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Illiriois Agricultural Assodatioi 



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KECORD 





Number 10 



OCTOBER, 1929 



Volume 7 



*.- 





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. 



1 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 



WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's ia the shock. 

 And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock. 

 And the clacldn' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens. 

 And the rooster's hallyooyer 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 kind o' harty-Hke 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 appetisin'; and the landscape through the haze 



Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days 



Is a pictuf' that no painter has the colorin' to mock — 



When the froat is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. 



The husky, rusty nissel of the tossels of the corn. 

 And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the mom; 

 The stubble in the furries — kind o' lonesome-Iikc, 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 bosses in theyr stalls below — the clover overhead: — 

 O, it sets my hart a-dickin' 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 gathered, 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 wimmcn-folks is through 



With their mince and api^e butter, and theyr souse and sausage too! . 



I don't kn4fw 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 wholc-indurin' flock — 



When the frost is on the punkin and the_fodder's in the shock! 



— James Whitcomb Riley. 



