Injun Summer

It's been a crazy time here on the farm!  We are finishing up beans today if everything (weather and equipent) holds, the girls are both done with all three sports for one whole week (Tink's basketball call out is next Monday), and the new addition is in its critical planning stage (Translation: Where do you want these windows to go.?)!

With all that, I am soooo grateful to my daddy for sending me this excerpt from a gentleman who lived in my home county.  I even went to McCutcheon High School, named after this writer, and John T ran around with guys whose names ended up on Purdue's football field, Ross and Ade.  Mr. George Ade lived in the great town of Brook, Indiana, and that's where my mom and dad grew up.  Grandma and Grandpa Lyons worked for Mr. Ade until his death.

So, while I'm off trying to keep all my fires lit, I will turn it over to Mr. McCutcheon and let him tell you a little story....... 

Thanks to Google for helping find these pictures!

 INJUN SUMMER

John T. McCutcheon
Chicago Tribune
September 30, 1907

Yep, sonny this is sure enough Injun summer. Don't know what that is, I reckon, do you? Well, that's when all the homesick Injuns come back to play; You know, a long time ago, long afore yer granddaddy was born even, there used to be heaps of Injuns around here—thousands—millions, I reckon, far as that's concerned. Reg'lar sure 'nough Injuns—none o' yer cigar store Injuns, not much. They wuz all around here—right here where you're standin'.  Don't be skeered—hain't none around here now, leastways no live ones. They been gone this many a year.  They all went away and died, so they ain't no more left.

But every year, 'long about now, they all come back, leastways their sperrits do. They're here now. You can see 'em off across the fields. Look real hard. See that kind o' hazy misty look out yonder? Well, them's Injuns—Injun sperrits marchin' along an' dancin' in the sunlight. That's what makes that kind o' haze that's everywhere—it's jest the sperrits of the Injuns all come back. They're all around us now.

See off yonder; see them tepees? They kind o' look like corn shocks from here, but them's Injun tents, sure as you're a foot high. See 'em now? Sure, I knowed you could. Smell that smoky sort o' smell in the air? That's the campfires a-burnin' and their pipes a-goin'.

Lots o' people say it's just leaves burnin', but it ain't. It's the campfires, an' th' Injuns are hoppin' 'round 'em t'beat the old Harry.

You jest come out here tonight when the moon is hangin' over the hill off yonder an' the harvest fields is all swimmin' in the moonlight, an' you can see the Injuns and the tepees jest as plain as kin be. You can, eh? I knowed you would after a little while.  Jever notice how the leaves turn red 'bout this time o' year? That's jest another sign o' redskins. That's when an old Injun sperrit gits tired dancin' an' goes up an' squats on a leaf t'rest. Why I kin hear 'em rustlin' an' whisper in' an' creepin' 'round among the leaves all the time; an' ever' once'n a while a leaf gives way under some fat old Injun ghost and comes floatin' down to the ground. See—here's one now. See how red it is? That's the war paint rubbed off'n an Injun ghost, sure's you're born.

Purty soon all the Injuns'll go marchin' away agin, back to the happy huntin' ground, but next year you'll see 'em troopin' back—th' sky jest hazy with 'em and their campfires smolderin' away jest like they are now.

Technically, I believe it is supposed to frost first, then warm up for Indian summer, but I am really tired of the heat, so I'm good with the weather we had last week!

Be safe out there, and keep an eye out for farmers!