This is the poem Davy is memorizing right now, and might recite at the homeschool declamation day later this month. I'll post Laura's and Daniel's selections on other Fridays.
The kids and I dug up our potatoes, all 100+ hills, on Wednesday; white ones, red ones, and a special pink-skinned Ukrainian variety for which my mother-in-law had seed potatoes. Earlier in the week, there was a frost one night cool enough to wilt all of the remaining tomatoes and tomato plants, so all that's left in the garden are some carrots and a few beets. The petunias and gazanias in the container boxes are still hanging on, though.
A happy Thanksgiving to all the Canadians!
Vegetables
by Eleanor Farjeon (1881-1965)
The country vegetables scorn
To lie about in shops,
They stand upright as they were born
In neatly-patterned crops;
And when you want your dinner you
Don't buy it from a shelf,
You find a lettuce fresh with dew
And pull it for yourself;
You pick an apronful of peas
And shell them on the spot.
You cut a cabbage, if you please,
To pop into the pot.
The folk who their potatoes buy
From sacks before they sup,
Miss half of the potato's joy,
And that's to dig it up.
************
The Poetry Friday round-up is over at Kelly's Big A little a this week. Thanks, Kelly, and happy belated Friday to you, too!
And I don't think Karen at lightingthefire's perfect autumn quote and Blade of Grass poem made it into the official list so I'm adding them here.
2 comments:
How many did you get? We only get potatoes early, early. This year was not a great year because it was so dry and I had to dig early because of fire ants.
We got lots, about six burlap sacks full (more then we can eat in the next year lol because I like rice, pasta, couscous, too, though Tom would happily eat nothing but potatoes) and most of them were enormous. Though my mother-in-law said she had one hill with about 50 potatoes and they were all the size of big marbles.
I hate to ask what fire ants do to potatoes...
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