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Ihr liewe Leit:
Letscht Woch hen mer gelese ass der Henry Fisher in seim Buch vun
1878 gelammediert hot, "Wie kummt's dass ken so Schnee mehr gebt/Wie in de
alde Ziede?"
Beinaah genaa zwansich Yaahr schpeeder hot der Astor C. Wuchter
(1856-1922) gschriwwe: Hurrah
fer der Winder! hurrah fer der Schnee! Nau raus mit em Schlidde un zehl mer
ken zwee; Do muss mer sich dummle schunnscht geht der Schnee weck;
Villeicht bis uff marriage hockt alles im Dreck!
Es scheint ass era aa net uff viel Schnee hot hoffe kenne.
Awwer wann mer genunk Schnee hot fer en Schlidde, dann kann's gehe
wie der Fisher uns nau erzeehlt:
Im Winder waar als Singschul
Im Schulhaus datt am Barrig;
Datt sin mer als hie Schliddegfaahre,
Un wann mer all beinanner waare
Waar's aartlich iwwerzwerrig;
Ihr liewe Leit! O was! O was!
Waar sell 'n guder alder Gschpass!
Sell wwar ken hunnert Daaler Schlee,
Ken ee-geils Fancy-fuhr;
Der Schlidde waar vol Huddelschtroh,
Un sell waar aa viel gsunder so -
Fer'n freehlichi nadur-
Ass Welwetplush un bufflo-fliess,
Un heesse Bricks noch an de Fiess.
Ebmols sin mer iwwer'n Schtumbe gange,
Es hot uns all rausgschmisse;
Datt waare mer, in Schtroh un Schnee,
Drunner un driwwer, unner'm Schlee,
Un gaar nix waar verrisse;
Hur-a-a! was hen mer doch gelacht!
Es hot der Wald recht schalle gmacht.
Sell hot zum Schliddefaahre gheert,
Schunnscht waer yo gaar ken Gschpass.
Ich kennt en Kall mit Name nenne,
Hot's Meedel net umschmeisse kenne,
Ken Wunner hot sie'n ghasst;
Sie hot em aa der Saeck aaghenkt-
Sie hot viel meh vun mir gedenkt.
Sell Umschmeisses iss sicher efders bassiert; in seim Gedicht
hot der Wuchter gschriwwe:
Hurrah fer der Winder! So ebbes iss Gschpass;
Die meed singe en Liedel, die Buwe der Bass.
Do geht's in die Schneebank un schmeisst's emol um,
Geht's drunner un driwwere, was gebt mer yo drum.
Awwer nadierlich kann mer des nimmi duh; do watt mer glei verglaagt!
Mach's gut,
Der Alt Professer
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Dear people:
Last week we read that Henry Fisher in his book of 1878 lamented,
"How does it happen that there is no such snow anymore/As in the olden
times?"
Almost exactly 20 years later, Astor C. Wuchter (1856-1922) wrote:
Hurray for Winter! Hurray for snow!
Now out with the sleigh, don't count till two;
We have to hurry or else the snow will go away;
Perhaps till tomorrow everything will sit in the dirt!
It seems that he too could not hope for much snow.
But if one has enough snow for a sleigh, then things can go
like Fisher now tells us:
In winter there was singing school
In the school house there at the mountain;
We used to go there by riding the sleigh,
And when we were all together
Things were all mixed up;
Dear people! Oh what! Oh what!
Was that a good old fun!
That was not a hundred dollar sleigh,
No one-horse fancy vehicle;
The sleigh was full of tangled straw,
And that was much healthier that way-
For a happy nature -
Than velvet plush and buffalo fleece,
And hot bricks even at the feet.
Sometimes we went over a stump,
It threw us all out;
There we were in the snow and straw,
Under and over, under the sleigh,
And nothing was torn;
Hurray! How we then laughed!
It made the woods quite resound.
That belonged to sleighing,
Otherwise there would be no fun.
I could name a fellow by name,
Couldn't throw over his girl,
No wonder she hated him;
She also gave him the sack-
She thought much more of me.
Such turning over surely would happened
often; in his poem Wucher wrote:
Hurray for winter! Such a thing is fun;
The girls sing a ditty, the boys (sing) the bass.
We get into a snowbank and turn over once,
We go under and over, but what do we care.
But naturally one can no longer do that; you immediately get sued in
court!
Take care,
The Old Professor
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