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When I saw frost on the pumpkins this fall, I thought of the following poem. If truth be known, I only knew the first line, which I kept repeating but it didn't go anywhere and so I googled to get the rest of it. I was more than pleasantly surprised at the fun reading and writing. The author, James Whitcomb Riley, must have smiled with each sentence that he penned. I can't put it away until I share it with you!
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock.
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest.
As he leaves his house bareheaded & goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here.
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, And the mumble of the hummin' birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny mornin' of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock -- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries -- kindo' lonesome-like, but still A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; The hosses in theyr stalls below -- the clover overhead!
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps Is poured around the celler floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin' 's over, & your wimmern-folks is through With their mince & apple butter, & theyr souse & saussage, too!
I don't know how to tell it, but ef sich a thing could be As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me --
I'd want to 'commodate 'em -- all the whole-indurin' flock -- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!
Maybe you've noticed I've got a new artist in the family. Sophie has now joined the drawing world of her Aunt Jenny and Cousins Addie and Gunnar. I can hardly believe that little Sophie, oldest daughter of our son Nick and his wife Jen, is of the age to color and draw and count and do all those things that preschoolers do. In this modern day, that includes playing games on the iPad and smart phone, and a myriad of other activities not available to the world only five and ten years ago. Wasn't it only yesterday that I watched Sophie learn to roll over, then crawl and climb, and then walk and run? Yes, the world is moving faster than ever. In a year or two her little sister Mia can draw for me, too, and I suspect I could end up with a whole page of drawings for Grandma Sue's Gazette. I can only be so fortunate. The other word that comes to mind is "thankful." If I tipped my cornucopia upside down, it would never empty. It would be like the water running at Niagara Falls. There's no end. You know I'm not talking about pumpkins and squash and all the other good things that come from field and stream, although they're also in my horn of plenty. I'm talking about things that you can't hold onto, at least not for very long. I look forward to putting a turkey in the oven soon and I hope my house is full for the eatin' of it, when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. |
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From the Editor |
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Dedicated to the sunshine of truth, the moonshine of meeting deadlines, and the starshine of Victoria. |
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The Victoria GAZETTE |
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November 2013 |
