Fall Colors in New Jersey 2020
The fall colors in New Jersey brightened my spirits in a plethora of ways this year.
2020 has been a heavy year on so many different fronts. Our new normal doesn’t feel normal. There’s excess noise coming at us from every direction. Even a simple outing requires a complex set of risk/reward calculations. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve got out of my car to walk into a store only to turn around because I forgot my mask.
It’s exhausting.
Oh, and it isn’t over yet.
That’s why my daily walks, especially when I can soak in the fall colors in New Jersey, have been my sanity saver.
There’s something restorative about being surrounded by nature. It doesn’t hurt that my daily walk is all uphill on the way back, so getting my heart pumping makes me appreciate my health. Plus, I can’t help but smile when I see the leaves putting on a fabulous color show!
The other thing that made me smile recently was a poem titled “When the Frost is on the Punkin” by James Whitcomb Riley.
Riley was born in Indiana in 1849. His imitation of rural Indiana dialects earned him the nickname the “Hoosier Poet” and he was known for his humor and insights into rural life.
I hope you get a kick out of this poem as much as I did.
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.
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.
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!
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
I hope the fall colors in your part of the world were just as vibrant and soul-boosting as the fall colors in New Jersey this year.
Happy Autumn, friends!
P.S. If you enjoy poetry like I do, but are also easily distracted like I am, then check out the Poetry Foundation website. It’s a great place to enjoy poetry in small doses.
Thank you, again, for sharing part of your day with me. I love having you here. If you’d like another blog post to read, I have about 1,000, but you can start with these!
