When the last green tomato was pickled,
And the last blushing peach had been peeled;
When the last luscious pea had been quartered,
And the last can of plums had been sealed;

When the last yellow Quince had been honeyed,
And the last drop of chili sauce jugged;
When the last stalk of cane had become sorghum,
And the last barrel of vinegar plugged;

When the grape juice was all corked and bottled,
And the corn made into salad or dried;
When the beets and the apples were buried,
And the side meat and sausage fried.

When the catsup was made and the sauerkraut,
And potatoes were stored in the bin;
When the peppers were stuffed with cabbage,
And the pumpkins were all carried in;

When the flower seeds were gathered and packaged,
And the house plants were potted and in;
When the fruit cakes were baked for the holidays,
And the mincemeat was canned up in tin;

When the celery was blanched and nuts were gathered,
And the beans had been shelled and hulled;
When the sweet potatoes were dried in the oven,
And the onions were pulled up and culled;

When the honey had all been extracted,
And the comb melted and beeswax in molds;
When the jellies were all glassed and labeled,
And the horehound juice syrupped for colds;

When the tallow was made into candles,
And the ashes were leached into lye;
When the rushes were bundled for scouring,
And walnut hulls gathered for dye:

When the cheese was unhopped and ripened,
And the beef corned in the brine to be dried;
When the ham and shoulders were browned in the smokehouse,
And the lard rendered from crackling and tried:

When the popcorn was tied to the rafters,
And the wood was piled high in the shed;
When the feathers from goose and from gander
Were picked for the warm feather bed

Women folks were most ready for winter,
To rest as they knitted and sewed:
As they spun flax, carded wool, pieced quilt blocks,
Is it strange that Grandma's shoulders are bowed?