This block is part of the Birdie Stitches Block of the Month by Little Miss Shabby available free online here. When I saw it, I knew it was the perfect project for me. Instead of using several colors of embroidery thread, I chose to use just No. 8 perle cotton in red. I have done redwork on a single layer of fabric, and the knots show through from the back. I've tried backing the fabric with very lightweight iron-on interfacing, but the interfacing wrinkled. This time I used a double layer of the Kona cotton. I ironed the layers together and used an embroidery hoop. I didn't baste the two layers together, but it has not been a problem. I've been very pleased with the results so far.
Enjoy this wonderful time of year!
When the Frost Is on the Punkin
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 blossoms on the trees,
And
the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But
the air’s so appetizin’; 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-preaching’ 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 over-head! –
O, it sets my hart
a-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
gathered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the
celler-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 sausage, 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 (1849–1916)
You might also enjoy reading my previous blog post here.
