Frost on the Pumpkin

Frost on the pumpkin

When the frost is on the pumpkin

and the garden’s done again,

When the birds are flying southward

and you hear their daily din,

The temp is moving downward

so you find your hat again;

Then’s the time to close your windows.

Then’s the time when sleep begins.

When the frost is on the pumpkin

and the dew is on the lawn

In their cozy home or den.

the critters have nestled down

and the squirrel has dug the holes

to put his treasure of buried nuts.

Then’s the time for harvest gathered.

Then’s the time when sleep begins.

By Annette Gagliardi

Country Bumpkin by Cal Smith

He walked into the bar and parked his lanky frame upon a tall barstool
And with a long soft southern drawl he said “I just have a glass of anything that’s cool”
A barroom girl with hard and knowing eyes, slowy looked him up and down
And she thought I wonder how on earth that country bumpkin found his way to town
She said “Hello, country bumpkin, how’s the frost put on the pumpkin?”
“I’ve seen some sights, but man you’re something”
“Where’d you come from country bumpkin?”

It was just a short year later in a bed of joy filled tears yet death locked pain
And to this wondrous world many wonders, one more wonder came
That same woman’s face was wrapped up in a raptured look of love and tenderness
As she marveled at the soft and warm and cuddly boy child feeding at her breast
And she said “Hello country bumpkin. Fresh as frost out on the pumpkin.”
I’ve seen some sights but babe your something
Momma loves her country bumpkin”

Forty years of hard work later in a simple quiet and peaceful country place
The heavy hand of time had not erased the raptured wonder from the woman’s face
She was lying on her deathbed knowing fully well, her race was nearly run
But she softly smiled and looked into the sad eyes of her husband and her son
She said “So long country bumpkin, the frost is gone now from the pumpkin
I’ve seen some sights and life’s been something
See ya later country bumpkin.”

She said “So long country bumpkin, the frost is gone now from the pumpkin
I’ve seen the sights and life’s been something “
Fades out…

That has always been one of my favorite songs because of the “frost on the pumpkin” line. It was a best seller, so some other folks liked it too. The meeting, the new baby and the departing are three parts of life we will all experience. If it isn’t our own baby, it will be someone close to us. The line “I’ve seen some sights and life’s been something.” Gives us just the right amount of provocation for thought. How has our own life been something? How has even the times that were not stellar been something?  Winter gives us the time to reflect, doesn’t it?

Times of recollection often lend themselves to interior reflection.  Where have I been, where am I going? Are my days generally fully embraced or squandered?  Do complexities stifle the joy of the journey?  Our lives are likewise worthy of periodic review.  Do I stay true to my goals and mission?  Has its simplicity become unduly knotty?   

The song makes me feel nostalgic, and perhaps that is the point of autumn as well. We feel nostalgic for the warm summer months as we ‘gear up’ for the colder, crisper months. It is a change of rhythm. October is over, yet this is the time of year for pumpkins—and for frost. The turn of the season creates this space to regroup. Now is the time that we gather the garden produce, we fall clean the lawn – raking and such. My husband is busy cutting back the raspberries, and just brought in the final branch with some last raspberries—frozen, dried and iffy. Frost changes things in little and in bigger ways.

Because it was 31 degrees and windy, I didn’t want to walk. But I bundled up and took a two-mile walk with my daughter and grand son yesterday. We didn’t go until after supper, so it was dark by the time we arrived home. I mentioned how I’m more nervous about walking in the dark on leaf slippery side-walks, but don’t mind the clear, dry sidewalks. The city streetlights gave us some amount of help, but not enough. Clearly, I will need to make adjustments to my walking schedule and to ‘buck-up’ in order to get out earlier in the day. Still, on our walk, especially with the seven-year-old lopping alongside, noticing everything and kicking balls of clumped snow around, the walk helped me say “I’ve seen some sights and the walk’s been something.”

It’s important to keep getting outside (someone told me that), even in the cooler months. For some of us, it will be a challenge when the temperature plummets, but we can then say “I’ve seen the sights” and we’ll be glad to get back inside for the ‘something’.

Here’s another look at autumn:

James Whitcomb Riley’s poem gives us a glowing account of the time of year and gives us a rural vernacular to enjoy. I love the different spellings and the contractions he makes. The scene is romanticized look at farm life, we all want to enjoy the morning with him.

“When the Frost is on the Punkin“

                        written 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! ... 

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!

 His wording is rural vernacular and you can see that the spelling is pre-twentieth century, but pretty easy to understand. The romantic verses tell little of how very much work went into farming and perhaps that is why folks waited to hunker down in winter. It was a time to mend and fix, to sit and dream, to eat the produce stored and put up for this very time—winter.

These days, we city dwellers can just get in a car and drive to a store, or make a phone call and order some food delivered. But, the days of growing your own foods were comforting. I remember my mother’s cellar shelves filled with canned (in jars) tomatoes, peaches, pears, applesauce, jellies, corn sometimes. They had a freezer full of meat from Dad’s deer hunting and the quarter pig and cow they had bought. We knew we were ready for ‘old man winter’.

I don’t think modern living make us feel so self-satisfied with our harvest. Those of us who garden and freeze or can foods can feel that self-satisfaction. Yet we still rely on the area grocery stores for most of our winter supplies. I think winter is still a time for slowing down and gathering in. It is a time for reflection. What sights will you see that you think are ‘something’?

Resource/wording

Punkin   – pumpkin

guineys – a type of fowl; guiney hens

hallylooyer – rooster’s call

Wimmern  – women

Kyouck – part of what the turkey says

fodder’s in the shock  = Fodder is animal feed and shock, in this case, is a group of sheaves of grain.  The group, made up of twelve sheaves of grain, are tied and stacked so that they support each other.