Pigeon River Country Association

Fall hunting is the best!!..............................

Just before the death of flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season,
When nature is all aglow.

Emeline B. Smith

Looks like Friday night over the PRCSF............................

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost (1874–1963)

Thousands of future GREAT oaks.....................................

The feather from the raven's breast
Falls on the stubble lea
The acorns near the old crow's nest
Fall pattering down the tree
The grunting pigs that wait for all
Scramble and hurry where they fall.

Emily Brontë (1818–48)

A message from a real babbling brook...................................

Yes, I move, I live, I wander astray—
Water running, intermingling, over the sands.
I know the passionate pleasure of motion;
I taste the forests; I touch strange lands.

Alfonsina Storni (1892–1938)

The multi colors of autumn..................................

Bright yellow, red and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian princes,
But soon they'll turn to ghosts.

William Allingham (1824–89)

South they must fly............................................

Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.

Wilfred Campbell (1861–1918)

October, she is a fickle month............................

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.

Emily Brontë (1818–48)

I've seen this pond...........................

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky.

William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

October is the month ready and waiting to change.............

Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

Humbert Wolfe (1886–1940)

The leaves, they are a-changin.................................

Now by the brook, the maple leans
With all his glory spread,
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.

William Wilfred Campbell (1861–1918)

Ah, autumn, wonderful autumn! So fleeting, enjoy it as you can....

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
–William Allingham (1824–89)

I've been there...................................................

Our seasons have no fixed returns,
Without our will they come and go;
At noon our sudden summer burns,
Ere sunset all is snow.

James Russell Lowell (1819–91)

The mellow moon, the changing leaves,
The earlier setting sun,
Proclaim at last, my merry boys,
The harvest-time begun.

Charles G. Eastman (1816–60)

Again my fancy takes its flight,
And soars away on thoughtful wing,
Again my soul thrills with delight,
And this the fancied theme, I sing,
From Earthly scenes awhile, I find release,
And dwell upon the restful Plains of Peace.

Olivia Ward Bush-Banks (1869–1944)

After it is September......................glorious September!!!!!!!!

O sweet September rain!
I hear it fall upon the garden beds,
Freshening the blossoms which begin to wane.

Mortimer Collins (1827–76)

For all you tart lovers out there..................................

The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
And took them quite away!

Charles Lamb (1775–1834)

Another beautiful most important buzzy bee..................................

Silence again. The glorious symphony
Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,
Save hum of insects’ aimless industry.

Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–85)

Nothing like a BIG summer moon...........................

Shine on, O moon of summer.
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa, and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.

Carl Sandburg (1878–196

Valuable precious little bumblebee...............................

Bright, bright, restless bright, through the sun-burnt meads,
Wavers the butterfly;
Ever across its path a pilot invisible leads
A sylphid fleet of the thistle's light and feathery seeds,
And August passeth by.

Edith Matilda Thomas (1854–1925)

Summer sunsets are the best................

Since Poets have told of sunset,
What is left for me to tell?
I can only say that I saw the day
Press crimson lips to the horizon gray,
And kiss the earth farewell.

Effie Lee Newsome (1885–1978)

The magic of summer......................................

The sun drew off at last his piercing fires.
Over the stale warm air, dull as a pond
And moveless in the grey quieted street,
Blue magic of a summer evening glowed.

Lascelles Abercrombie (1881–1938)

Beautiful grass and sky...................................

How many songs, O summer wind,
How many songs do you know
Of fair, sweet things in your wanderings,
As over the earth you go.

Ina Donna Coolbrith (1841–1928)

Another beautiful summer image..........................................

In the grey summer garden, I shall find you
With day-break and the morning hills behind you.
There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings;
And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings.

Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967)

Full moon soon................................enjoy

Raised are the dripping oars,
Silent the boat! the lake,
Lovely and soft as a dream,
Swims in the sheen of the moon.

Matthew Arnold (1822–88)

Lazy, crazy July..................................

Balmily, balmily, summer wind,
Sigh through the mountain passes;
Over the sleep of the beautiful deep
Over the woods green masses
Ripple the grain of valley and plain,
And the reeds and the river grasses.

Ina Donna Coolbrith (1841–1928)

Happy Fourth of July to everyone!! be quiet so you can hear this stuff, please...................

A moon-flooded prairie; a straying
Of leal-hearted lovers; a baying
Of far away watching dogs; a dreaming
Of brown-fisted farmers; a gleaming
Of fireflies eddying nigh, —
And that is July!

James N. Matthews (1852–1910)

Crickets...........and something extra.......................fascinating stuff!!

It is not summer until the crickets sing.

Ancient Proverb

To convert cricket chirps to degrees Fahrenheit:
Just count the number of chirps in 14 seconds, then add 40 to get the temperature.

The number you get will be an approximation of the outside temperature.

Example: 30 chirps + 40 = 70° F

It's certainly dripping now...........................................

A dripping June
Brings all things in tune

Ancient Proverb

June 24 is tomorrow! Although two is better than one.........even with thistles.............................

Cut your thistles before St. John [June 24],
You will have two instead of one.

Ancient Proverb

"What a day for a daydream"...................................................

I meant to do my work today—
But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.

Richard Le Gallienne (1866–1947)

Busy, busy buzzy little bees..........................they are the backbone of our agriculture.....................without them we'd all be VERY hungry!

How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every shining flower!

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

This year the birdie chirping is beautiful early morning and early evening..............

O fields in June's fair verdure drest,
And vocal now with birds and bees!

Henry Stevenson Washburn (1813–1903)

How sweet June smells................................

It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes,
And pleasant scents the noses.

N.P. Willis (1807–67)

Bees, bees.....buzzy bees, our planet would be or could be "naked" without them.................................................

A swarm in May is worth a load of hay;
a swarm in June is worth a silver spoon;
but a swarm in July is not worth a fly.

Beekeepers' saying, mid-17th century

The woods are full of them.....................singing flowers that is......

I think if you listen closely
In the sweet, glad days of spring,
With the song of the brook,
the breeze and the birds,
You can hear the flowers sing.
–Helen Isabel Moorhouse (b.1876)