Entertaining the Seniors in Lowell, NC

My perception of the poem by Sam Walter Foss called, "The House By The Side Of The Road"

Tonight was a success. I liked the medium. Once finished and I am wrapping up, Sherry told me she did not get any pictures. But promised to, next time. This time I operated the lights also and left her to enjoy the program. She said she was so engrossed in the story she forgot to take pictures. (Her story and she is sticking to it).

Part of the Story:
Foss was walking on his journey across country when he spied a sign printed on an old plank that read, 'to the spring'. He was hot and thirsty and followed the path down to the spring where he found a clean gourd, and a basket of shiney red apples. Another note saying rest stranger, drink this refreshing water and have an apple.

After being rested he knew there was a story behind the spring so he found the house using another path at the spring. The house was actually on the same road he had been walking. His enquiry at the house got him the story of a couple old folk who just wanted to be friends to tired travelers.


“He was a friend to man, and lived In a house by the side of the road.”- Homer

Part of The poem:
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where highways never ran
But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
........ ........

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches way to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice.
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
It’s here the race of men go by.
They are good, they are bad,
they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish- so am I;
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban? Let me live in my
house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

The program went well especially with the addition of the poem by Edgar Guest, It takes a heap of living in a house to make a home. Us old folk like to think of our house being a home.

Below is my palet. I was offered a dollar for it once by a young man, thinking it was modern art.


Thanks for coming by the log.

Night Shipslog

PS:
Something you may not know...

Canada has more lakes than the rest of the world combined. Canada is an Indian word meaning ' Big Village ...'