I was born in Maryland and spent my first thirty years living there, first in the Appalachian Mountains, then on the Eastern Shore, and later in suburban Washington. After a year in South Carolina, I moved to Georgia in 1977. I soon met another park ranger who worked in Florida. She was a wonderful woman who became my best friend. then my wife, and soon the mother of our three children. I spent over eleven years working in the historic city of Savannah, Georgia, and on the moss-draped sea islands nearby before moving to Atlanta.. In 2007, I retired from the National Park Service and a career dedicated to preserving and interpreting resources and themes in the cultural and natural history of the United States. It was a most rewarding experience. Today, I enjoy living in the rolling hills and woods of the Appalachian Piedmont east of Atlanta.
It's here!. An evening that promises to bring lots of fun to kids, and those who remember being kids, has finally arrived. Have a safe and happy Halloween and don't eat too much candy before the trick or treaters get to it!.
The Adventures of Ichabod and Mister Toad, a Walt Disney film classic was released in 1949. The Ichabod adventure appeared again in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a 1955 production for the television series, Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color. I turned nine years old in 1955, still the perfect age for the big event. By that year, our gang on Wood Street had already been veterans at looking out for the Headless Horseman and his fiery pumpkin on Halloween. In western Maryland the night was always an adventure with freezing winds, sometimes rain, and even heavy snow showers that roared off Lake Erie about 140 miles to the northwest. Those Halloweens were unforgettable rites of passage for us.
Hallowe'en
by Joel Benton (1832-1911)
Pixie, kobold, elf, and sprite
All are on their rounds to-night,—
In the wan moon’s silver ray
Thrives their helter-skelter play.
Fond of cellar, barn, or stack
True unto the almanac,
They present to credulous eyes
Strange hobgoblin mysteries.
Cabbage-stumps—straws wet with dew—
Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,
And a mirror for some lass
Show what wonders come to pass.
Doors they move, and gates they hide
Mischiefs that on moonbeams ride
Are their deeds,—and, by their spells,
Love records its oracles.
Don’t we all, of long ago
By the ruddy fireplace glow,
In the kitchen and the hall,
Those queer, coof-like pranks recall?
Every shadows were they then—
But to-night they come again;
Were we once more but sixteen
Precious would be Hallowe’en.
Paul Smith worked for Walt Disney Productions for over thirty years beginning in 1930. In 1939 he won an Academy Award for his collaborative work on music for the film, Pinocchio. In following years he had seven additional Academy Award nominations for work on films, including Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Cinderella, Song of the South, and Three Caballeros. In all, Smith provided arrangements and scores for more than eighty animated and theatrical film projects for the Disney company. I was ten years old when this cartoon appeared and just beyond the peak of my trick or treating days. It's now a classic in the Disney archive and one I've enjoyed for over 65 years. It's never aged and still makes me laugh.
It's here!. An evening that promises to bring lots of fun to kids, and those who remember being kids, has finally arrived. Have a safe and happy Halloween and don't eat too much of your kid or grandkids treats.
The Adventures of Ichabod and Mister Toad, a Walt Disney film classic was released in 1949. The Ichabod adventure appeared again in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a 1955 production for the television series, Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color. I turned nine years old in 1955, still the perfect age for the big event. By that year, our gang on Wood Street had already been veterans at looking out for the Headless Horseman and his fiery pumpkin on Halloween. In western Maryland the night was always an adventure with freezing winds, sometimes rain, and even heavy snow showers that roared off Lake Erie about 140 miles to the northwest. Those Halloweens were unforgettable rites of passage for us.
Hallowe'en
by Joel Benton (1832-1911)
Pixie, kobold, elf, and sprite
All are on their rounds to-night,—
In the wan moon’s silver ray
Thrives their helter-skelter play.
Fond of cellar, barn, or stack
True unto the almanac,
They present to credulous eyes
Strange hobgoblin mysteries.
Cabbage-stumps—straws wet with dew—
Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,
And a mirror for some lass
Show what wonders come to pass.
Doors they move, and gates they hide
Mischiefs that on moonbeams ride
Are their deeds,—and, by their spells,
Love records its oracles.
Don’t we all, of long ago
By the ruddy fireplace glow,
In the kitchen and the hall,
Those queer, coof-like pranks recall?
Every shadows were they then—
But to-night they come again;
Were we once more but sixteen
Precious would be Hallowe’en.
Paul Smith worked for Walt Disney Productions for over thirty years beginning in 1930. In 1939 he won an Academy Award for his collaborative work on music for the film, Pinocchio. In following years he had seven additional Academy Award nominations for work on films, including Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Cinderella, Song of the South, and Three Caballeros. In all, Smith provided arrangements and scores for more than eighty animated and theatrical film projects for the Disney company. I was ten years old when this cartoon appeared and just beyond the peak of my trick or treating days. It's now a classic in the Disney archive and one I've enjoyed for over 65 years. It's never aged and still makes me laugh.
Here is a prayer for thanksgiving by Martin Luther...
God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, You looked upon all that You created and declared it good. Grant that we, this day, might regard Your creation with the same esteem and appreciation, seeing You at work in every daily operation. Help us to give thanks as we recognize Your loving work in all abundant blessings. Most of all, let us see not only Your creation, but also its redemption, through Jesus Christ. Amen
... a song of thanksgiving written in 1636 by Lutheran pastor, Martin Rinkart, and set to music composed by Johann Cruger in 1647...
...and a final wish for the day from our house to yours...
It's here!. An evening that promises to bring lots of fun to kids, and those who remember being kids, has finally arrived. Have a safe and happy Halloween and don't eat too much of your kid or grandkids treats.
The Adventures of Ichabod and Mister Toad, a Walt Disney film classic was released in 1949. The Ichabod adventure appeared again in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a 1955 production for the television series, Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color. I turned nine years old in 1955, still the perfect age for the big event. By that year, our gang on Wood Street had already been veterans at looking out for the Headless Horseman and his fiery pumpkin on Halloween. In western Maryland the night was always an adventure with freezing winds, sometimes rain, and even heavy snow showers that roared off Lake Erie about 140 miles to the northwest. Those Halloweens were unforgettable rites of passage for us.
Midnight tonight brings an end to our Halloween countdown. It is the last day to dream about the sights, sounds, and fun to be had, not to mention the treats. Tomorrow it will all be very real, but mask, mystery, and imagination will make it happen.
Today's music, words, and image will set the mood for what is to come:
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
On our penultimate countdown day, here is a poem from the pen of the American editor, novelist, and satirist, John Kendrick Bangs (1862-1922).
Hallowe'en
The ghosts of all things past parade,
Emerging from the mist and shade
That hid them from our gaze,
And, full of song and ringing mirth,
In one glad moment of rebirth,
And again they walk the ways of earth
As in the ancient days.
The beacon light shines on the hill,
The will-o'-wisps the forests fill
With flashes filched from noon;
And witches on their broomsticks spry
Speed here and yonder in the sky,
And lift their strident voices high
Unto the Hunter's Moon.
The air resounds with tuneful notes
From myriads of straining throats,
All hailing Folly Queen;
So join the swelling choral throng,
Forget your sorrow and your wrong,
In one glad hour of joyous song
To honor Hallowe'en!
Our International Art Publishing Company postcard dates from 1908 and is the work of the American illustrator, Bernhardt Wall (1872-1956). Wall was self-taught and at the height of his career was represented by as many as fifteen postcard companies. He is often called the "Postcard King" having illustrated more than 5000 cards, including a series of propaganda cards during World War I.
Our Halloween music today was composed by Paul Smith who worked for Walt Disney Productions for over thirty years beginning in 1930. In 1939 he won an Academy Award for his collaborative work on music for the film, Pinocchio. In following years he had seven additional Academy Award nominations for work on films, including Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Cinderella, Song of the South, and Three Caballeros. In all, Smith provided arrangements and scores for more than eighty animated and theatrical film projects for the Disney company. I was ten years old when this cartoon appeared and just beyond the peak of my trick or treating days. It's now a classic in the Disney archive and one I've enjoyed for 65 years. It's never aged and still makes me laugh.
Here's a perfect bit of brew for our run-up to Halloween. I wonder how many people graduate from high school these days without reading these lines or better yet hearing them in performance:
A dark Cave. In the middle, a Caldron boiling. Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1 WITCH. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d. 2 WITCH. Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin’d. 3 WITCH. Harpier cries:—’tis time! ’tis time! 1 WITCH. Round about the caldron go; In the poison’d entrails throw.— Toad, that under cold stone, Days and nights has thirty-one; Swelter’d venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot! ALL. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 2 WITCH. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,— For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 3 WITCH. Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf; Witches’ mummy; maw and gulf Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock digg’d i the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips; Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,— Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron, For the ingrediants of our caldron. ALL. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 2 WITCH. Cool it with a baboon’s blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
Act IV, Scene 1 from Macbeth (1606) by William Shakespeare
Our graphic for today is an International Art Publishing Company postcard featuring the work of Ellen H. Clapsaddle' the leading card artist of her era. It's one of many the mysterious "Katherine" sent to my great uncle in 1911.
We end today's edition with a dance. Be sure to click the "Show More" link for a description of the story behind the music and the music itself.
Our countdown continues with another 1910 postcard from Katherine to my great uncle, Charles. We have scores of postcards from Katherine in the archive but she never signed her last name, and to this day she remains a mystery woman to the family. As usual she included a "friendly" message.
Dear Friend, Charles: I sincerely hope you are enjoying life to the full extent. I suppose you will be out for mischief tomorrow night. Halloween is always the biggest night in the year for me. Katherine
I'm sure it was an appropriate message as Charles was a succcessful banker and life-long bachelor who was well known in the community for his mischief.
With music by Cy Coleman and words by Carl Leight, here is Frand Sinatra's 1963 version of Witchcraft.
And in closing here is a fitting poem about Halloween by Carl Sandburg from his Chicago Poems (1916).
Our postcard for the day comes from the Ullman Manufacturing Company. The card is described as an American Colorgravure Post Card, Hallowe'en Series 182, Subject 2759. There is no copyright date but it bears a 1911 postmark. Obviously this card suffers from poor registration but, given the subject, a blurred image almost adds somewhat to the effect.
And here is some very fitting music for the pumpkins, cats, and smiling moon on a cold, windy, creepy Halloween night.
Today's poem is a literary feast for readers who enjoy language. Granted this is a long poem but it is Robert Burns's wonderful description of the Halloween traditions of Scotland. Here is the introduction in the poet's own words:
The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among th emore unenlightened in our own. R.B. 1785
[Notes appear after the poem. Some readers may find them more helpful if read before the poem.]
[Footnote 1: Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary,.-R.B.]
[Footnote 2: Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.-R.B.]
[Footnote 3: A noted cavern near Colean house, called the Cove of Colean; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favorite haunt of fairies.-R.B.]
[Footnote 4: The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.-R.B.]
[Footnote 5: The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a "stock," or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells-the husband or wife. If any "yird," or earth, stick to the root, that is "tocher," or fortune; and the taste of the "custock," that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the "runts," are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house are, according to the priority of placing the "runts," the names in question.-R. B.]
[Footnote 6: They go to the barnyard, and pull each, at three different times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the "top-pickle," that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid.-R.B.]
[Footnote 7: When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a "fause-house."-R.B.]
[Footnote 8: Burning the nuts is a favorite charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.-R.B.]
[Footnote 9: Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling, throw into the "pot" a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old one; and, toward the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, "Wha hauds?" i.e., who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.-R.B.]
[Footnote 10: Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjungal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.-R.B.]
[Footnote 11: Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then: "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me and shaw thee," that is, show thyself; in which case, it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say: "Come after me and harrow thee."-R.B.]
[Footnote 12: This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a "wecht," and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.-R.B.]
[Footnote 13: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a "bear-stack," and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.-R.B.]
[Footnote 14: You go out, one or more (for this is a social spell), to a south running spring, or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.-R.B.]
[Footnote 15: Take three dishes, put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty; blindfold a person and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand; if by chance in the clean water, the future (husband or) wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.-R.B.]
[Footnote 16: Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.-R.B.]
Time for a Glencairn of scotch?
Sources:
The Burns poem, footnotes, and introduction were taken from robertburns.org.
My family archive has perhaps 200 postcards from Katherine. She signed all of them either "Katherine" or "K" without a surname and therefore in spite of all that mail she is the mystery woman, a perfect choice for our Halloween countdown. By the time (1960) we inventoried the large card collection from my grandmother's generation there was no one left to identify her. She sent the postcard shown above - postmarked October 30, 1910, Camden, New Jersey - to my great uncle, Charles. Given that this is one of many postcards she sent that Halloween and on other special occasions it seems that sending several postcards to the same recipient on the same day was a popular activity. The message:
Dear Friend: Because I have not written do not think I have forgotten you. I am alive and enjoying life. Have just finished breakfast at 4:30 a.m. Kate
Did she have a night on the town? That sounds about right for a friend of Charles who in his day was well-known as quite the party animal in the family.
And speaking of animals here is a poem for the season, written by the literary master of horror and suspense, Edgar Allan Poe, and delivered by a master of horror on film, Vincent Price.
Halloween 2022, the first day of Allhallowtide, is but a week away and could be upon us before we know it. I hope your preparations are moving along well with decorations in place, treats purchased, and costumes carefully selected and fitted. There's no doubt the little goblins in the neighborhood have, as the postcard suggests, "the highest of expectations for Halloween."
