|Birth: ||Aug. 5, 1875|
|Death: ||Feb. 2, 1964|
Arthur married Mable Whitehead on 25 June 1906 in Waterville, Kennebec County, Maine.
Grandpa and his Mule
Yeah, I'm an ornery old mule
But I still got a few feisty years left in me,
I can out plow those younger guys
I stop, rest, do as I please -
Take my time you see.
Out there in a field about day light
We start early down a long row,
That old farmer don't walk very fast
We just kind of go rather slow.
The sun begins to beat down
We turn the soil up - lift it out of hard ground,
Takes a spell to reach the other side
Rest awhile, continue to make another round.
Once in a while I get stubborn
Sometimes I balk on plowing out there,
That farmer can't get me to move
It's a tiresome job -
All that gear I got to wear.
He commences to Gee and Haw
His face begins to wear a scowl,
Wanting me to hurry and move on
He has an old ragged handkerchief
to wipe his brow
The clods of dirt are heavy and don't move
The farmer has trouble as he stumbles along,
Just the two of us working in the field
Off in the woods I hear
A Mocking Bird singing a song.
We got to get this field turned
Completed by night fall at the end of day,
Spring time of the year, we plant a big crop
I overheard that old farmer say.
Over the years we've plodded along
Just him and of course
couldn't do it without me,
Every year he hooks me up to that plow
And behind me there's where he will be!
Over the field we slowly made our way
All day long every step I made
He was right behind me trailing along
Only in the fence rows were there any shade.
Not always the same field,
But the same rich brown dirt
Back and forth we go,
As he wrestles with that heavy push plow
I mosey along taking my time
Going kind of slow.
He mumbles a lot, mostly to himself
The Plow slipping and sliding
in his callused hand,
The loose dirt gets into his worn work shoes
Hard way to make a living
plowing this rocky land.
He never seems to want to quit
I've seen him almost fall,
But we've gotten the sod turned over
Raised corn over six feet tall.
Someday we'll hang up this gear
Retire the plow and won't work anymore,
Just stand in the shade picking our teeth
Down there in front of the barn door.
Lunch is over, I see him coming
He's ready once again to go plow,
So guess we're still in business
But Hey! I'm too young to retire, anyhow.
The farmer wore faded patched overalls
As we trotted along
plowing under all the weeds,
On his head he wore
a sweat stained old felt hat
Preparing the ground for tobacco
or more corn seeds.
That was many years ago
They are now resting
By Heaven's golden shore,
I'd love to see them plowing once again
In my memories they will remain forever more.
Written By: Adine Cathey
Mabel D. Whitehead Staples (1889 - 1964)
Isaac Edward Staples (1906 - 1965)*
Florence A. Staples Lincoln (1918 - 1997)*
Note: Please indicate section, row, plot for future reader to be able to find grave easier. Thank you.
South Belfast Cemetery
Created by: sandpipertoo
Record added: Nov 26, 2010
Find A Grave Memorial# 62165361
Added: Feb. 8, 2012
I never really knew this person very well. We visited occasionally. More rare than regular. He was my father's grandfather. But he adopted my father. One of grandfather's sons was the biological father. Which was never revealed as to whom. This poem reson...(Read more)|
Added: Feb. 8, 2012