follow my stories you have heard me talk about my mothers influence of having condiments for every meal. Well the Gunter sisters, like true southern gals, all eat this way. Absolutely no table is complete without at least 3 jars of something pickled fermented or preserved for any meal. I have spent my life collecting recipes from the family and continuing the tradition of sharing food prepared in jars. On trips it’s special to not only gift food but it also lets you bring a piece of nostalgia back home with you. Majority of the meals, weather pending, were spent on the screened porch where we could listen the wildlife scurry underneath the porch, observe the birds and their constant activity, or watch a squirrel run across the screened porch to come say hello. A perfect setting to gather around a table in the dusk light to dollop pieces and parts of a southern meal onto our plates.

I would be remiss if I don’t mention my favorite matriarch, my granmonkey (sorry sitta sittas). She tolerated a lot from us but it was all worth it (we hope) when she was able to walk on the beach and put her toes in the sand. The cabins were on the bay side where we would get to wake up early and see magnificent sunrises. I would often sit with her, aunt Lynn, and mom before the others creaked around and sip a cup of coffee and a book while the earth woke up. But granmonkey’s toes had to touch the white squeaky sand on the oceanside by the last day while watching the sun settle in for the night hoping to catch a green flash during sunset.

I have recently taken on the task of making my own squash pickles for two reasons: One, because I love them that much and always run out long before next years trip. And two, not just to share but to keep tradition. Its funny, somewhere along the lines I thought I didn’t have a choice in tradition. That it only gets passed down and that’s it. But I can create my own and choose the ones I want to integrate into my life. How beautiful is it that as we live and breathe we are making history and stories to be carried past our days? Our Port St. Joe vacation was full of traditions we created and continued. And I only hope to be able to create experiences for them to remember just as my matriarchs did for me.

I texted my Auntie recently to ask for the squash pickle recipe. She lives about 8 hours away in house built in the 1890’s in the middle of a hundred acre pecan grove. There’s an old dirt road running across the front (now back) of the house that leads nowhere but in its day was the main street that went through the country town of Brierfield, Alabama. This home and property have been a labor of love and many many pains.

She pulled out an old cookbook that really had no origin but most likely came from someone’s church group or other ladies group. It’s one of those old books with simplified recipes that most housewives used as a guide and not as an exact measure because people cooked much more than we do now and knew what all the details were that lay invisible amongst the instructions. The quantities and items are quite dated and therefore ironically only useful as a guide now. Fortunately my aunt told me she typically does a variation of two recipes (multiple and similar recipes were also typical in these old cookbooks where multiple contributors provided their version). I have since done the same, curating the best recipe combo finding my nice little adaption to include/support local and seasonally grown items.

I visited my friends at Fisher Farms who had plenty of squash harvested so in my naiveté I said I wanted a bushel. Thankfully (I now know) they only had a half bushel of squash. I forget how much labor big batch canning can be and it turns out a half bushel no doubt makes enough pickles for a year supply and enough for sharing. I almost always question ‘what was I thinking’ halfway through any huge batch cooking event, this one was no different.

I increase the turmeric mostly because I have tons but it also makes for a beautiful bright yellow color. Fresh ginger, mustard seed, onion, and garlic are also all from the garden. Much like the recipes of yore, treat this and any other recipe as a guide. Don’t like something? Don’t add it. Don’t think its enough? Add more. But do better than me and make notes! Not just to recreate but also to improve on it the next round and of course, to be able to pass it down.

Aunties Squash Pickles

Ingredients:

1 gallon of thinly sliced yellow squash or zucchini
2 cup white onion, julienne
2 bell pepper, assorted colors, julienne
2 hot peppers, sliced in half
3 1/2 cup white raw sugar
1.5 quart white vinegar
1 tablespoon yellow mustard seed
1 tablespoon celery seed
6 each whole cloves
1.5 teaspoon turmeric
2 tablespoons salt

Instructions:

Slice squash into thin rings into a large bowl. Salt squash and let stand for a minimum of one hour or overnight. Add all the other ingredients into a pot and bring to a boil. Add squash to the pot and cook 3-4 minutes only. Remember there will be carry over cooking and the squash are thinly sliced. Pack in sterile jars leaving a 1/4 inch gap from the top of the jar. Seal jars in boiling water using standard canning procedures.