When The Frost Is On The Tulip

It is late spring, isn't it? I was tempted to buy my annuals this weekend, but decided to wait. This morning there is patchy frost on the ground. For some reason seeing frost triggers memories of the James Whitcomb Riley poem, "When the Frost is on the Pumpkin". I memorized a lot of poetry when I was young and can usually remember a few lines of various poems. Miniver Cheevey also comes to mind and "How do I love thee...."

In case you are poetry deficient, here is the whole poem:

(You will need a dictionary to define and pronounce some obscure words.

What's a kyouck? Hallylooyer? Guess Riley didn't have spellcheck on his PC.

When the Frost is On the Pumpkin

-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 the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
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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—
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Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms 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—
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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;
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The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;

The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—

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.