. . . 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 the time 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— 15
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-preachin’ sermuns 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 overhead!—
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 gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!…
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef such 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. 1853–1916
Cut the potatoes into manageable pieces and boil them until JUST tender. Don’t over cook. Cool for four hours or overnight.
Heat a cast iron or nonstick (eww) skillet with deep sides and add the olive oil, 3 Tbs butter (no fear). Dump the mixture in and press it down with a spatula or potato masher.
out on to the plate. I like to turn off the burner while I do this (long story).
The Northeast has been hit hard by late blight on tomatoes this season. The disease is late blight, caused by the water mold Phytophthora infestans. The severity and spread of the disease is the worst in decades. It is caused by a water mold (or more properly an 
Shin Karoda 5″ carrot, and Tonda Di Parigi on a 100 year old Blue Willow plate that is a little rough around the edges. Parboiled the carrots and then sauteed them in butter with a little sea salt, very nice.
Everything in the hoop house is just fine. Juliet, Purple Melissa and currant tomatoes are happy and blossoming while their outdoor cousins are turning yellow around the edges. Sacred basil, anise hyssop and the second crop of lettuces are still in pots, waiting for the day when I can dodge showers long enough to plant them out.
