![]() I’m always puzzled by one thing, and that’s how she finds time in spring It grows so fast you have to git out of the way or you’ll be hit.īut while I gobble up the stuff she grows and never get enough, She’s got the greenest thumb around, and when she drops seed in the ground “Mirandy, these spring onions are the best you’ve ever grown by far.”Īt gardening my wife’s a whiz, I’ll bet that she’s the best there is Greets ending of a long school year–these things all mean the summer’s near.īut best of all, May means we’ve got a first crop from the garden plot įor me there’s no red-letter day quite like the one when I can say, The shouts of happiness and joy with which each little girl and boy The early flowers all blooming bright (and no mosquitoes yet in sight), The green across the country-side, the late spring sun upon my hide, The pleasant smell of new-worked soil, the sight of folks at honest toil, I don’t think there is any way you could improve the month of May,Īt least as far as I’m concerned, each year I’m glad when it’s returned. Then, in the issue, he waxed poetic about the merry month of May: ‘Cause in return I’ve suffered loss by lettin’ her pretend she’s boss. She calls me lazy, but I say she’s better off with me that way I’ve been the world’s most faithful spouse, though often she’s called me a louse ![]() Without complaint and given smiles in payment for her wifely wiles. Mirandy claims she doesn’t know how we have ever made it go,īut it is easy to explain: I’ve simply stood each ache and pain That I’ve lived half a century beneath one woman’s thumb, by gee. It’s been an awful lot of fun composing ev’ry single one.įin’ly and by far the most, this is the year when I can boast Then, secondly, this little song will very soon have perked along for forty years,Īnd though some say it shouldn’t last another day, I feel so good I’m sure I can go on for quite a bit ‘fore my old ticker has to quit. Is when I’ll reach three-score ten though that is s’posed to be life’s span, Again he mentioned “Mirandy”:Ī NEW YEAR’S hung upon the wall and this time I don’t mind at allīecause, for me, this year will be a triple anniversary. In the Januissue, the Lazy Farmer’s song was about the New Year and that he was soon to turn 70 years old. I help by restin’ quietly so she don’t have to doctor me. So, even though it makes me boil to see Mirandy work and toil, Why my weak stomach even kicks at those meals easiest to fix. My sinuses and allergy keep me from dustin’ too, by gee Keep me from pushin’ on a broom, I couldn’t finish up one room. So I could help her out a bit, then she’d have time to stop and sit.īut my arthritis and lame back, my daily rheumatiz’ attack Whene’er I watch her rush around I always wish my health were sound She sits beside the fire and rocks while darnin’ up a pile of socks. Three times a day she keeps me fed, and after I have gone to bed The rugs need beatin’ now and then, each week she kills and plucks a hen. There’s cookies, pies and bread to bake, then pans to wash and beds to make The floors get swept four times a day and in between she works awayĪt scrubbin’ down the basement stairs or dustin’ all the front room chairs. To catch up on the work she’s got she keeps that broom of hers red hot, Mirandy’s life is pretty tough, she never does have time enough The author of this on-going feature, which appeared in many farm papers during the late 1940s and early ’50s, was never identified.įrom the December 4, 1948, issue comes this loving tribute to his long-suffering wife, Miranda: The Ohio Farmer, a paper published twice a month by Capper-Harman-Slocum, Inc., of Cleveland, Ohio, contained a feature called The Song of the Lazy Farmer.
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