Piddingworth Greg Benton |
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| 'Piddingworth...where St. George's Cross is not yet banned.' --Mark Steyn |
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| Thank you very much for your support! |
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| May God give you the strength & courage to do your Duty... Rose West Leonard |
| GET THEM NOW... BEFORE THEY'RE BANNED! |
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| O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever. (Psalm 107.1) |
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| Ode to Autumn
John Keats Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-- While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. |
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| HARVEST HOME |
| The crops in the fields were harvested recently and the yield was not as great as in previous years; largely due to the dry summer. Still, the corn and the canola will make their way through the many hands from the soil in which they were sewn and into a variety of foods that will appear on people's plates. The greater the distance from the origin of our food, it seems, there is a commensurate distance in appreciating it's goodness and necessity where the contribution from these fields will only be listed in the series of ingredients on a package found on the storeshelf. How many people in the 'advanced' societies of the world have never walked in a cornfield, seen a chicken, touched a cow or a lamb with all the associated aromas filling their senses? It is remarkable how some plastic wrap or carton can serve as a mask for the nature contained within. The signficance of the harvest for those who live in agricultural communities, in particular, and those who plough or slaughter or otherwise 'gather' the fruit of the land remains an important time of the year when a season of high labour comes to an end. This is, of course, the origin of the 'feast' of 'thanksgiving', still celebrated in some churches, where the sanctuary or chancel is filled with all the wonderful and colourful display of pumpkins, gourds, sheaths of wheat and barley and the like. Hymns of thanksgiving are sung to the Lord of the Harvest followed 'at home' with a harvest supper or dinner. This is also undoubtedly the feast that was observed by the 'Puritans', i.e., the English settlers in the American colonies where the 'harvest' occurred somewhat later in the year and has now become institutionalised as 'Thanksgiving' and perhaps is the origin of having a great 'turkey' on the table. In Canada, a holiday for 'national thanksgiving' always comes on the second Monday of October; the week following the Harvest festival. Somehow, in popular culture, a 'disconnect' between the Harvest and 'giving thanks' has taken place and that is really unfortunate. The food that we require comes from the fruit of the labour of other people so that it may be purchased by the fruit of our own labours whatever they may be. What ought not to be forgotten is that, whilst we are able to stuff ourselves with plenty of good things, there are so very many people elsewhere who hunger for even a morsel of what we so readily can take for granted. We ought not to feel guilty that we, in the developed countries of the world, have so much. As that wonderful German hymn sings out in the refrain: 'All good things around us are sent from heaven above'. But then it finishes with the admonition: 'then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord, for all his love'. The gifts of God, whether of the earth or the heart, are meant to sustain our short lives in this world. They are also meant to be shared with those whose poverty in earthly things prevents so many from seeing another day. There are myriad ways of doing that, either personally or through charities that reach out to those whose lives yield little from their harvests. This is a perfect time for families especially to come together, not only to enjoy the great feast, but to reflect on it's meaning for them and for the least of these our brothers and sisters. It is an opportunity, once a year, for children to learn of the meaning of these gifts of food and labour and the importance of taking great care to appreciate them. G.B. October, 2007 |
| Harvest Time Alfred A. Glendening |
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| George Ambrose West, my Great-Grandfather, circa 1905 Stanmer, Sussex with his son, my Great-Uncle Joseph West Likely one of the last Ox-men in England. |
| Written in 2007. |