Before the Cold Sets In: How Southern Missouri Got Ready for Winter the Old-Fashioned Way.

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Dressed in their finest, they gather on the porch, faces lifted to the afternoon sun. Perhaps their thoughts drift to the changing season—crisp air on the horizon, shorter days, and the work and wonder that autumn and winter will bring. In that quiet moment, tradition, family, and the rhythm of the year all seem to pause together.

Summer in Southern Missouri is easy... well sorta. The sun stays late, the days stretch long, and time feels slower somehow. Gardens grow fast, kids run barefoot, and food seems to fall into your lap if you know how to gather it. Folks might call it laid-back — and they'd be right.

Southern Missouri is fortunate to host four seasons, and now that fall is upon us — with cooler mornings, woodsmoke on the breeze, and the sycamores trading green for gold — it seems a fine time to look back on how preparing for this season was done in younger years. Not just a nod to nostalgia, but a window into a way of life that made autumn one of the hardest-working times of the year. For the old-timers in Southern Missouri, especially around the turn of the 20th century, fall wasn’t a gentle winding down — it was a gearing up. A season for getting everything in order before winter wrapped the Ozarks in ice and snow.

Because in Southern Missouri, winter can be as rough as it is unpredictable. It could hit early, hard, and fast — or sneak in quietly, then hang around too long. Either way, folks who lived here a hundred years ago didn’t wait to see. They got ready before the snow started falling!

(Courtesy: Shiloh Museum)

As the air turns crisp and the days grow shorter, these ladies work side by side, loading hay onto the wagon—preparing the farm and themselves for the season ahead.

Putting Up the Garden: Canning and Cellaring

Admist the hint of an indian summer in September, the kitchen was often the busiest room on the farm. With the last tomatoes ripening and the apple trees hanging heavy, it was time to preserve every bit of food that could be coaxed from the garden. Canning was done over woodstoves or outdoor fires, and Southern Missouri kitchens were thick with the smell of vinegar, sugar, and spices.

Canning was essential — but not without its risks. This was long before pressure canners were widely available or affordable for most farm families. Many relied on open-kettle methods or boiling water baths. Without modern gauges and temperature control, canning low-acid foods like green beans, corn, or meats could be dangerous. The threat of spoilage — or worse, botulism — loomed over every poorly sealed jar. That’s why vinegar was so heavily used — pickles and relishes were safer bets than canned meats or low-acid vegetables.

Still, the work went on. Women — and their daughters right alongside them — worked tirelessly boiling jars, peeling peaches, shelling peas, and sealing row after row of Mason jars. Peaches, pears, tomatoes, corn, beans, pickles, and jams lined the pantry shelves like soldiers standing ready.

The root cellar, dug deep into the hillside or built into the cool side of the house, was stocked with potatoes, turnips, rutabagas, onions, and apples — layered in straw, sand, or sawdust to help them last. Apples were kept separate, so their ripening gases wouldn’t hasten spoilage in other produce. Onions were strung and hung from the rafters. The cellar was checked regularly — because one bad potato could ruin a whole barrel.

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In kitchens like this one, the work of preparing the harvest was often a shared effort. Potatoes, a staple of the season, were peeled and sliced by hand, a simple task that could take hours—yet offered a quiet chance for conversation, laughter, and connection amid the labor.

(Courtesy: Shelf Reliance)

Root cellars like this kept food cool and safe long before refrigeration. Each jar tells a story of the season’s harvest—tomatoes, beans, and preserves carefully sealed to nourish families through the winter months, a testament to patience, planning, and the rhythms of rural life.

Time to Butcher: When the Weather Turned Cold

The first real frost — often mid-to-late October — signaled butchering time. Most families kept a few hogs through the summer, fattening them on kitchen scraps, acorns, and corn. By fall, the animals were ready, and once the weather was cold enough to keep meat from spoiling, the butchering began.

This wasn’t a one-person job — and in truth, it wasn’t meant to be. In many rural parts of Southern Missouri, butchering was a shared, community event. Neighbors helped one another, moving from farm to farm, sometimes over the course of a week or more, working together to ensure everyone had meat for the winter. Men handled the slaughter and heavy lifting, women rendered lard, salted meat, and packed sausage, and children helped clean, carry, and learn the ropes. It was hard work, but it brought people together — with storytelling, laughter, and hot coffee keeping spirits high.

Nothing was wasted — not a single part of the animal. Hens that didn’t lay like they used to were culled and became stew birds — their meat tough but flavorful after long, slow cooking. Fat from hogs was rendered into lard for baking, frying, and soap-making. Bones were cracked for marrow or boiled for stock. Organs were cooked fresh — liver, kidneys, heart. Even intestines were cleaned and used for sausage casings. Pig bladders were sometimes dried and used to store grease or even as primitive toy balloons for children. Hooves and heads were used in head cheese or broth. Hides might be salted and saved for tanning or traded at the local store.

Salt pork — fatback packed in coarse salt — was a staple that could last all winter in barrels. Salt was a crucial resource, often bought in 50-pound sacks or blocks, especially for preserving meat before refrigeration. Hams and bacon slabs were cured, then smoked in small backyard smokehouses using hickory or applewood — flavoring the meat and helping it keep through the cold months.

It was gritty, backbreaking work. But when it was done — and the last kettle of lard had cooled, the sausage hung, and the yard cleaned — there was pride. And often, there was a shared meal: fresh meat fried up and served with hot biscuits and sorghum molasses, eaten elbow-to-elbow around a worn table. It wasn’t just a day of labor — it was a tradition of self-reliance, community, and the kind of cooperation that made survival possible. 

(Courtesy: Blind Pig & The Apron)

Passing down the traditions of fall, she guides the next generation through the work of butchering—preparing the meat that will sustain the family through the cold months ahead.

Culling and Caring for the Livestock

With the beautiful leaves of Fall also meant making hard choices. Hay wasn’t free, and neither was grain, so not every animal made it into winter. Chickens that had gone off the lay were culled. The barnyard might be a little quieter by November, but what remained would be better fed.

Farmers inspected their herds closely. A milk cow that had dropped off in production, or an aging mule, might be sold off, traded, or butchered. Horses and oxen were brushed down, their shoes checked and replaced as needed. Leather harnesses were oiled with neatsfoot oil or tallow to keep them pliable through cold weather.

Hay was stacked to the rafters in the loft, feed bins filled with corn or oats, and corn shelled for both animal feed and the family’s own use — often taken to the local gristmill before winter roads made travel tough.

Water sources were winterized too. Wells were covered with boards and straw to prevent freezing. Rain barrels were emptied and turned over. Chickens had fresh straw, coops were patched for drafts, and everyone — animal and human alike — settled into the rhythm of shorter days and colder nights.

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With careful hands and practiced skill, neighbors help ready hogs for a farmer's storage, a vital ritual of autumn ensuring the pantry and freezer will be full throughout the long winter.

Storing the Seasons: Food Preservation Before Refrigeration

Back in the early 1900s, getting ready for fall and winter meant more than just chopping firewood—it was all about food storage, and two staples of that prep were the ice house and the root cellar. Ice houses were all about keeping things cold. People would haul massive blocks of ice from frozen lakes in the winter, pack them tight with sawdust, and store them in thick-walled sheds or underground pits to keep meat, milk, and other perishables from spoiling well into the warmer months. But root cellars? They served a different purpose. Built into hillsides or dug deep into the ground, root cellars took advantage of the earth’s natural cool, steady temperature—not to freeze things, but to keep them from freezing. They were perfect for storing hardy crops like potatoes, carrots, onions, and apples, helping stretch the harvest through the long winter. Together, the ice house and root cellar were a kind of early refrigeration tag team, each playing a key role in making sure families stayed fed, even when the snow piled high and the nearest store was miles away.

(Courtesy: Shiloh Museum)

On a crisp winter day, families and farmhands cut blocks of ice from the frozen pond, stacking them carefully for storage. Ice houses—insulated with sawdust or straw—kept the harvest cool and the summer’s milk and meat fresh well into the warmer months. Some ice houses were so well-built that ice could last into late summer, long after the pond had thawed.

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Rows of pumpkins, squash, and jars of preserves filled the cool, dark shelves of the cellar, where temperatures stayed near 50°F year-round. These underground pantries were vital to survival, keeping the harvest fresh through scorching summers and bitter winters, and providing a reliable source of nourishment when the fields lay dormant.

The Woodshed and the Hearth

(Courtesy: Shiloh Museum)

Chopping wood was more than labor—it was preparation for survival. Each swing of the axe brought warmth for the long winter months ahead, a ritual passed down through generations.

There’s an old saying in the Ozarks: “Wood warms you three times — when you cut it, when you stack it, and when you burn it.” Anyone who’s ever split a cord by hand knows the truth of it."

The woodshed, a fixture on every homestead, had to be packed full by the first frost. Oak and hickory were prized for heat; softer woods like sycamore or cottonwood were burned in milder weather. Some folks even stacked pine for kindling, though its sap made for crackly fires and smoky chimneys.

Axes were sharpened and oiled, saws filed, handles inspected for splinters or cracks. The whole family took part: boys hauled wood, girls stacked kindling, men felled trees, and women kept the fire going in the kitchen stove.

Inside, chimneys were swept, stovepipes checked, and ashes removed. Quilts were aired, thick curtains or oilcloth hung to block drafts, and some folks even “banked” their houses with straw or sod to insulate the lower walls. Lighting was prepared, too — lanterns cleaned and chimneys wiped, candles dipped or bought from the store in bulk, and kerosene jugs set safely aside.

(Courtesy: City of Woodstock)

After a day’s work, the warm radiate of the wood stove offered comfort and conversation. These stoves were the heart of the home, providing heat, light, and a place for families and friends to gather through the coldest nights.

The General Store: Gearing Up for the Season

While farm families were canning, cutting, and stacking, the local general store was just as busy — though in a different way. Storekeepers across southern Missouri knew their customers well, and come early fall, they placed their biggest orders of the year.

Barrels of molasses, sacks of sugar, salt, coffee, and flour arrived by freight wagon or rail. Bolts of flannel, wool socks, long underwear, and lantern wicks were stocked up, knowing full well that once the snow hit, customers might not be back until spring.

(Courtesy: Lou Wehmer)

At the turn of the century, general stores were essential lifelines for rural families. Here, a gentleman browses shelves stocked with staples—flour, sugar, coffee, kerosene, and dried beans—carefully selecting what he would need to see his household through the long winter months. Every trip was a mix of practicality and planning, ensuring the family had enough to eat, cook, and stay warm until spring.

Some stores carried tinned goods for those who couldn’t can their own — peaches, milk, even oysters for the holidays. Others stocked up on hunting supplies, extra ammunition, or replacement cast-iron cookware.

Farmers came in with lists from their wives — spices, thread, lamp oil, cinnamon, needles, and maybe a new pair of gloves or a length of fabric for a child’s Christmas dress. Kids eyed the penny candy jars, but most knew better than to ask. Fall money was spoken for.

And always, there was a corner of the store for conversation — men swapping news, checking the weather, or talking about how much wood they had stacked so far.

(Courtesy: Library of Congress)

Families often relied on general stores not just for immediate purchases, but for special orders sent by mail or wagon. Items like bolts of cloth, tinware, or hardware could take weeks—or even months—to arrive, requiring careful foresight and patience. Life revolved around planning ahead, and a trip to the store was as much about securing the future as it was about the present.

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Removing his hat, he surveys the fields one last time before winter, taking stock of the harvest and the work ahead. Each furrow and fence tells a story of the season, a reminder that preparation now will carry him through the cold months to come.

What the Old Timers Used to Say About the Seasons

As the seasons change, so do the rhythms of life on the farm, especially here in Southern Missouri. The wisdom of old-timers who worked this land before us is woven into every harvest, every chill in the air, and every golden leaf that falls. We thought it would be interesting to share some of their sayings—weather lore and farm wisdom passed down through generations that capture the spirit of preparing for fall and understanding the land:

"Make hay while the sun shines."

Meaning get your hay up before the rains hit. Fall days shouldn’t be wasted.

“When oak leaves are the size of a squirrel’s ear...”

An old gardening/farming sign: when certain natural indicators happen, it’s a cue for other tasks. 

“If you’re late with one chore, you’ll be late in a lot more.”

Fall is when many “chores” cascade: harvest, storing, fixing equipment/fences etc. Putting one off often delays many others. 

“Your fences need to be horse-high and pig-tight.”

Before winter sets in, fences must be sturdy so livestock don’t escape or suffer losses. 

“Above all else, farming is a life of hope.”

As harvest time arrives and the growing season ends, there’s always hope for good yields, survival through winter, and planning for the next year.

"If it has an udder or a motor, it is just a matter of time before it breaks your heart.”

This acknowledges that equipment or animals often fail—especially important to remember going into the harsher, maintenance‐heavy fall/winter season. 

“The only day on a dairy farm that goes exactly as you planned it, is the day after your funeral.”

Suggests that in farm life, things rarely go perfectly—be ready for surprises, delays, breakdowns, especially as fall work piles up (harvest, repair, etc.).

"If the first week in August is unusually warm, the winter will be white and long.”

This piece of weather folklore suggests that early heat in August may signal a harsh winter ahead. 

“Spiderwebs floating at autumn sunset, bring frost that night.”

An old saying indicating that when spider webs are seen drifting in the autumn evening air, frost is likely to follow. 

“Thunder hastens the milk turning sour.”

A traditional belief that thunderstorms can cause milk to sour more quickly, prompting farmers to churn butter sooner.

"Old-timers in the upland South believe that frost will not occur after the dogwoods bloom.”

A regional saying suggesting that the blooming of dogwood trees marks the end of frost season. 

"If meadows are green at Christmas, at Easter they will be covered with frost.”

A piece of weather lore indicating that a green Christmas may lead to a frosty Easter.

“If cows go in, rain will be short lasting. If they stay out, it’s going to rain a while.”

A saying that uses livestock behavior to predict rainfall duration.

"You can always tell it’s going to rain if the leaves turn under and the flies bite.”

An observation linking animal behavior and plant changes to impending rain. 

(Courtesy: Buller Life)

From toddler to older sibling, the children pitch in to feed the pigs, with their faithful dog keeping watch. These small hands and eager hearts learned early that caring for the animals was part of daily life, and that every chore was shared with family—and furry friends.

(Courtesy: Missouri Ruralist)

Harnessing the strength of his mules, he tills the fields, turning the soil for the season’s planting. Long before tractors, this was the rhythm of farm life—steady, laborious, and in tune with both the land and the animals that made it productive.

Tools, Textiles, and Other Fall Chores

Fall wasn’t just about food and fuel. Every tool on the place was cleaned, oiled, and put up — hoes, rakes, saws, harnesses, and wagon wheels. Metal tools were greased to keep rust at bay. Farm wives and daughters spent cool evenings mending clothing, darning socks, and patching quilts.

Some households made their own soap from lard and lye — a hot, caustic process that had to be done outdoors. Others spun or carded wool, or worked on homemade gifts that would be ready for Christmas — toys, scarves, or sewn dolls.

Even the outhouse got a bit of attention. A clean pit, a bucket of lime, or a restock of old newspaper could make a world of difference when the wind was howling.

(Courtesy: Getty Images)

The general store was the heartbeat of the community, where families stocked up on essentials and shared news. Even the youngest shoppers, like this girl with her loyal dog, had a place in the bustle—learning the rhythms of daily life and the importance of preparation for the months ahead.

When the Work Was Done.

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After a long day, he relaxes by the warmth of the fire, his faithful dog close at hand. In quiet moments like these, the bond between man and companion offered comfort and companionship through the long evenings of autumn and winter.