Hog Scald creek secured its name from the practice of soldiers in scalding the wild hogs in the kettle-like holes in the rocky creek bed. The water was diverted from its regular course into these holes, which are four or five feet deep and averaging six feet in width. The method of heating the water to the scalding point was done by dropping hot stones into the pits. The hogs were then immersed in the hot water until their hides were soaked sufficiently for the removal of the hair with a knife. When the war ended, natives of the community continued this practice and enlarged upon it. Families would drive many miles through the hills to camp at Hog Scald, butchering hogs, canning wild fruits, and enjoying a few days of social contact. And always there was church on Sunday. The young folks might play party games on the rocks Saturday night, but the fun ceased at midnight. Sunday was set aside for the good things of the soul. It has been said that the mills of the gods grind slowly, but the results of grinding are sure. The customs of these sturdy pioneers of the Ozark hills have borne fruit in a sober, righteous and contented people. Who can doubt the influence of this quaint sanctuary of nature in the lives of these hillfolks?[20] A number of tall tales have been told about Hog Scald. An old-timer told Vance Randolph that he lived near there in the early 1880’s. He said that there used to be a bramble thicket near the potholes, where the road is now. “We used to get the water good and hot,” he explained, “An’ throw the hogs in alive. They’d jump out a-squealin’, an’ run right through them bramble bushes. The thorns would take the bristles off slicker’n a whistle, so we didn’t have to scrape ’em at all.” Another tale about Hog Scald was told to me recently. It is said to have happened about the turn of the century. The lay of the land is pretty rugged in the Hog Scald neighborhood and one farmer had planted corn and pumpkins on a steep hillside above the hollow. He said he did the planting with a shotgun, shooting the seeds into the hillside. About the time the planting was completed one of the farmer’s brood sows wandered away and he didn’t see her all that summer. When it came time to harvest the crop that fall, the farmer climbed the hill, holding on to the corn stalks and pumpkin vines to keep from falling. The pumpkins were so big that it took only about a dozen to cover an acre. In pulling himself up, he accidentally tore a pumpkin loose from its bearings and it started rolling down the hill. At the foot of the hill it hit a low ledge of rock and burst open. Much to the farmer’s surprise, out jumped the lost sow and thirteen pigs.