A Sentiment

God knew what He was doing when He sent a gentle breeze and brought a lovely butterfly to set my heart at ease. The happiness of your friendship and the gentleness of your words have touched my life in special ways and now I feel assured. Thank you for your loyalty and for reading everyday. I only hope you find things to make a happy day.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

When the Frost is On the Punkin



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 the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and 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 blossoms 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 morning 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 cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such 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.

By James Whitcomb Riley

This was a favorite poem of my Dad's. I can remember sitting in the big chair with him while he read to me. Many times it would be old "folksy" poetry like this one. He would read things that pertained to the seasons. At the time, I didn't realize that he was doing this...I thought he just picked up a book and read a page or two. I think that he related to poets like Riley, because he wrote poems himself. Simple poems that he wrote for family... about our lives. Some of them were about things that went on each day...a trip to the laundromat, a squirrel in the tree outside the kitchen, WW II memories, and so many others. He was such a quiet man, until in his old age when he went to work at a grocery store. He worked part time for Gromer's in Elgin. Mr Gromer hired retirees to bag groceries. This brought my Dad out of his shell when he had to talk to customers. He would come home and tell my Mom all the news. He loved working there and was really sad when he had to quit. So here it is fall again, and I saw some frost on my pumpkin the other day. It brought back these wonderful memories.

Balisha



3 comments:

One Woman's Journey said...

Thank you for sharing. It is a rainy (thank you Lord) and windy day in the country.

Gail said...

What a wonderful story~I loved it. gail

Sue said...

Isn't it amazing how simple things can trigger memories? What an amazing and emotional story about your dad and his love of reading and poetry. xo Sue