Ain’t God good to Indiana?
Folks, a feller never knows
Just how close he is to Eden
Till, sometime, he ups an’ goes
Seekin’ fairer, greener pastures
Than he has right here at home . . .
Ain’t God good to Indiana?
Other spots may look as fair,
But they lack th’ soothin’ somethin’
In th’ Hoosier sky and air . . .
The above poem sounds like James Whitcomb Riley, but it was written by William Herschell. I can’t resist a final homage to the month that has played such a rich role in my life. That master colorist, nature, reserves for October its richest palette of colors displayed under a cobalt sky. During a recent visit to Brown County. As I gazed out from an overlook above a valley of fields of bronze cornstalks to forested hills where the leaves were turning, I felt that Eden could be no lovelier.
The October trunk in my mental attic is chockablock with layers of Halloween memories: When I was a girl Mother made costumes for me and Sarah to wear to the costume party sponsored by the town fathers. There were hay rides, wiener roasts and parties where you bobbed for apples floating in a washtub of water. Yuck! The thought that my lips might touch a apple that someone had slobbered on made me gag.
Next to Christmas, Halloween was Vicki’s favorite time. She usually won prize money by carving pumpkins or painting store windows at the Irvington Halloween Festival which these days draws thousands of people. One year I concocted a flying saucer made of chicken wire stuffed with napkins atop a wagon. Neighbor Elizabeth Riley and I made green costumes and heads. I covered tree branches with foil as antennae for the “men from Mars.” Vicki and chum Sheila pulled the wagon. Sheila’s niece rode in the saucer, holding a sign that said, “Irvington Or Bust!” Another layer: The grandboys brought home plastic spiders from the festival that they hid in drawers to scare me. “Hee, hee, hee!” In my mind’s ear, I hear their giggles . . . And there’s a picture of great-grandbaby Adalyn in a costume . . .
In Vicki’s era it was safe to go trick or treating after dark. She brought back huge sacks of candy, and we didn’t have to inspect it. I haven’t heard of anyone being tricked for many years, but back when I was a girl there were still outdoor toilets. Every Halloween boys would use two-by-fours to knock them over. My nephew, John Jones, tells how one of his chums slipped and fell into the hole! His irate father made him strip naked out in the yard, sprayed him with the hose, ordered the other boys take his filthy clothes and burn them, and said, “Your mother is never to hear about this!”
Bill goes on leaf-peeping expeditions to please me, but he doesn’t enjoy autumn. “Dying,” he moans. “Everything’s dying.” “But, Dear, that’s so the trees can rest during winter.” “But these leaves will be gone forever.”
We’ve made leaf-peeping excursions to Maine, and to southern Kentucky, but most years we’ve driven through Indiana. One year we packed a picnic on October 25 and bought cheap Chianti on the way to the Shades. Companionably, we sat amongst the virgin trees, toasted our wedding anniversary and munched our sandwiches.
During a hike through the ancient forest after we ate, I sat on a stump to rest. Fifty feet above, the three o’clock sun gleamed on the leaves of many colors so that it looked as if a net of golden lace had been tossed across the topmost boughs. Finally, I caught up with Bill who was waiting for me, as he always does. I’ve had more sophisticated and complex experiences, but the peace of that quiet, simple day spent away from the obligations on my hectic to-do list sank deep into my spirit to be visited in memory whenever I wish. wclarke@comcast.net