Frank was a poet and a family historian. One of his poems:
The Open Fire
How well I mind the open fire
With grandad in his easy chair,
His cane in hand to poke the logs
And make'em blaze and crack and flare!
A plate of apples at his side,
His jack-knife cuttin 'round a core
As, with a twinkle in his eyes,
He told ua Blue Mountain Lore:
"Fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
The wind don't blow."
Dim shadows from the glowing logs
Would land enhancement to the spell
Which held us, as he lived again
The thrilling stories he would tell
Of how he came to Big Blue Valley,
Indiana ---all the way
By covered wagon, See him yet,
Hear him chuckle as he'd say:
"fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
"The wind don't blow."
The Open Fire - one of my pleasant memories of the old family home on South Adams Street, and maternal Grand-father, Harvey Bell, who, with his family moved to Indiana in 1831 from near Staunton, Virginia, coming via the State Road. by Frank Edwards
The Open Fire
How well I mind the open fire
With grandad in his easy chair,
His cane in hand to poke the logs
And make'em blaze and crack and flare!
A plate of apples at his side,
His jack-knife cuttin 'round a core
As, with a twinkle in his eyes,
He told ua Blue Mountain Lore:
"Fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
The wind don't blow."
Dim shadows from the glowing logs
Would land enhancement to the spell
Which held us, as he lived again
The thrilling stories he would tell
Of how he came to Big Blue Valley,
Indiana ---all the way
By covered wagon, See him yet,
Hear him chuckle as he'd say:
"fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
"The wind don't blow."
The Open Fire - one of my pleasant memories of the old family home on South Adams Street, and maternal Grand-father, Harvey Bell, who, with his family moved to Indiana in 1831 from near Staunton, Virginia, coming via the State Road. by Frank Edwards
Frank was a poet and a family historian. One of his poems:
The Open Fire
How well I mind the open fire
With grandad in his easy chair,
His cane in hand to poke the logs
And make'em blaze and crack and flare!
A plate of apples at his side,
His jack-knife cuttin 'round a core
As, with a twinkle in his eyes,
He told ua Blue Mountain Lore:
"Fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
The wind don't blow."
Dim shadows from the glowing logs
Would land enhancement to the spell
Which held us, as he lived again
The thrilling stories he would tell
Of how he came to Big Blue Valley,
Indiana ---all the way
By covered wagon, See him yet,
Hear him chuckle as he'd say:
"fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
"The wind don't blow."
The Open Fire - one of my pleasant memories of the old family home on South Adams Street, and maternal Grand-father, Harvey Bell, who, with his family moved to Indiana in 1831 from near Staunton, Virginia, coming via the State Road. by Frank Edwards
The Open Fire
How well I mind the open fire
With grandad in his easy chair,
His cane in hand to poke the logs
And make'em blaze and crack and flare!
A plate of apples at his side,
His jack-knife cuttin 'round a core
As, with a twinkle in his eyes,
He told ua Blue Mountain Lore:
"Fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
The wind don't blow."
Dim shadows from the glowing logs
Would land enhancement to the spell
Which held us, as he lived again
The thrilling stories he would tell
Of how he came to Big Blue Valley,
Indiana ---all the way
By covered wagon, See him yet,
Hear him chuckle as he'd say:
"fly high buzzard, fly low crow,
"Never mind the weather when
"The wind don't blow."
The Open Fire - one of my pleasant memories of the old family home on South Adams Street, and maternal Grand-father, Harvey Bell, who, with his family moved to Indiana in 1831 from near Staunton, Virginia, coming via the State Road. by Frank Edwards
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