Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1896-12-24
WHEN PAwPAws ARE RIPE.
FhcsGolden Fruit as Found In An Indiana
Thicket.

|
rhcsGolden Fruit as Found In An Indiana
Thicket.
An alluvial soil, coated with deep
leaf mold and somewhat silicious, ia
what the tree chooses to grow in; and
1t would be overshadowed. / find the
best fruit maturing in thick woods Of
plane, tulip and maple on the
fatlands close to brook sides
There is damp, rich, musty
smell by which, in the twilight
of such forest, you may distinguish
the atmosphere dear to the pawpaw.
Here the woodthrush, the muse OF
crepuscular groves, flutes mellow
strain at intervals, and all around
chatter ground squirrels and nut
matches. On the hillsides near by the
| cypripedium, in it's season, faunts lite
rose-purple reticule. There, too, the
black haw ripens it's fat, shining ber-
ries of licorice candy.
Get out your bicycle for six-mile
spin into the Sugar creek hills. We will
take the Balhinch road and pedal dill
gently toward the Llewellen neighbor-
hood, just this side of which Is a wood l
wot of where clumps Of Asimina
triloba dance down gentle slope Dor
dering the brook called Indian creek,
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 Oh
either hand the autumn wheat Is max
ing a thin wash of green, and the In
dian corn stands in conical shocks
primly ranged. Many-colored cattle
wade knee deep in the third growth of
clover, while flocks of sheep snip the
blue grass.
Yonder is the wood. A high barbed
wire fence girds it in, with not an out
side gate to let us through. Well, hang
up the wheels in this wayside copse and
I'll show you how to beat the barbs.
Take off your coat, SO; hang it across
the top wire beside the post and scram-
BILE over where the coat covers the
points. 1t is a trite trick, but fairly
good. Behold the sign against which
we set our sinful natures: mo tres
passing on this farm" It is lettered
on board conspicuously nailed to a
tree. Stolen fruit may be sweet, but
suggest that we go to yon man at work
beside strawstack and negotiate with
him.
Now we are light-hearted. We may
take all we want and welcome. Like
two schoolboys, away we scamper, and
what a downfall of odorous fruit we
find. Long, banana-like, brown and
yellow, the heavy custard apples almost
cover the ground in some places, while
a few crowded clusters still hang on
the boughs. First we eat our fill; then
we cram our haversacks full Of the
choicest specimens. All the way back
home we are fragrant and happy. We
have realized our autumn dream.
I may be crude of taste and some
what savage-think what you will-yet
the smack of a pawpaw goes through
Inc with a multiform thrill. 1t is sweet
with all the sweets of past days and
years and lingerings and truancies.
Yesterday strong woodcock took
wing near my toes in a wild custard
grove, and l had neither bow nor gun;
but munching my savage fruit, l re-
called in one second each oozy cripple
that 1 ever shot over from Canada to
Florida. The twang of the bow cord,
the boom of the gun, the camp fires,
and the savory broilings; they rushed
into my brain and went tingling from
heart center to Outmost eXtremities-
all on account of pawpaw and q
flushed woOdcocki
There is a mingling of hundred fine
sweets and savory tangs in the juice Of
this rank apple, and it goes well with
spitted, dark-feshed game. What a
manifold sauce it is for luncheon on
a messy log beside a spring ahead!
Three spitted doves of the latest sum-
mer Matching and an overripe pawpaw
there is a feast for the Pan of the
west!
Butyearby year this golden ambrosial
fruit is disappearing. The farmers
AK whacks down all the sturdy clumps
and no man plants seeds for future
orchards. From Indiana to Georgia
how few of the once-fourishing paw
paw thickets are left for the poet and
the virile man of the woods to lounge
in while feasting on the savage rolls of
cuSta r1t-N Y Tn6eDen6ent