Happy Halloween!

photo: Greg Worden

Factoid from Care2: DID YOU KNOW?
Jack-o-lanterns trace back to an old Irish tale about a man named Stingy Jack. Unable to enter Heaven because of his stingy ways and turned away by the Devil, Stingy Jack wandered the world, searching for a resting place. To light his way, Stingy Jack used a burning coal in a hollowed out turnip -- hence the name "jack-o-lantern." The first jack-o-lanterns, in fact, were carved out of turnips.

Being as we have neither pumpkins nor turnips here (and I do miss roasting the seeds of pumpkins, one of my favorite side bennies of Halloween), we have to make do with our imaginations. So as goblins and ghosts and Bernie Madoff's traipse through the night tricking and treating, light a candle in your jack-o-lantern and toss a thought down here where there is no "frost on the punkin" or anywhere else. I guess we'll just have to live with that...





Tonight Mamacita's will host their annual Halloween party, but I have no doubt there will be tricksters a plenty roaming the pueblo from the plaza to the bridge and all spots in between. Have a safe and fun Halloween. I plan to!

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WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN

by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

HEN 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!