Fall has always been my favorite season because it is a gradual delineator between the hot hustle and bustle of summer to the laid back enjoyable and cooler fall. I always think of fall as nice warm days and cool, good sleeping nights. The only thing is that is how it was back in the Blue Ridge Mountains, but taint so here in Wyoming.

People cower, shy and just plain shiver when I tell them, “Shucks around here a blizzard on Memorial day and Labor Day are not out of the ordinary. That is just the nature of the country and that is why we have the romping stomping density of 7.5, yes seven and one half people per square mile in this state.

Late summer and fall always meant apples getting ripe, making cider, chinquapins, black walnuts and fields of ripe watermelons that are there just for us to steal. Of course it meant the start of school with the new shoes, clothes and new winter coat. And oh lord the heck we got to not get stains on our new clothes, rip them or stuff like that because they were new and we would not get anymore until next year. Well that is not exactly a truth since there were hand me downs and some of the boys I knew did not know what new clothes were, but they did get new shoes for most folks did not hand them down, but during the winter they went a looking for a dry pair.

Another banner for fall was at football games the ladies all wore great big fall corsages. Heck the only flower I can remember by name are mums. But after I became nearly a teen I found that good hard cider was great. Heck one Sunday Walker Burdette and I were tossing a football and trying to drop kick field goals when we needed a break and I gave Walker two big peanut butter mugs of hard cider. Well he got tipsy and went home. I should have told you that Walker was the only son of the Reverend and Mrs. Burdette, the local Presbyterian preacher. Oh lord, his momma done went ballistic!

Back in those days corn was cut, shocked and then in the winter the men would go out and shuck it, throwing the ripe ears in the back of the wagon. Then they would either take it to the grist mill to get the grain off the cobs or they had one of those hand crank jobs that did it for them. A real mechanical genius because otherwise they had to shell it by hand with their fingers. As a boy too young for school I loved to go where they were shucking corn and listen to the men talk. Stories and tales of their younger years, their childhood and their adventures while in service for in that part of the country every man served during times of war. It was and still is an unwritten tradition, you serve your country.

Used to catch holy whatfor because, we would pick up black walnuts and let them dry, then remove the hull and sit for hours cracking and eating them. There were plenty of black walnut trees around even if you did not have one at your house. Go home for supper and of course that black would not wash off, it stained your hands. Scrub brush and homemade lye soap. Wonder why we never thought to wear gloves?

Pumpkins seemed to abound, there were a few vines in every garden so there was never a shortage of pumpkins, all we ever called them were ‘punkins’. Of course punkins meant Halloween and a Jack O’lantern which we always carved and put them on the front porch with a candle inside. Lots of folks used scare crows and I thought it so cool that some folks would dress the old scarecrow to be with the punkins and straw Santas and such.

Oops, got carried away, better stop, this was not meant as an epistle, but shucks, you know old rapid fingers me??

© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)