The Herring are Running, The Herring are Running
Some people claim robins are the harbingers of spring. Others say it’s crocuses or daffodils. William Wordsworth, the poet, immortalized spring’s fore-runner as a lone snowdrop.
They are all wrong.
The Herrings are running, the herrings are running. Any Carolinian knows what that means. There wasn’t a set time of the day they would be running. The men took turns at Merchant Mill Pond , Nixon’s Ditch, and Cannon’s Ferry to watch the waters start moving like a wave was rushing in. We didn’t have cell phones in those days, so kids would rush back home to let the men who went home to rest or grab a bite to eat, that the herrings had arrived. The men gathered around the big nets. My dad wore waders and would walk out on the edge as close as he could get to the main stream of the of the herring run to steady the net. This would go on sometime until the night. There could be at least 10 to 12 pickups parked by the waters and each trucks’ bed was overflowing with herrings. Fish were jumping.
Back home mom and the other neighbor ladies were getting the buckets ready for cleaning the herring. And when I say buckets, I am talking about washtubs. If you think a hog killing in Carolina is a big time, cleaning and salting down herrings is equal the fun. They had a process. First , they would let the kids cut off the heads of the herrings. After that, it was up to the adults. Several would scale the fish and gut them. There was a big huge bowl that they would flip the herring roe into and then toss the cleaned fish into a pan of salted water. The next group of ladies would wash the fish out and score the sides of the fish. Some of the fish were filet. Others were sorted with no notches or filet, just cleaned. This was proably done by size, but as a child I never thought of why they did this. Now it was time to salt the fish. My dad called it brining. If you had any open place on your hand, it would sting to high heaven. My dad would let me help in this process. He had huge large mouth jugs and even several vats that he would put the fish into. He would layer the jugs with salt , then put a layer of fish. This would go on til it was completely fulled.
Source : www.roadfood.com
This time only happened in late March and early April of each year.
Mom would always hold out some of the larger herring for frying. And I can tell you, They were some good eating. She would dust them with cornmeal and seasoning. The seasoning was her secret and to this day, I don’t know it. With a plate of boiled potatoes, cole slaw, and hush puppies, you were set for a big meal. We always saved room for the homemade chocolate pie the way my moma made it.
Those days are now gone. Nobody really knows by the herrings have declined in coming in from the Atlantic waters to spawn in the fresh waters of the coast. The experts give several reasons they think, but I’m not sure if they really know. Maybe it is all of the reasons they give.
“At one time, these coastal rivers supported thriving herring and shad industries, with millions of fish harvested each year. Populations of these fishes declined dramatically in the last century due to dam constructions, overharvesting and other factors.”
But because of the decline in the herring run to spawn in the spring, laws have been put into effect in North Carolina to limit the catch of herrings.
Source : Cypress Grill Menu
You can still purchase herring packed in salt brine. The packaging says Chowan Herring, but when you look in the fine print, they are packaged in Canada and shipped here for sale. If you want a plate of herring the way my mom cooked them, you are in luck. There is a little restaurant called the Cypress Grill in Jamesville NC.. They are only open from January to mid April each year. And it definitely worth the drive to the menu. And if you want to experience Carolina Country living and a fun time, put the NC Herring Festival on your calendar for a to do. And if you want to just enjoy a great read about the Chowan River and Herring fishing. E Frank Stephenson of Murfreesboro authored a great book on the history of fishing the Chowan.
Another little history story told by the Smithsonian Folklore Festival is found here.