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You know, some things never change.
There are always some folks sitting around thinking of stuff to confuse the rest of us.
This time of the year some of us call the season fall, ’cause leaves are beginning to fall from the trees.
Others refer to the changing season as autumn which sounds more uppity to me.
Regardless of what you call the season, I know it’s on its way. The persimmons falling are sweet and I am trying my level best to keep the possums away.
My horse, Nell, is hardly budging from beside the big persimmon tree next to the barn. She is a big fan of the orange-red plumlike fruit.
Notice I didn’t say green; it’s only the inexperienced persimmon pickers who get their mouth awash in sour on the unripe fruit. But they do make pretty good slingshot ammunition.
Well enough about ripe persimmons.
Mother Nature has several other signs to show us fall is slowly, but surely, slipping in.
I’m just thankful that mowing the grass is no longer a weekly task.
There’s a little less daylight, but there’s still plenty of good stuff on Chesterfield Avenue to do.
Boy, it sure is nice not having to drag the lawn mower out of the plunder house every Saturday morning.
Leaves on the two maple trees in our front yard are beginning to turn to a rusty yellow color. Bright red holly berries and those thorny pyracantha vines are turning red, too.
Mrs. Mame Bell, who lives beside the grammar school, has a whole row of big maples in her yard with some golden yellow and some bright red leaves. I’ll stop by to gather a handful for Mama to make into arrangements for the downstairs hallway.
The big pear trees out back are bright yellow and as the weather gets cooler, their leaves will start floating to the ground in big piles.
Even the teachers are getting into the changing season, making school a little bit of fun.
They got us bunches of construction paper, crayons and even a flit gun filled with silver paint and we’ve been busy making orange paper pumpkins and party plans. That’s a sure sign that Halloween is coming soon.
Daddy’s been telling me about the young Halloween adventures and all the pranks “we did back then.”
He’s got some pretty good ideas, but I just don’t see us putting a wagon on top of the schoolhouse or an outhouse on the courthouse lawn.
Parties are more our thing (seeing how nobody has invented Trick or Treating, yet).
The grass might not need mowing, but there’s plenty of stuff to do to get ready. The tin wash tub needs a good scrubbing before it can be filled with clean water and big red bobbing apples.
I’ve got to come up with enough good boards to build the framework for the “Go Fish” booth. That shouldn’t be too hard, though.
There’s popcorn to pop for popcorn balls and getting the scary house ready. So much to do and so much fun doing it.
Within days, there will be big bowls filled with all kinds of goodies and an outside fire to sit around to enjoy them, along with marshmallows and wieners roasted on green sticks.
I can hardy wait. Nothing beats sitting around the open fire on a cool, crisp, fall night munching on a hot marshmallows with friends. That’s sure gonna feel good.
I know Halloween is supposed to be scary, but it’s more like fun to me.
Looking back now, I still wish it was that way, just a night of old-time fun with your family and neighbors. There was no tearing up stuff and ruining car finishes and spray-painting signs and walls.
Maybe a midnight walk through a cemetery will be fine as long as I don’t stop and talk to the residents.
Come to think about it, that’s not a bad idea. Uncle Harry would probably appreciate a visit. He always enjoyed Halloween.