October can ‘set gypsy blood astir’

A century ago, world- nowned Fredericton, N.B., poet William Bliss Carman accurately described the intense pull of golden October on the natives in this neck of the woods. His poem, “A Vagabond Song,” was drilled into the head of many a little school kid in these parts for years thereafter by teachers hell-bent on introducing a pinch of culture into the seventh-grade curriculum:

“There is something in October that sets the gypsy blood astir;/We must rise and follow her/When from every hill of flame/She calls each vagabond by name…”

Alas, those lines and one other – “The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry of bugles going by” – are all that I can remember of Carman’s masterpiece, time having taken its toll on instant-recall capabilities that, truth be told, were probably never all that hot in the first place.

No matter. I have enough of the vagabond in me to get the man’s point about October, and I suspect that you do, as well. We know that October done right, as appeared to be the case in the opening days of the month, is easily one of God’s more impressive accomplishments.

It is not only the scarlet maples that grab our attention like a cry of bugles going by. The brilliant blue-sky days, mild temperatures and the purple haze on the ridges also conspire to create a vague sense of homesickness, even when we are home – a serenity that will stand us in good stead when the icy winds of November come calling to herald deepest, darkest winter.

In Glorious October, we have a feeling that we really ought to be doing something constructive around the house, or, barring that, at least should be getting in a final round of golf. But in our lethargy we settle for just poking around slack-jawed and idle while contemplating the magnificence of it all. We are keenly aware of the reality check that lurks just over yonder hill as the year winds down. But frankly, my dear, we just don’t give a damn.

This seasonal funk afflicts all walks of life, all professions. But when it happens in the newspaper business it seems to especially amuse our readers. To wit:

. An Associated Press story in Wednesday’s newspaper reported that President Bush is considering the possibility of invoking what would amount to “marshal law” – as opposed, one supposes, to martial law – should an avian flu pandemic occur in this country.

“You know Marshal Dillon’s cousin, Marshal Law? He’s been in the news quite a bit with the New Orleans coverage, and there he is popping up again on today’s BDN Page C9. What is going on with the keepers of the people’s tongue?” asked a regular e-mail pal who signed himself “Grumpy English teacher.”

. An earlier AP story told of how a Vermont state senator and a fellow Vermont trucker had helped rescue a Quebec woman “from a burning car moments before it caught fire,” on a Canadian highway. Durward Brown of Millinocket wrote to ask how the car could be burning before it caught fire. The answer, of course, is that in Quebec Province anything is possible, the more so on the proofreader’s day off.

. Teddy Weston of Winterport e-mailed a while ago to say that, “As a former math teacher, I am constantly annoyed by errors indicating the writer has no conception of what the decimal point means, and certainly no sense of the use of percent. “For instance, at a recent stop at a drug store I saw a basket of candy pieces labeled ‘.01 cent apiece.’ I was tempted to give the clerk a penny and demand 100 pieces. The major league baseball standings [in the newspaper] are another irritation. Boston is listed as .562 pct. That is less than one per cent as written, when 56.2 percent is what is meant.”

However, there is little percentage in continuing to carp about it, my cross-town neighbor conceded, since there apparently are lots of people who will never understand the percent thing but manage to live happy, productive lives anyway.

One such person may be the Aroostook County businessman cited by e-mailer Wayne Thibeau, a Fort Fairfield native living in Florida.

Having trouble deciphering an invoice, the man called in his secretary. “You graduated from the University of Maine, and I need help with percentages,” he told her. “If I were to give you $20,000, minus 13.75 percent, how much would you take off?”

The secretary thought about it, then replied, “Everything but my earrings, sweetheart.”

NEWS columnist Kent Ward lives in Winterport. His e-mail address is olddawg@bangordailynews.net.