Generations Hoppin’John

I remember as a little girl trying to stay up to bring in the New Year. Most years, all evening long, we girls—with the aprons Momma made us tied tightly around our waists—worked with Momma in the kitchen to put together a big meal for midnight. Pop and a couple of his buddies would start talking and drinking homemade wine on the porch about sunset. As the evening cooled, they migrated toward the table, where the wood heater warmed the room. Tales of people passed, and the good ol’ days gre