​We all came from somewhere else. Even Native Alabamians—the Cherokees, Chickasaws, Choctaws, Alabamas (“clearers of the thicket”), and Creeks—emigrated from some pre-Columbian home to settle here. And there wasn’t much here to eat—at least not of the health food variety. Sure, the woods and streams teemed with deer, mussels, and fishes. But fruits and veggies were scarce. Blackberries, persimmons, hickory nuts, and an assortment of tiny grains (like the most unpleasant-sounding sumpweed) were all that natives could muster from those thickets. So they planted corn, squashes, pumpkins, and several types of beans, all of which originated in Mexico. Later, enslaved Africans smuggled black-eyed peas, okra, and sweet potatoes from their own continent, thus rounding out the Alabama smorgasbord.

A person encountering Ida Mathis in Birmingham in the early 1900s would not have guessed that she would soon be labeled the savior of the Alabama economy. A matronly figure with a kind face, she did not resemble the “economic Moses of the South” or “Joan of Arc of agriculture,” though contemporary periodicals called her both. Today, her alliance with bankers and businessmen appears to have little in common with the usual approach of Progressive Era women, who drew upon their author
ity as mothers when pressing for social reforms. In both cases observers would be fooled. Although Mathis took an unusual approach in presenting herself as a practical farmer and businesswoman, she adopted a distinctly feminine strategy in striving for a sense of family among all community members. When the cotton market’s collapse threw the state into economic depression in 1914, she worked to convince businessmen, farmers, and urban consumers that they had a direct stake in one another’s success. Her sincerity, speaking skills, and sound financial advice drew national attention and laid the groundwork for the state’s increased food production during World War I.