Procrastination, the thief of time, is one of the devil’s most potent weapons for defrauding us of eternal heritage. The habit of “putting off” is fatal to spiritual leadership. Its power resides in our natural reluctance to come to grips with important decisions. Making decisions, and acting on them, always requires moral energy. But the passing of time never makes action easier; quite the opposite. Most decisions are more difficult a day later, and you may also lose an advantage by such delay. The nettle will never be easier to grasp than now.

Oswald Sanders

CATEGORY	CUISINE	TAG	YIELD
	Indo	19th cent., Midwestern, Poem	1	Poem

INGREDIENTS

INSTRUCTIONS

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 appetizen';  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' sermons 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  overhead!-- O, it sets my hart a
c-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
cellar-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!
James Whitcomb Riley The Hoosier Poet  MM Format by John Hartman
Indianapolis, IN 26 September 1996 Posted to  MM-Recipes Digest V3 #264
Date: Thu, 26 Sep 1996 20:58:12 -0500  From: hartman@indy.net (John
Hartman)

A Message from our Provider:

“When praying, don’t give God instructions – just report for duty.”