The Ocala evening star. [volume] (Ocala, Fla.) 1895-1943, 1917-11-09
PERsIMMoN BEER AND POETRY

1t will be remembered that a few
days ago, the Star printed recipe
for persimmon beer. We hardly hop
ed that anyone in these modern times
would try to brew this ancient but
honored beverage, but one good lady
and competent housewife, hailing
from the empire state of the South,
sat up and took notice, and last night
her hubby gladdened our heart with
an invitation to come by and sample
the brew.
In consequence, a small but select
party sat down about p. m. in one
of the city's most elegant dining
rooms, and after partaking of a
dainty supper their eyes were glad
dened to see brought in a large and
symmetrical pitcher with an express
sion of satisfaction even on the out,
side. From the snowy lip of said
pitcher an amber liquid was poured
into crystal glasses, and the editor
was invited to first taste and pass
judgment
He tasted, and the first sip sent his
memory back over thirty-five years,
to the days when he came in from
the harvest field on the North Geor-
gia mountain side and found rest. and
refreshment in trimming glass of
lpersimmon beer, or when with the
other boys and girls, at the corn
Stockings the beverage was passed
during the races to find the red ear,
or when on the hunt he stopped at
some log cabin door for a minutes
rest and talk with a neighbor and a
draft of the brew that was as refresh
! ing and invigorating as the mountain
breeze.
He assured his hostess that she had
hit it just right and proved his words
by drinking half the contents of the
pitcher-and it was some pitcher, too.
Later in the evening, when he sat
| by his lonesome in his den, and tried
to pound some spacefllers out of his.
machine, he. probably inspired by the
beer, began thinking of what fine
old county he had lived in the past
quarter of century, and his thoughts
burst into the following song,
Marion County
Land of cotton, land of corn;
Land where plenty fills it's horn;
| Land where rivers have their birth,
Breaking full-waved from the earth;
| Where Eolus' music rings
| On a billion ninetree strings;
Land of. hills and land of wales;
Land of. vine embowered dales;
Land of fens and land of brakes;
Land of limpid, laughing lakes,
/ Smiling at the MONDAY skies,
| Winking at the midnight ewes.
1 Poetic license must stretch
/ To get the fatwoods in the sketch,
/ And admit this. smiling land,
Like some hopes, is built on sand;
But richest yield can overflow
The sand above and sand below
Jason and his crew of old,
| On the wrong tack sailed for gold,
Better had they come this way,
To orange groves of Floriday-
OF a1llands the diadem
With Marion for. it's central gem.
Land where million years ago
Providence did fossils stow,
The mastodon and orthyrhynchus,
| The dodo and the hinkydinkus,
Stacked them where they lost their
breath
Or comfortably starved to death,
/ So we humans of today
Might dig fortunes from their clay,
And many goods that mankind owns
Should blossom from their buried
bones.
So we've blossomed much that's good,
Something's that are raw and crude;
Good and evil always mix,
Cattle ticks and politics
| Side by side with melons show;
Peaches next to ounces grow.
| But we never need despair,
| While we swig persimmon beer.
At this point the ribbon on the
typewriter split, so you are merci-
fully spared another yard or two like
the foregoing