The Best of Slim Acres: Autumn Acres

Showing posts with label Autumn Acres. Show all posts

Sunday, January 22, 2012

NOT LIKE I USED TO BE

"Most of us feel the effects of the passing years and often use time-worn phrases to remind our associates that we're not quite as young as we used to be," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Sometimes it's a cop-out."

I'm not the man I used to be,
And I'll admit it's true
I can't kick up my heels and all
Like younger fellers do.

Youth is not eternal,
And it's very plain to see
The one we call Old Father Time
Has left his mark on me.

I don't complain, you understand,
Or feel my race is run,
I'm not in such a sorry shape
That I'm not having fun.

I guess it's just a custom
For older folks to say
They cannot cut the mustard,
As compared to yesterday.

"I'm not the man I used to be,"
I've often said before,
I said it once to Lucy,
But won't do it any more.

I might have known I wouldn't get
Any sympathy from her,
She looked at me and shook her head,
And said, "You never were!"

--Autumn Acres (1982)

Sunday, October 23, 2011

JOKERS UP FRONT

Editor's note: "I guess there's nothing wrong in acting like a simple-minded idiot, if that's what you're being paid to do," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.

A little nonsense, now and then,

Is relished by the best of men;

And very rare indeed is one

Who can't enjoy a bit of fun.

Through the ages, fools have known

A favored place before the throne;

For even monarchs like to smile,

And be amused once in a while.

Ancient peoples tried to bring

Some entertainment to their king;

And sought to add a lighter touch

By hiring jokers, fools and such.

History tells us George the Third

Was quite a crusty, sad old bird;

But had a jester on his staff,

To horse around, and make him laugh.

Queen Victoria, even she

Had not one royal fool, but three!

It took some doing to erase

That sour expression from her face.

Modern leaders hesitate

At hiring Jokers Designate;

But that's okay, for quite a few

Are in the House -- and Senate, too!

--Acres of Verse (1994)

Sunday, August 28, 2011

SEPTEMBER

Editor's note: When I was a youngster, time never passed quickly enough. Now that I'm at an age when each day is a precious gift, it seems to fly. Interestingly, Dad was about my age when he published this, so maybe that's a sign that the time is right for posting it here.

O, September,
What's your hurry?
I haven't said goodbye to August; still
Along you come without my bidding;
Your dewy days portend of autumn's chill!

O, September,
Will tomorrow
Bring us showers, frost, or blazing sun?
Your varied weather
Sounds a warning
That summer's gone, and fall has now begun!

O, September,
What's your hurry?
You needn't be in such a rush to go!
On so quickly
You have scurried,
It seems you only stayed a week or so!

--Autumn Acres (1982)

Sunday, May 1, 2011

MONEY PROBLEMS

Editor's note: "Everyone knows the dollar has been shrinking at an alarming rate, so it's not surprising to see a new dollar coin resembling a quarter," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Since it will buy about twenty-five cents worth of stuff, maybe its size is fitting. If it's going to act like a quarter, it might as well look like one."

Our economy's surely
A matter of great
Concern all over the nation;
Most folks are having
Trouble today
Keeping up with inflation.

My Lucy contends
We're falling behind,
No reason have I to dispute her;
So I took all my figures
Down to the bank,
And ran 'em thru their computer.

The monster came up
With an answer of sorts,
So quickly it ain't even funny:
We could pay fifty
Percent of our bills
With ninety percent of our money!

--Autumn Acres (1982)

Sunday, February 13, 2011

HEADS OR TAILS

One way to avoid the dissension and strife
That often crops up in marital life,
Is for the pair to agree on a way
Where one or the other will have final say.

In spite of true love, disagreement will come,
And it might lead up to a crisis for some,
Unless you've agreed beforehand, like us,
Which one will prevail in case of a fuss.

Before any serious squabbles began,
My Lucy and I arrived at a plan:
We decided to take a nickel, and toss
To see which one was to be the boss.

I'm not so sure that I'd recommend
This same identical plan to a friend;
Fifty percent is the chance you will take,
And that's assuming you get a fair shake.

If I had it all to do over again,
We might do it different than we did then;
I never did see that nickel she tossed,
But whichever way it landed, I lost!

--Autumn Acres (1982)

Why Slim Acres?

Growing up on a small 50-acre farm in southwestern Ohio back in the 1950s, I learned the value of honesty and a strong work ethic from my parents. Of course, I didn't appreciate it much back then -- what teenager wants to clean a room, mow an acre or so of front yard or paint the boards in the rail fence my father built (even if he did agree to pay me and my best friend Marcia 5 cents a board to do it)? All I knew was that my mother spent most of her time cleaning the house, tending to her beautiful flower gardens and conjuring up home improvement projects for my dad to complete when he wasn't doing something else.

The "something else" included a full-time day job as a tool-and-die engineer (later on as the manager of an entire plant). Until he retired, he had several different jobs, a couple of which required an hour's drive one way. He and my mother operated an evergreen nursery at our farm, so that meant they spent endless hours planting and cultivating. In between all that (and doing my mom's remodeling projects), dad managed to earn a law degree from a correspondence school and -- most important for the purposes of this blog -- transform himself into a sort of country bumpkin poet known as Slim Acres and later billed himself as "The Buckeye Poet." His real name, for the record, was Harold Asa Pickett.

"Slim Acres had a distinct personality," dad wrote in the introduction to Down Country Roads, his first book of poems. "He was a sort of combination of two genuine gentle bumpkins that I have known. One was an uncle of mine, born and raised in Tennessee, who could not write his name until after he married. The other one was a neighbor, also with a scanty formal education, but with a lot of common sense and wit. Both were as honest as peanut butter. Slim Acres embodied a few traits of each, and perhaps a little bit of me."

And his name? "I can't really say where his name came from, but it sounded fitting," dad wrote.

Slim Acres was "born" as a series of snippets titled "Slim Acres Says" submitted anonymously to the Times Gazette, the local newspaper in Union City, Indiana, such as:

The Golden Rule
Is easy fergot
If we'uns can git
What you'uns have got.

Those little ditties grew into years of being a popular humorous speaker at events ranging from club meetings to graduations throughout Ohio, Indiana and Michigan. But back in the mid-1930s, Slim's writing career got a boost Reader's Digest magazine published this poem:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
But they don't get around
Like the dandelions do.

In 1978, in his book Square Marbles, he revised this one just a bit:

Rose's are red,
Violet's are blue;
Jeanie's are pink,
With lace on 'em, too!

As he wrote and collected his poems, he published and sold them far and wide, starting with the flagship Down Country Roads. He drew heavily on his Quaker upbringing, his family, and of course, my mother -- the "Lucy" in his poems. Writing in Down Country Roads, he noted that there "is still something about rural life that is considerably different. It's hard to define, but it is there. It's a certain something that makes country people just a little bit friendlier, a little bit steadier, a little bit happier. Maybe it's the clean, fresh air; maybe it's the lack of confinement; perhaps the cooing of doves on a dewy morning, or the clear, starry skies on a winter evening: Perhaps a thousand other factors all put together."

He kept on writing: Shortly after his 80th birthday, he published what would be his final book, simply titled Eighty After Eighty. My mother passed away in 2000, and after something like 60 years of marriage, dad simply didn't want to live in a house by himself. So, he moved to the Brethren's Retirement Community in Greenville, Ohio. There, he continued to write poems -- even winning a state award for one of them -- right up until a week or so before his death on June 24, 2009, at the age of 96. Now, one of his sisters, my Aunt Olive, is continuing his tradition of having a poem in each issue of the home's newsletter, "Fanfare," by choosing one or two from his books to be published posthumously.

Lest I forget, there's one interesting note about that Reader's Digest poem: When it was accepted for publication, dad had a choice of a small cash payment or a "lifetime" subscription to the magazine. He chose the latter -- and it's pretty clear that the more than 60 years of magazines he received for free put him ahead of the game by far.

And so it is that I, too, wanted to keep the memory of his poetry alive. Lots of folks know him, be it by "Hap," "Harold" or "Slim." I've never heard anyone speak an unkind word about him, and I can count on the fingers of one hand (with a few fingers left over) the times he ever uttered a negative word about another human being. At his heart, he remained a simple, honest man for all of his 96 years -- a man I'm proud to have called my "Pop."

Hopefully, others will get to know him through this blog. My intent is to start with a couple of my favorite poems, adding a new one each week for, well, who knows how long? One thing is certain: I've got plenty of material. If you like what you read, please drop me a line!

Also, since I've been asked about whether copies of Dad's books are available, the gift shop at the Brethren's Retirement Community in Greenville has a stash of the Eighty After Eighty paperback that we donated after he passed away. I believe the book is selling there for $5, and the profits are put to good use helping residents in financial need. I also have a number of copies here at home -- I'll pack one up and mail it to anyone who's interested for $10 including postage. This is the only book for which multiple copies exist as far as we know.

--Ramonda Pickett Ryan (more commonly known as Monnie)

The Best of Slim Acres