The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1896-11-08

The Golden Fruit as Found In an Indiana
Thicket.
From the Independent.

From the Independent.
An alluvial soil. coated with a deep leaf mould
and somewhat silicious. is what tt tree chooses
to grow in; and 1t likes to be overshadowed.
find tue best fruit maturing in thick woods OF
plane. tulip. and maple on the fatlands close to
brook sides. There Is a damp. rich, musty
smell by which. in the twilight OF such a forest.
you may distinguish the atmosphere dear to the
pawpaw., Here the woodthrush. the muse of
crepuscular groves, flutes a mellow strain at in
tervals. and all around chatter ground squirrels
and nuthntches. ON the hillsiies near by the
purple reticale. There. too. the black Ssw
ut~burnnmlentd0sI ,ripens its fiat, shining ber-
Get out your bicycle for a sir,mile spin into
the sugar Creek hills, We will, take tho Bal
Llewellen neighborhood. just this side OF which
lisa wood ! wot OF where clumps Of 1sinind
%trilohn dance down a gentle slope bordering the
brook called Indian Creek. a few miles from Its
mouth IN sugar. And what a breeze To whirl
through, and what a road OF packed gravel to fly
upon! Over the black fields on either hand the
autumn wheat is making a thin wash of green.
and the Indian corn stands In conical shocks
deep in the third growth Of clover. while hocks
Of sheep snip the blue grass.
fence Girds it n. with not an outside gate to let
us through. We'll. hang up the wheels IN this
wayside copse and III show You how to beat the
barbs. Take Oft Your coat. so: hang il across
the Top wire beside the post, 30; and now shin
up tho post and scramble over where the coat
covers the, points; 1t is n trite trick, but fairly
our sinful natures: No trespassing on this
farm" 1t is letirred on a board conspicuously
nailed to a tree. stolen fruit may be sweet. but
! suggest that we go to yon man at work beside
II straw rick and negotiate with him.
Now We are !ight-hcarJrd. We may take all
We want and welcome. Like two rchoolSoys,
away we scnmper: and what II downfall OF od0r.
ous fruit we find. Long, banana-likc, brown
and yellow, the heavy custard apples almost
cover, ihe ground in some places, while u few
crowded clusters still hang en- the bougis. First
we eat our I'LL; then we cram our hayersacks
full OF the choicest specimens. All the way
back home we are fragrant and happy. We
have realized our autumn dream.
may be crude of taste and somewhat savage
think whnt you will-yet the smack of a pawpaw
goes through me with a multifOrm thrill. IL is
sweet with all the sweets of last days and years
and linGerinss, aud truancies. Yesterday q
strong woodcock took wing near my toes In a
wild crstard grove. and | had neither pow nor
In one second each oozy cripple that | ever shot
over from Canada To Florida. The twanR OF the
bow cord, the noon of the gun, the cnmp fires
aud the savory broilings; they rushed into my
brain and went tinGling from heart centre To
outmost xtremities all on account Of a pawpaw
and n flushed wuodcDck!
There Il n minglinR of q hundred fine sweets
and sayory tangs In tho juice of this rank an
pie. and I goes well with spittod, dark reshed
game. What n manif Id sauce 1t il for a lunch
enn on = NOISY los beside a spring ahead! Three
spitted doves of the latest summer Matching and
an orerrl 20 pawpaw-there is u feast for the Pan
OF the West!
Bat year by year this golden ambrosial fruit
Is disappearing. The farmers axe whacks
down All the sturdy clumps ard no man plants
Georgia how few OF the once hnurishIng pawpaw
thickets ara left for the poet and the viriIe man
OF the woods to lounge Ia while feAsting on the
savage rolls OF cuStardl