From the Kingdom at Yellow Mountain

FROM THE KINGDOM AT YELLOW MOUNTAIN It is late autumn now in the Kingdom, which means it is almost mid-fall in the almanac. The hills are now just at their peak of color, a bright, variegated tweed of reds, yellows, greens, and browns. It is corn gathering time. Old folks used to try to have half of their corn gathered by the November election. Schools opened then in July after corn was laid by. Sometimes in late August or early September, school would be turned out for a week or two so the children could help with "foddering." Many people then "pulled fodder," which meant stripping the corn blades up to the ear by hand and fastening them between the stalks to cure like hay. After die curing the blades were tied into bundles and stacked around upright poles in the field like haystacks or hauled to the bam, usually on a special "fodder sled," a much longer sled than ordinary so that larger loads of the lighter material could be hauled on them. The "tops" (the cornstalks from the ear up with the blades still on them) were cut and shocked in the tepee shape of the usual cornshock. These also were used for winter feed (roughage for the stock). There were many fall activities of gathering and storing for winter use, but few were "all hands" affairs that demanded immediate and concentrated attention. In spite of autumn beauty and usually winey weather, some thought of the fall as a lonesome time. Perhaps there were (and had been) too many reminders of departure —drifting birds and leaves, ripening and decay, the rise and fall of seasons . . . Soon now, wild geese may fill a restless night with honking and the colors on the hills be mellowed down to a muted earthen tapestry. Then, after some slow, chilly rain—a wild duck spell—the leaves will all be down, the trees bare, except for a few unreconciled oaks, the hills a slow nut brown and grey, ready for wintering. Late on some raw, windy day the pig owl's (some call them booby owls) hoarse, puffing voice will sound in a far hollow; and then a warm, open fire will be needed to keep the spirit warm. Letters Since the beginning we have received many encouraging letters and some that were down-right enthusiastic. Altogether thee letters represent responses from people widely varied in education, experience, and interest. Some volunteered aid in addition to their subscriptions. We have tried to answer all of these letters, though some still remain as yet unanswered. We have accepted the help offered from some already and expect to do so from others. But we have had our unfavorable responses, too; but most of them have been either by word of mouth or the silent treatment. To be ignored may be the harshest treatment of all. Howsomever, as Uncle Remus says, we'll take them all although we somehow prefer the favorable ones. If you really want to help, there are two main ways to do it right now: (1) encourage people to subscribe, (2) round up good material or get after those who can. 58 Errors, Errors, Errors This magazine has been plagued with printer's errors. They are horrible, little wormy things that printers let get in among their type. They like to take out letters from words, words from sentences, sentences from paragraphs, screw up punctuation. Things like that. Their aim is to bolix up everything. We vowed that with a new printer we would eliminate these varmints from the summer issue. The plague was unbelievably worse. If the printer hadn't got us so far behind, that issue would have been returned the second time for re-doing. We have decided that printers are like politicians—untrustworthy; and from now on, not only will they correct their own mistakes , but they will keep on correcting until Kingdom Come if necessary to get the copy perfect. Otherwise, they will lose our business and have their company and the names of all involved emblazoned on the wall of our Hall of Infamy. Answers for Riddles Page 40, Summer Issue: milk, path, wasps (or...