Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PICKING APPLES IN VERMONT, by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY Poet's Biography First Line: Wake up there, boys, no time to dream Last Line: "we plumb forgot to salt the sheep." Subject(s): Apples; Farm Life; Fields; Fruit; Harvest; Vermont; Agriculture; Farmers; Pastures; Meadows; Leas | ||||||||
"WAKE up there, boys, no time to dream, Back out the cart, hitch up the team; Get all the baskets, big and small, And fetch a bag, we'll need 'em all; And get some salt, we'll salt the sheep And make what card folks call a sweep; The little ladder, fetch that, too, It knows the business bettern you; And now tie on the apple pole And then the old red wheels can roll." Behold the happy outfit start, A father, horses, boys and cart: "Yes; Jimmy, you may drive, but see You don't rip up an apple tree;" The orchard lays a league away, A farm that grows abandoned hay, But chuckablock with natural fruit And quite a lot of 'grafts to boot; A luscious land for yearling stock, Or sheep that love a three mile walk. "Drive in there, Jimmy, cramp your cart, And set it facing right to start; Get up there, Dick, and shake a tree, But don't fall onto Mike or me; Don't shake too hardabout like that Look up, not downdon't lose your hat; There comes the rain in big red drops, Jest keep 'er up until it stops; Now back down slowdon't be too fleet You haven't got no nuthatch feet." But 'fore the boys can really hit The job, they have to fool a bit; They hunt for yallerhammer holes And play a game of apple bowls, And run and race like everything To find the ancient well or spring, And practice that ballistic trick Of slinging apples off a stick: Without a house or barn in sight The boys would stay all day and night. And now all hands with right good will Fall on their knees and pick up-hill; The fruit from hand to basket hops And then inside the cart-box drops, And where the sheep paths overflow They scoop it up as ducks do dough; In two short hours the cart is full, And then begins the homeward pull: It's "Jimmy, check up Sam and Bill, We'll start a-towards the cider mill." Jest halfway home the road turns sharp, And shows the mill of Sandy Tharp; They cramp and back and cramp again And out a-come the helper men; The load gets shoveled right straight in To Sandy's thousand-bushel bin, Which done, they move with quicker pace, And getting near the homestead place, "I Snum!" says Dad, in chest tones deep, "We plumb forgot to salt the sheep." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUNTING PHEASANTS IN A CORNFIELD by ROBERT BLY THREE KINDS OF PLEASURES by ROBERT BLY QUESTION IN A FIELD by LOUISE BOGAN THE LAST MOWING by ROBERT FROST FIELD AND FOREST by RANDALL JARRELL AN EXPLANATION by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON IN FIELDS OF SUMMER by GALWAY KINNELL A VERMONT 'DONATION' by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY |
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