Mom’s Christmas Candy ~ by Jacquolyn McMurray

The leftover Thanksgiving turkey and green bean casserole had barely chilled in the refrigerator when Mom started to orchestrate our Christmas activities. There were catalogs to peruse, boxes of decorations to be dug out of the bowels of the closet under the staircase, cards to be sent, and Christmas sweets to be made, including Mom’s Black Walnut Divinity.

Our preparations to make divinity started long before we donned our Halloween costumes. In central Iowa, black walnuts were abundant, and although we didn’t have a walnut tree in our yard, we were invited to gather the fallen fruit from the neighbor’s yard, late in September, after the solid green husks took on a yellowish hue. We sisters filled brown paper grocery bags to the brim and carried our bounty home where we removed the husks with a hammer out on the cold concrete sidewalk, the dark brown juice from the husks staining our hands.

Later, in the warmth of the kitchen, we older siblings sat with Mom at the kitchen table and cracked open the thick shells by pounding the nuts with a hammer, the sharp remnants flying in all directions and found long afterward under the refrigerator, on the counter top hidden behind the canister set, or in a shoe left by the back door.

Each cup of nuts probably took twenty hours from harvest to candy ready, but it was worth every minute to spend time in the kitchen with Mom. She taught my sisters and I how to coax the exotic black walnut meat from its secure position in the shell. We nibbled the earthy tasting nut meats as we worked and laughed when we flipped a chunk of walnut into the air. What remained of the morsels was packed away in the freezer in covered containers until the Christmas season grew near and the time was right to fold the tasty bits into the creamy confection. 

Figuring out the best time to make candy is a science Mom had mastered. She relied heavily on the accuracy of the TV weatherman’s report and his prediction of humidity levels. It didn’t matter if she was tired. When the humidity was low, we knew it was candy making time. The magic of Christmas had begun!

“We’ll make divinity first,” Mom announced, and we girls would get out her coveted 1932 Candy Cookbook from her alma mater, Des Moines East High School, and set all the needed ingredients on the kitchen table. 

We measured sugar, water and Karo syrup into a heavy bottomed saucepan and set it on the burner to cook. Mom showed us how to separate eggs into yolks and whites, and one of us would start the hand mixer to beat the egg whites, while another one of us was stationed at the stove to stir the liquid. The sweet-smelling syrup was cooked over medium heat “until it spun a thread” and the egg whites beaten “until stiff enough to stand in peaks.” 

 

The next step was the most magical. Mom would slowly pour the hot syrup into the egg whites while one of us operated the hand mixer; the tension in the air tangible as we held our breath that no moisture had snuck into our kitchen to thwart our efforts. The mixer was turned off the moment the two components were combined. Mom gently folded the black walnuts into the mixture, then spooned dollops of the confection onto waxed paper before we all stood back and admired our accomplishment. 

 

Black Walnut Divinity was not the only candy we made in Mom’s kitchen. There were two other flavors of divinity—peppermint was always tinted green and coconut always tinted pink—in addition to Peanut Butter Fudge, Penuche Brown Sugar Fudge, and Old-Fashioned Chocolate Fudge. We squirreled away covered containers into the freezer where the treats were stored until it was closer to Christmas. About two weeks before the holiday, plates of mixed candy were served as exceptional after-dinner treats.

Mom controlled the candy boxes. I’m pretty sure she knew if any pieces of candy were unaccounted for, and it was understood by the whole family that no one touched those candy containers without Mom’s permission.

As Christmas grew near, the homemade candy was packed into waxed paper lined greeting card boxes to give as gifts to the garbage hauler, the mailman, and the paperboy. Large trays of the multicolored candy were shared when we gathered with our relatives, and at the height of the winter break from school, it seemed the abundance would never end. 

Unfortunately, the candy supply was indeed limited, and by New Year’s Eve most of the delicacies had been consumed. 

We were left with our memories of candy making until the next fall when we would willingly stain our hands with the rich juices of black walnut husks and the promise of spending time in the kitchen with our mom.