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September Morn

September Morn Philip St. Clair Appalachian Heritage, Volume 32, Number 4, Fall 2004, p. 64 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2004.0009 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/431044/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 17:43 GMT from JHU Libraries September Morn Once more in my car, listening to my radio: a woman is speaking with a tension in her voice like a taut, rusty wire:—it's clear there's some angst transcending whatever stress there is in recording for NPR. It's September, she tells me, and she's had to give up her garden: she has borne the implements of harvest but has laid them down—ploughshares beaten into tools for remorse. She has seen bright yellow squash glow under velvet leaves and intricate vines and has stayed her hand and sheathed her paring knife; she has seen the tomato plants she has mulched, staked, and tied sag from the weight of its orange-red fruit that now will split down the side from neglect and fall to the ground. Ranks of sterile Mason jars, lined up in her kitchen, are doomed to gather dust on the rafters of her garage, and the great blue enamelware cauldron that ruled the top http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

September Morn

St. Clair, Philip R.
Appalachian Review , Volume 32 (4) – Jan 8, 2014
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College.
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Philip St. Clair Appalachian Heritage, Volume 32, Number 4, Fall 2004, p. 64 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2004.0009 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/431044/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 17:43 GMT from JHU Libraries September Morn Once more in my car, listening to my radio: a woman is speaking with a tension in her voice like a taut, rusty wire:—it's clear there's some angst transcending whatever stress there is in recording for NPR. It's September, she tells me, and she's had to give up her garden: she has borne the implements of harvest but has laid them down—ploughshares beaten into tools for remorse. She has seen bright yellow squash glow under velvet leaves and intricate vines and has stayed her hand and sheathed her paring knife; she has seen the tomato plants she has mulched, staked, and tied sag from the weight of its orange-red fruit that now will split down the side from neglect and fall to the ground. Ranks of sterile Mason jars, lined up in her kitchen, are doomed to gather dust on the rafters of her garage, and the great blue enamelware cauldron that ruled the top

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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