76 THE CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
farmer proudly saying of his venture in wheat, ' ' There 
never was no better-headed wheat on earth, what 
there was of it — but there wa'n't none." And these 
fortunate people are as cheerful under failure as 
they are hopeful of success in impossible conditions. 
"What you doin' up there, Dicky?" your driver 
calls out one day derisively to a man gathering an 
almost invisible crop from a hillside. "Nigh about 
nothin'," Dicky cheerfully responds. 
Autumn is not wholly devoid of fruits, though 
about Traumfest summer claims the greater share 
of those that elsewhere belong to the later season; 
maypops linger on, and when their time is past there 
comes the triumphant harvest of the autumn, which 
harvest also belongs to winter. Persimmons are 
ripe ! — a crop that never fails. When the autumn 
woods are in their glory, the persimmon tree is cov- 
ered with a glory of its own, every twig being loaded 
with little flattened globes, salmon pink in color and 
covered with a bloom that in the shadows is deep 
blue. But be careful of these tricksy fruits, for pretty 
as they are, they may not yet be perfectly ripe, and 
until they are, nobody — not even the most longing 
negro — shakes a tree, for the pucker of a green per- 
simmon is such as to set even the teeth of memory on 
edge. When ripe they begin to fall, and when you 
find a treeful of good ones, for there is great choice in 
persimmons, you will know why the negro loves 
them so. 
Inseparably connected with the persimmon in 
one's mind is the 'possum. For the 'possum loves 
