Old November Days

Here is poem written by my late grandfather, Dale T. Sheets. I don’t have the date that it was written but know it was 1990 or before. It may have possibly been written as early as 1939 when his first poems were published. He was born on a farm in Indiana in 1920 and remembered those early days fondly. Back in those days there were bangboards and an entire team used to harvest corn. Please enjoy “Old November Days” (previously untitled) by Dale T. Sheets.

”Old November Days” by Dale T. Sheets

I watch the farmer’s combine in the corn

With snapping-roller teeth husk out the ears,

Leaving the pillaged corn stalks bent and torn,

While gulping grain into its gut of gears.

But I remember red-slat cribs in fall

Where mice each year took residence anew

And seed corn hung on strings along the wall.

When once the harvest days were through.

How winter came in stages to our yards

As quarter hours disturbed the radio

Till we felt free at last to shuffle cards

Or stalk the splendid fox through early snow.

Oh I remember old November days-

A frost, a team, a not-yet-risen sun,

A father cornfield where a farmhand plays

The corn against the bangboard one by one.