When The Frost Is On The Punkin'

I am taking a cue from Meadowlark and Robin today. I'd like to share a poem that I think is so much fun to read out loud. Sometimes poetry can be high and lofty or melancholy and sad. I suppose poetry is meant to touch on certain emotions according to what the writer wants to convey. This piece speaks of all things country and of the satisfaction that comes with living the country way. It reminds me of how alot of my blogger friends live their lives with or without a farm per se. Lacey of Razor Family Farms comes to mind as well as Meadowlark of Just Wandering Through and Robin from The Blog at Stokesbury. There is Carolyn from the Barber Bunch who always has good ideas on saving money and stretching a dollar. Mac from Texas Machinist is sure to enjoy it as well. My sister Darla, also knows how to live simply and the essence of this poem relates to her as well.

Be sure to read it out loud y'all! It may take a couple of times to get the flow going but once you do... it's so much fun... really it is! I read it to Jeff last night, I'm not sure he enjoyed it as much as I did but at least it brought a bit of happiness to my soul anyway.

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'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 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 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 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 over-head! --

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, and your wimmern-folks is through

With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and 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!

James Whitcomb Riley