Autumn

 
 

The Windshield

short url to this post: https://wp.me/p4jGvr-NG

By Dahni
© 2018, all rights reserved

Not too much is free anymore nor is there a place to feel free much anymore, except from the windshield of life.

There was a time when where I’m going, I could probably get to Hometown Columbia, MO and back Home again in Macedon, NY, for about a $20 bill. I probably could have and would have driven straight through, for about 14 hours. And did the same on the way back. It would have even taken less time, when you could drive without being pulled over at 76 mph, on most highways, where the speed limit was 70 mph.

Tolls? I would have and will avoid them.

Even if I did stop due to poor weather or I was tired, to where they leave they “light on for you”, (Motel 6 or some other), it would have only cost around $20-25 dollars. Food, 🥘 maybe a couple of bucks and coffee ☕️ 15 cents?!

Turn your radio on or play a tape, a CD, 💿 a DVD, 📀 and now, some playlist from your media device. Play what you want, when you want and as loud as you want. That was and still is, freedom in the ears, from the windshield of life!

Weather then and now (soon), could be about the same as it ever was or ever will be? Take care, know how to drive in inclement weather; how not to tailgate. Don’t be rude and stay far enough away, from unknown others. Watch your own windshields of life; not theirs.

Prepared then and now with maps, emergency kits, cash, water and warmth; something to eat and be prepared to wait, for the traffic to move again or help to arrive.

All in all, you prepare for the worst, but why else leave, unless expecting the best?!

My expectation then and now remains the same, Freedom to think 🤔 and if the music 🎼 is not on or is not too loud, actually hear my own thoughts. It’s free-time magnified, when the imagination is fired up like the vehicle’s 🚗 engine, tuned like the radio; humming and purring on all cylinders. What shapes and things in motion like the clouds, ☁️ will I imagine, coming through, the windshield of life?!

Free Peace to turn off and tune-out the daily news and the daily do’s, in the windshield of life.

Free to speak my mind! Free to be silent, quiet and still! Free to hear and to listen and to take heed of common sense, my own inspiration, or that still small voice of God, which draws near to, the windshield of my life!

Free to Resolve and Move On, into the future that’s seen in, the windshield of life, before your eyes.

Free Adventure! What new or old things in new ways will find me, in the windshield of life?!

Free Expectation! To bond with those who really matter that you are with and to bond with those who really matter that you are traveling to see. Their faces and lives seem to be, all superimposed, on the windshield of life.

Free Control! Free to the things you can control and free to change with what you cannot, in the windshield of life.

Free in the USA! 🇺🇸 There are no border guards from state to state, checking papers, no ID required to show; no purpose of your travel to declare or how long you will stay. None of these are seen nor demanded, in the windshield of life.

Free to Be! None to care, or ask, criticize or condemn me, for what I believe or don’t, in the windshield of my life!

Free to change! Free to take an exit and get off my planned trip to, whatever attracts me; calls out to me, from the windshield of my life!

Free adventure! While the destination is purposed, planned and important, the journey Is equally important and it builds the excitement after every mile in getting closer, in the windshield of life.

The costs paid then or now, cannot even begin to compare with the graces of the journey and the joys at the destination!

Free New! Free new of those things and friends I have not yet met, and free new news, of those friends and family, I have not seen in a time or a long time or a very, very long time!

Free Thanks!🙏 How apropos, with Thanksgiving coming and towards Thanksgiving I am preparing to be going, through the windshield of life. There is always something(s) and someone(s) to be thankful for!

Not much may be free anymore and not much freedom perhaps? But there’s still Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, and we are still FREE to experience these, from the Windshields of Our Lives!!!

It is about time for some Steppenwolf, “Born to Be Wild”, some John Barry, “Born Free”, and some Willy Nelson, “On the Road Again”!!!

I’ll not be posting on FB (Facebook) or Twitter until perhaps, after 11/26/2018? But Until We Meet again, I would you each and all, a Very Happy Thanksgiving!🦃 I would for you each and all, a wonderful road trip from the windshield of your life, even if it is just, from the windshield of your mind and heart!

Live FREE at—

The Windshield!!!

I leave you now with a big and hearty; warm and friendly, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans—

“Happy Trails…Til’ We Meet Again!!!”  🙂

 

From the Windshield of My Life at— The Gathering Place,

-dahni-

“Born to be Wild!”

“Born Free!”

“On the Road Again!”

“Happy Trails!”

Categories: Autumn, Entertainment, FaceBook, Fall, Family & Friends, Freedom, Holidays, Home, Homeward Bound, Inspiration, Liberty & The Pursuit of Happiness, Life, Pursuit of Happiness, Thanksgiving, The Gathering Place, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“Frost on the Punkin”

short url to this post: https://wp.me/p4jGvr-x5

by Donnie Hayden

© 2014, all rights reserved

  Punkin2I grew up in the Midwest. We lived in town and had grandparents that lived in the country. City living gave us culture and the advantages which benefit, from higher education. We had the rural roots and common sense, fresh air and produce from the farm. We had the best of both worlds. I especially loved the fall, autumn, falling leaves and colors, crisp apple cider and crisp air, ripening, harvest, plenty and well, just that whole cornucopia idea of, abundance. A familiar phrase to me as a child growing up, just set the whole season into mind and motion. Just a few words gave me the visual promotion or concept of autumn – “when the frost is on the punkin.” Yes, I do know how to spell pumpkin, but “punkin,” is how the word was first pronounced to me. I am not sure where I first heard this. Perhaps it was our mother, from her mother or father, our grandparents? Both of our Mom’s parents were from large farming families so, you might expect the word “punkin” to be proper pronunciation for the farm, country, and the south. Pumpkin would be correct, for the formally educated, the city dwellers, the landlubbers or as a friend refers to me since I am a new transplant to the “country,” a “flatlander.” Well, I think it is pretty obvious as to what “frost on the punkin” means. Pumpkins turn their bright orange color in the fall and while still not winter, the nights and days can be quite cool. Elementary science taught us that something freezes at 32°F. Frost can occur on the ground, on leaves, and yes, even pumpkins at higher temperatures from 32-say-36 or 37°F. So, “frost on the punkin,” means, it’t chilly outside. It’s time for my favorite olympic sport of, raking leaves and jumping into the piles. Not to mention pumpkin eats and drinks, OMG it’s AUTUMN!!!   🙂 I’ve used this phrase for most of my life. Recently, I used it and some people had never heard of it. So, I thought, maybe it is a Midwest or a southern expression; not known to us northerners? Yes, I included myself as a northerner, since I live here in New York, even though I was born and raised in the Midwest. Well, again with the well, well, how deep is this well? Where did this expression come from? I consulted with the oldest trivia, where-did-that-come-from expression expert, our local home-spun-poetry committed to memory aficionado and my fellow poetry-lover kindred spirit, Aunt Anne Magar (Bab’s) [pronounced: Bob’s]. She’s 91 and sharp as a tack. So I put it to her, “Aunt Bab’s,” I said, “have you ever heard the expression, “frost on the punkin?” “Oh, sure,” she said grinning confidently, “It is from a poem. You should look it up!” So I did. It was written by James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

“There is an interesting incident about how Riley’s job was once saved because he had written “When the Frost Is On the Punkin, and the Fodder’s In the Shock.”  It is in a book written by Riley’s friend John A. Howland entitled, “James Whitcomb Riley: Prose and Pictures.””

“Riley, as a young Greenfield man, had had a hard time finding a niche in the world since he did not care to follow his father in the practice of law.  He sold Bibles, painted signs, entertained in a medicine show, always coming to a dead end.  His mother died in 1870 and he felt he could not bear to stay in Greenfield so he went here and there seeking newspaper employment.  He ran into E.B. Martindale of “The Indianapolis Journal” whom he later called, “my first literary patron,” who added him to the staff of the paper to write poetry.  Some of these poems appeared on the first page of the Journal under the nom de plume “Benjamin F. Johnson of Boone,” supposedly an old farmer.  As they were well received, Riley emerged from under his disguise, writing poems such as “When the Frost is on the Punkin.””

 “In a short while after Riley joined the paper, a gentleman named Halford was appointed manager of the Journal.  One of his first ideas was to cut down on expenses of the paper, and he was considering Riley as his first victim to get the ax.  It so happened that a political convention was held in Indianapolis at this very time.  One of the candidates nominated for office was a big burly fellow who had never made a speech in his life.”

“When he got up to accept his nomination, his mind went blank and he could not utter a word.  The pounding and cheering went on until in desperation he blurted out, “The ticket you have nominated here is going to win “when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.”  This Riley poem had just been published a few days before. in the newspaper.”

“The applause that greeted these words showed that most of these prominent men had read Riley’s work and approved of it.  Halford kept him on, and he became an established poet.” 

“Riley saved his job by a landscape!”

excerpts from: http://www.jameswhitcombriley.com/frost_on_punkin_saved_job.htm

  I share the lines with you below and a wonderful oral reading by a man from a You Tube video. I believe you will understand every word below, when you hear him recite it; understand why his father wanted him to share it with strangers each year and you, will understand, “frost on the punkin,” as I now do! Thank You Aunt Bab’s!   🙂   Donnie          

Punkin1

“When the Frost is on the Punkin”

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

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! 

If you like to read another poem I wrote for spring, see: “When the SugarN’s in the Maples”

Categories: Autumn, Fall, Inspiration, Poetry, Seasons, The Gathering Place, YouTube | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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