Simple Virtues

My granddaughter Daphne had her turn to stay the night last night.

She will be 5 years old next week.

Her mom starts school every day at 9:00 am,

so at 8:50 she walked out our front door.

She headed home and then excitedly ran back into our house.

"Look Nana!  There's kitty prints on the front step!!!

And the grass is crunchy!

I can see my breath!"

I got excited too!

The pumpkins on my front stoop were covered in frost,

and it reminded me of this poem from many years back.

When the Frost is on the Punkin

Related Poem Content Details

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

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!

I relate more to this poem now that I live in Idaho.

I think I first read that poem when I lived in the 

San Fransisco Bay Area

as a kiddo.

I'm glad I re-discovered it!

Think I'll dance a jig!

Have a wonderful Wednesday,

my little punkin's!!!

Eat some 'frosted' punkin' goodies today!

I know I am going to....

mmmmmmmm

Love to you all!

xoxo

~d