Anne of Green Gables - "The Highwayman"

Who can forget Anne Shirley's passionate recital of "The Highway Man" or "The Lady of Shallott"? Oftentimes, I step back, and think of what people did for fun before they had all this technology...the thought intrigues me, and I enjoy thinking of, and doing things that require no further technology than a book, and the brain God has given me. For a long time, my sisters and I would memorize a poem each week, and recite it at every tea-party with our Girl's Gazette. The exercise that it gave our brains was absolutely wonderful! Have we become so content with watching other people act things out for us on the screen that we cannot enjoy good literature, and use our imaginations to convey the wonder and excitement of it to others? In the book of "Anne of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne says at one point, "Don't you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?" It is so true...some poetry just captures your attention...I memorized"Barbara Frietchie" once, and still can quote many of those soaring lines...

"Up from the meadows rich with corn,

Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand,

Green-walled by the hills of Maryland...

.....And the nobler nature within him stirred

To life at that woman's deed and word.

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head

Dies like a dog! March on!" he said."

Ahh...reading poetry and prose aloud is a great art. I clearly remember a scene in the 1995 Sense and Sensibility when Edward Ferrars is reading aloud to the Dashwoods with very little emotion. Marianne, exasperated, finally stands up, take the book and reads passionately: "Not LIGHT propitious SHONE!" with great dramatic flair. We all cannot have perfect reading aloud..and not everyone we'd wish to read aloud to would care to sit and listen! :) But I do challenge all you fellow writers to take a favorite book, find a sister who would listen, and try to read the book or poem aloud in a way that would do Anne Shirley credit. One of my favorite quotes from poetry is in Sir Walter Scott's "The Lady of The Lake" and depicts a Highland Chieftan's defiant quote at Fitz-James at a crucial moment in the story..

"These are Clan Alpine's warriors true

And Saxon- I am Rhoderick Dhu!"

Those words still give me Anne's crinkly feeling up my back! :) Maybe I just have an uncommon love of literature...it's possible! ;) But I do think that we all can determine to improve our reading-aloud. It is a skill not possessed by most people today, and one that is appreciated for it's very rarity when a solid reader is found. Do it for fun! Take a book out to the woods, stand there, and either read or quote the words with as much drama as you would like to use. You can always tone it down in public, but in the woods, who cares as long as you are having fun! :)

-Rachel

A Tribute To Okra

Written For Sarah:

"A Tribute To Okra"

"The horridest plant in the garden I think,

Must be the Okra- it truly doth stink!

It smells like as squashbug who's wearing perfume

That comes from the air of a long sealed-up tomb.

The plant is prolific, I cannot deny,

The main little problem just seems to be "Why?!?"

When stewed, Okra looks like the muck in our ditch!

(Besides the wee fact that the fuzz makes you itch!)

The furriness seems to delight peoples' tongues,

(As long as it doesn't go straight to their lungs!)

It grows at the rate of ten miles a day,

At a stand by the road, I doubt anyone'd pay.

Besides- at our house, we're ready to choke-ra,

So please, orphans, please, let us donate our Okra!"

Sarah passionately despises okra, but our thrifty Mama will not see it wasted. Thus the "donated okra" line, which may seem irrelevant otherwise! :D -Rachel

Awards and a Poem

Hey guys! Here are two awards we just received from Merriette:

This is an award for those bloggers who have a good sense of humor and write...well.. funny posts! I award: Abigail, Oldest of Many, The Gentleman From Virginia, Oliver, and Hannah Ozee

This one is for those of you who faithfully comment on this blog. I don't have a cool comment-counter thingy, but I award this to Abigail, all the Ozees, Nana, and Jo March, because as far as I can tell, you guys leave us lots of encouraging comments!

Okay. Here is a melodramatic poem I wrote for Abigail, lamenting the distance we live apart. It turned out sounding rather loverish instead, but I thought it was funny. Sounds rather like a Robert Burns "my heart's in the highlands a'chasin the deer" poem! ;) If any of you people are courting and your "lover" lives far away, take this with my compliments! ;)

"The Miles Between Us: a Lament"

By Rachel H.

"A pox on the miles between us;

The miles that keep us apart;

That stretch in a line

Through the forests of pine

And tear at the strength of my heart.

A blight on the miles between us

That keep my own darling away;

The long winding roads

That bear such precious loads

Yet to my heart come empty each day.

A song for my dearly loved sweetheart

Lamenting the weeks that I bide

Bereft of my love

Like a lone mourning dove-

O haste her now back to my side!"

Anyway, in case I wasn't clear enough before, this was supposed to be an overly-emotional poem, but it turned out to have a very pretty and quaint meter to it! :) -Rachel

Crawdads and Excuses

"You get a line,

I'll get a pole honey!

You get line,

I'll get a pole babe!

You get a line, I'll get a pole

And we'll go fishing in the crawdad hole

Honey, baby mine!"

This morning, ignoring the fact that it is raining, Anna, Leah, and Benjamin crept out of the house, careful not to be followed by everyone and their brother, and went crawdad fishing. Basically, the old gentleman at the feed store, a Mr. Udell Butler told Mama that those tall stacks of mud along the side of ditches are crawdad towers. They dig down in the earth and stop once they find water. I had always assumed that you would catch a crawdad in a creek. But Mr. Butler told us that you take a string, tie a piece of raw meat onto the end, and drop it down the hole. When you feel a tug, you yank the string back up, and in theory, you should have a crawdad. Unfortunately, those wee beasties simply eat the meat and drop off halfway like some natural claw-machine. (those ones that you pay out the nose to use at the grocery store and then it drops the ugly teddy bear right when it gets close to the hole! ;) Nontheless, after unlucky fishing yesterday, the kids went out again this morning and still didn't catch a thing. But Daniel is as excited as any Tom Sawyer to go out and try his luck. He says he is determined to catch one. And when Daniel is determined to do something, it generally works. Too bad he can't debate the crawdad out of his hole, or something equally logic-minded, for then he'd be sure to win! :)

The other day when Matthew was on a walk with me, and we had the two little girls, I was picking a glorious bouquet of swamp honeysuckle and ferns. I LOVE flowers! I fill my hands with them at any chance I get! I cannot thrive very well away from them. And I don't like the hothouse ones. I like the wild ones. Anyway, these ones smelled particularly good. Shame on me. A bit later, Matthew quite politely informed me that I had pollen all over my nose. Blast! I spend half my life with pollen on my nose, because where there are flowers, I must be, and where there are scented flowers, there's my nose, and where there is my nose, there ends up being pollen. Ho-hum. So I wrote this poem as an excuse.

"My Excuse"

By me!

"I have pollen on my nose

From the smelling of a rose

And the sniffing of the honeysuckle bloom.

And a yellow sort of dust

That is transferred on there just

`Cause I stopped to smell the rich perfume.

I was happy as a bee

Buzzing round the apple tree,

And I paused to take a sniff from every bud,

And I really couldn't care

That the branches pulled my hair--

That my toes were sinking quickly in the mud.

Yes, I'm brushed with powdered gold

In a fashion quaintly bold

From the smelling of the flowers in the lane.

And I know I am the type

That forgets her nose to wipe

So my dear, you must remind me o'er again!"

What do you think? -Rachel

Geezers and Intoxication! (don't worry about us! We'll explain all!)

Hello! Wow! At this moment, I am extremely tired. We danced after church for a very long time, and had such fun! But it was in the heat of the day, (though not very hot heat ;) and I hardly drank anything the whole time, and I danced myself silly! :) How has everyone else's week been? This is not going to be a long post at all, but I think we've all had enough of the dance-partner-post! I am afraid I have unintentionally offended some people! I hope not, and I do apologize if anyone thought I was pointing fingers! I must tell you that when it falls my lot to "be a man" in a dance, then I am quite a mixture of the Whirligig and the Spunky Jovial! There is a lovely sunset outside, and the house is quiet, for most of the kids are in bed already (only 7:30) because of our full day. Oh! I know what I wanted this post to include! (I came on here with an intention, and forgot it! :P) Okay, here is a poem I wrote last year around this time:

"Spring Intoxication"

By, (Who else?) Me ;)

The sunshine beckoned winsomely,

The soft breeze drew me near-

The fleecy clouds across the sky

Betokened Spring was here.

The jonquils, blowing golden horns

Proclaimed the coming joys,

Of lazy, barefoot, springtime days

For little girls and boys.

My own heart echoed back the song

Of every budding tree,

Of every jeweled dew-drop note

The robins sang to me.

I'd half a mind to dash outside

And do- I'm not sure what,

But certainly I could not stay inside

With windows shut!

And so I ran out to the porch

And in a way, I danced-

Not in the normal way, you see,

But as the sunbeams glance.

My heart fair burst with sudden life

And hearkened to each song,

And so I penned this poem down

And joined the brimming throng.

Okay. And then, here are the rather droll words to a song that Shirley Temple and a man tap-dance to in "The Little Princess". It is rather a favorite ditty with us girls when we are in high spirits! (Now, if only we got the dancing down!)

"Last week down the alley came a toff,

Nice old geezer with an awful cough,

Sees my missus, takes his topper off

In a very gentlemanly way.

Chorus:

"What cheer! All the neighbors cry,

Who ya' gonna' meet Bill?

Have ya' bought the street Bill?

Laughed, oh! I thought I should have died,

Knocked `em in the old Kent road!"

Every evening at the stroke of five,

Me and the missus takes a little drive,

You'd say, `wonderful they're still alive'

If you saw that little donkey go!

When we go that blessed donkey stops

He won't move, so out I quickly lops,

Pals start whacking him and down he drops,

Someone said he wasn't made to go!

(chorus)"

So anyway, it is a nonsense song, and this is a pointless post, and so, between the two, I hope to give you amusement, and I had better get off here before I type something absolutely ridiculous and brainless! -Rachel

In Which I am Thrown Into Disgrace

I feel like a murderer. My evil-minded cat, has eaten one of Anna's baby mice and came back for another! Anna has nursed these wee things back to health, has faithfully fed them every few hours with a dropper...in short, has been a mother to them. And my cat has ended it all for one of them, and perhaps the other too. Somehow, I have a strange feeling that my beast's behavior reflects upon me! ;) So, to clear myself, I have humbly made a lament for Anna. Here it is!

"A Lament For Anna's..mouseling"

"Your protege- a little mouse

Was not safe- even in your house.

A dark, designing beast (my cat)

Has killed your pet and that is that.

I blushed, I sighed, I dropped a tear

When first I did this story hear-

It cuts my heart like sharpest knife

To think my cat just took a life!

I did not do it, (this I know)

But I am sorry even so.

I do not know psychology ;)

So please take my apology.

And I will give a freezing shoulder

To my cat- least she grow bolder."

-Your humble sister: Rachel H.

I have not seen Anna yet this morning since the discovery was made, so I fly away to her to lay this appeasement at her feet and hope she doesn't hold any hard feeling towards me, the owner of the one who did a most horrid deed. -Rachel

""The Lassie Who Can Blush"

Hey guys! This is Rachel! I was in a mood to write a poem today, and this one fell together very quickly, so I thought I'd put it on here and see what you all thought of it! This poem is written from a wise young man's point of view! :)

"The Lassie Who Can Blush"

By Rachel H.

I would give many a dollar,

I would give a golden thrush,

If you showed me really, truly,

A young lass who still can blush.

There are many "happy" women

Who have laid their values bare,

Who parade in shameful clothing

That low men might think them fair.

But the kind of girl I notice,

Isn't one who's in a rush,

Not a girl who's bold and brassy,

But a lassie who can blush.

A blush is colored innocence,

The rose of modesty,

The proof of wholesome maidenhood

Through endless history.

And oft I smile to myself

As I catch a tell-tale flush,

"There's still a precious group of them-

Those lassies who can blush!"

I would give many a dollar,

I would give a golden thrush,

Just to see old-fashioned sweetness

Of a lass who still can blush.

Revealing a Springtime Masterpiece! ;)

Hey guys! How are you this morning? I am well. I finally shook off this horrid cold I had had for a long time. I think it might have been allergies. Which leads me to the next part of this post. Ahem-ahem-ahem, it is my pleasure and amusement to present a slapped-together work entitled: "It Is In The Air" So without further ado....

"It is in The Air"

By Me

This is that special time of year

When people far and people near

Will feel quite calm and free of care

And say that "Love is in the air".

"Love", I think, there may well be,

But it has passed quite over me!

Love never makes her stricken wheeze,

And mine keeps comp'ny with a sneeze!

My nose is stuffed, my eyes are red,

If I cough more I'll lose my head!

If "Love" is there, it's surely stallin'

But in its place is nasty pollen!

Okay. So maybe slightly cheesy, but it amused me! :) I wrote it for our Girls' Gazette.

So, for a quick update on my authoring...the test families have almost all read my book and answered my questions. As soon as that is done, I shall make corrections, and then look for a publisher! I'm really excited about how the Lord is bringing this together, but I would appreciate your prayer concerning where to get my book published. I know self-publishing is an option but you have to front the money for that, whereas in traditional publishing, they pay you. You know? I also have a vision to publish it in a Christian company, and one that publishes books of good report. No sappy romance novels for me thankyou! :)

Most of you know that my vision for writing is not to become famous. (Not like I think I would or anything!) I am not doing this for a "career" or for my own glory. I have a vision to write books for families and girls that are wholesome, pure-hearted, written from a Biblical world-view, but are also amusing. The Elsie Dinsmore books didn't quite cut it for me as a youngun' because I was constantly feeling irritated by her refusal to say she didn't scribble in the book, because it would be tattling or something equally...excessive. (The stories were okay though)

Okay. So just a rambling writing post! Gotta go do the dishes! -Rach

"A Duel"

"A Duel"

Long ago in a valley green,

Where a thriving hamlet once had been

Was a rubb-ly castle, hidden well

By maples tall, in a shady dell.

The penants, fluttery once, and gay,

Now hung in shreds- a faded gray;

The tower was crumbly, the dias leaked,

And in the dungeon the mouses squeaked.

Now, Squire Cliff and Baron Bim,

(Both plum full of peppery vim)

Engaged in a duel on the weedy lawn

As the edge of night gave way to dawn.

The Baron, (insulted) and the Squire (quite red

With anger) their stout hearts quivered with dread.

None wanted to fight, they dallied and stalled,

"3 Paces!" which words their courage dulled.

But neither would give it up as a joke-

"What we need s'for Bim (th'old Baron) to choke!"

The sun had climbed higher, now quite in the sky,

They drew swords and poised, "Hark! Where comes that cry?!?!"

Repeated! And from the dell came a maid,

With basket and blanket, their arms she stayed-

"Kind Squire! Good Baron! You mustn't fast!

Come, bury the hatchet, enjoy this repast!

Reluctant, but grateful, each laid down his arms,

Exploring instead, a beef-pasty's charms.

They kissed and made up o'er a cup o' darjeeling,

And surely there was quite a brotherly feeling.

And so the adage shall henceforth be,

"All's well that ends with a cup of tea!"

That poem, though not at all perfect in the sense of poetry, was made up by something Leah said while we were taking our "constitutional". (a walk- English wot-wot?)

All she said, in talking about Mama or something, was the last line of the poem. It struck my fancy, and I decided to make an overly-dramatic poem about two cowardly men. It worked out quite nicely, though not the best example of my poetry! -Rachel

"I Am Blanking Out On A Title For This Post "

Dear Blogging People: How are you?
By the way, does anyone else have trouble finding ways to open up a post? I do not seem quite able to master the art of an enthralling first word. Maybe if I started out something like, "It was a dark and stormy night..." and the rest would soon follow, "and Rachel sat typing at the keyboard." Not gonna cut it is it? Here is something that you will soon hear about if you talk with me about poetry: I do not in any way, shape or form like un-rhyming poetry. (generally.) That being said, I shall post a couple of poems that Sarah and I made up simply to disgust ourselves by pretending to be Mr. Carl Sandburg who is characterized by calling fog "cat feet" and all a manner of other things strange:

"The jaguar moves on silent feet-
Velvety feet through the jungle.
Where is he going?
Only he knows.
On velvet feet he steps across a log--
A dead, moss-covered log.
Startling a bird
He pauses- velvet
Paw held in the air.
Dark mists hide
Him
Where is he going?
Only his velvet feet know."

Now, if that weren't disgusting enough, here's one more:

"Drifting in endless columns
From the
Chimney where it came,
Choking columns float toward the sun,
Like a form of night,
Paled by the sun.
Gray smoke cloaks the
Lone pine from
My watching eyes.
I think- what is
Smoke?
A nightmare in
cloud-form?
A rain-cloud gone
Astray or perhaps
Just the cloud rising from
The logs on the
Hearth. I wonder, and
Watch the lone pine
Disappear in the
Smoke."

Okay. Bear with me. We were laughing so hard because people get famous from writing stuff like that. Who can call such things poetry? I am incredulous at some of those sorts of things. They are the most boring scribblings in the world I think. Here is a rhyming poem that I wrote about the subject:

"Analogies"

Like a truffle without chocolate

Like an apple without peel,

Like a mouth without a smile

Like a letter without seal,

Like a ring without a diamond

Like a watch without the time,

Like a fountain without water

Is a poem without rhyme.

Okay. And just for you Joanna, (and someone better comment or I'll never post poetry again) here is the one about our forest in the snow:

"Snow Lace"

The finest kind of lace I know

Is what the trees wear in the snow:

Their barren arms are covered quite

With snowy lace of dazzling white,

And glad I am to finally see

Them traced in silver-filigree.

The trimming on a wedding dress

May never fail you to impress.

And yet, a costly bridal veil

Beside the snow is coarse and pale.

More shimm'ring than the milk-weed down

Can be the greenwood's marriage gown--

And lo, the roots are even shod

In lace spun by Almighty God.

Okay. Hope you enjoyed that someone. And please believe me when I say that Sarah and I do not think the first two poems were good! They are impeccably revolting! :) -Rachel

Dusky Poems

Hi Guys! Here are two poems I was inspired to write this evening. Hope you like them! -Rachel

"A Dusk in Winter"

The dusk is like a bridal maid:
The rose is mantled on her cheek,
A single shimmering diamond-star
Clings to her hair so dark and sleek.
Her skirt of azure gently rests
Within her modest golden hand;
Her veil of quiet darkness flows
After her hem has swept the land.

"An Artist's Prayer"

I've seen the Master Artist's brush
In deer so quiet, dusky-shy,
I've seen His charcoal pencil trace
A tree against the evening sky.
His watercolors have I glimpsed
In fragile petals of a rose.
A pastel masterpiece I view
Each time a day is at its close.
I've seen His sculpture in the way
The waves conform the rippling sand,
So Lord, please take this amatuer
And guide my ever-blundering hand!

In Which I Divulge The Identity of my Mortal Enemy

Well... ho-hum, bon-hommy, gathering-nuts-in-may! (This is Rachel speaking) This is Two-thousand-and-ten, and all around our circles it is lock-down time! After gallavanting for 6 weeks, having thrilling social obligations and glittering soirees, it is time to go back to everyday-ness. Which ordinarily I don't mind. But you see, I have a mortal foe who waits with open arms for my return. He lurks at every corner. I have many names for him: evil, menance, dastardly, but you all know him better as Algebra. We are thrown together daily during the school-year! Of course it is impossible not to speak to him. Mama would have my head! And I suppose he is for my own good. But his evil eyes wink at me menacingly, though Sarah insists that they are just decimal points. He grins at me from every page, knowing that it pains me to see him. Sarah reasons it away as multiplication signs. I am good friends with English, I would kiss dear old History if I could, I absolutely adore Writing, I find Latin nice to chat with. Then there is Science. He is distantly related to Algebra and when he acts like his cousin, I snub him. But ordinarily Science and I like to speak with each other. But hallelujah (and I am not being flippant, I really mean it) in a few months Algebra and I will be done, I'll dance a jig upon his ugly head, (I really will on top of my math book!) and not speak any longer till I must introduce the Menace to my own children. (Scary thought that. I'd better marry a mathmatician! ;) Yay! Huzzah! Bring out confetti and sparkling cider!
So there you have it. We are starting up school again, I am out to squelch my last few booklets of Algebra, and then revel in the knowledge that I will be onto Consumer's Math, or maybe Geometry. (Which I have been assured I will like better than her cousin: Alebra the Horrid) Sarah is best friends with little Algie. More's the pity. But More power to her. Yuck! But I know the Lord will help me through with the ferlie beast, and it isn't all that hard, only decidedly disagreeable. This inspires me with a battlesong: Ahem-ahem-ahem:





"Algebra ye are a wicked beast,
Upon my sorrows ye sit and feast,
Ye've plagued my heart till my mind is weak,
And I've scarce the strength to write this and speak.
I've been away for a fortnight times three,
Ye're ugly face I again must see.
So I'll summon my courage and tell ye true:
In just a few months ye're fun will be through!"




So there! Take that! Touche! :) Hope I didn't plague your hearts out with my dirge! But now you know what I think of mathmatics and I hope you aren't a best buddy with that most vile, hideous, scary of subjects! -Rachel

"The Pink People"

Hey guys! I lost the Thanksgiving poem I did write. I left it on a legal pad that Mama and Daniel used for a meeting about his graduation, so I never saw it after that. So much for soliloquizing about pilgrims and feasts and giving thanks! If I find it I'll post it! Sarah is planning on doing a post about the history of Thanksgiving tomorrow of something, but for now, (to finally explain the title of the post) here is a poem I wrote this afternoon about Gracie's favorite group of dollhouse people! Tell me what you think of it! :)

"The Pink People"
By Rachel Heffington
They are a little family
As real to her as you and me
Residing in this grand doll house-
There is a Mama and her spouse
The Papa, though, is "only blue"

As she will gravely say to you,

As if we all would surely think

The only thing to be is pink.

For pink are all the little girls,

(One has a bow atop her curls)

And petal-pink is Danny Boy

(For he is just a painted toy)

The baby too is just that shade

And proudly are they all displayed:

The chosen favorites of Grace

Who neatly now are set in place,

As we proclaim atop a steeple,

"Hooray for all the pinkest people!"

-Rachel

The Gossips

Hi Everyone! Although we promised to post about the barn dance, as you can see from the sidebar, almost everyone else already has. Meredith has video that I wish I could see even though we don't have high-speed, (Matthew) Abigail has covered the "funness" of dancing, Oliver has covered the fact that it was really busy and that he didn't understand us Sou'eastern Virginia girls for bringing dance cards ;) so that pretty much covers it all! Therefore, I will post a post of no account! In fact, it is created precisely to make you smile I hope. Here's what I have to say. I love writing poetry, and I was in a poemy mood last night, so I wrote one called "The Gossips". It is probably a bad sign that for each piece of news I listed, I wanted to read more about each thing! (Unfortunately, I have that blasted female propensity to like to know things about people... yeah. But I try not to gossip.) So anyway, I hope you like the picture up there. (I didn't paint it. Norman Rockwell did) Isn't it funny? So anyhow, here is my masterpiece! Leave a comment and tell me if you like it!

"The Gossips"

by Rachel

It starts off with a "did-you-know",

Perhaps, a "have-you-heard"

And quickly travels round the room

As just a whispered word.

And several ladies swiftly form

A knot beside the chair,

To catch the juicy piece of news

Like how, or when, or where.

And who has broke their water pump,

And who is courting Jane,

And old Abe Garvey (bless his heart)

Who's known to be insane.

How Isabella's gown is trimmed,

And how much did it cost!!

About Miss Ellie's medicine;

How Biddie's son was lost!

How Samuel Wiggins dyed his hair,

How Laura's house was robbed,

About last Sunday's funereal,

And Asa Hawkin's job.

And Oh! The great enjoyment,

In other peoples' life,

For gossips dearly love a dose

Of any news or strife!

So there you have it! And you can't tell me that you didn't wish to hear more about the insane guy or who was courting that young woman! ;) Hope ya'll like this post, and I also hope it reminds us how foolish and petty gossiping is! -Rachel