Ballad of Bige Miller’s Cider Mill

All roads don’t lead to Rome jest now, nur git to Stokes’s store,

Nur do they wind around the town up to the church’s door;

They run north, south an’ east an’ west, by valley, plain, an’ hill,

An’ end up at the terminal, Bige Miller’s cider mill.

The on’y place uv any note in Gungywamp today,

The on’y place where anyone one would wanter go an’ stay,

The on’y place where young an’ old their inner           fill

Is down the road thet terminates at Bijah’s cider mill.

It beats all how the neighbors rush, without the least excuse,

Day after day out in the land uv Bijah’s apple juice;

The old the young, the short an’ tall hev business each day,

An’ once they git there on the spot they kinnot git away.

They differ in their pollertics, religion an’ the like,

An’ they will argue back an’ forth nigh to the point uv strike;

But one thing they agree upon, an’ praise it to the sky,

An’ thet is Bijah’s apple juice when they are good an’ dry.

Some folks hev worried o’er the drouth, afeared thet they would choke

But men with apples on their ground looked on it ez a joke.

“O, what care we,” they gaily sing, “fur all the drouths there be

So long ez Bijah’s cider mill is runnin’ full an’ free!”

An’ so they cart their apples down an’ dump ‘em in the piles

Which makes ol’ Bijah rub his hands, an’ clothes his face in smiles,

An’ then they cart their cider home, one barrel, two or three,

Against the winter’s drouth to come – which no one ever see.

No wonder men are drawn each day to Bijah’s cider mill,

Out where the crick comes windin’ down an’ shoemake dots the hill;

The music uv the grindin’ cogs, the trickle uv the stream

Is like a golden thread beneath the sun’s translucent gleam.

The ol’ hoss walkin’ round an’ round, the heaps uv red an’ gold,

The rows uv barrels foamin’ with jest all thet they kin’ hold;

The boys beside the flowin’ tub, each with a straw a-gleam,

Each freckled face reflected in the cherished, golden stream!

O, Gungywamp is fur removed frum city life an’ light,

No trolley car makes her by day, no picture show by night;

No mammoth stores lure people on to spend their mite uv cash

No busy mart to make the day with all its din an’ dash.

But Gungywamp hez many things to charm a gentle soul,

So very many there’s no time nur space to here extol;

But chief upon her autumn charms, which make our pulses thrill,

An’ one thet breaks the threatened drouth is Bijah’s cider mill.

Aug. 25, 1911

drouth – drought

Shoemake - sumac