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Dancing with Scythe

Before we get seriously technical, philosophical and constructively critical, we want to share the lyrics of a song which aptly expresses at least a portion of what our mission is about. It was written by Matthew Heintz, a basket-making musician of Thorndike, Maine, who, to many people from that little corner of the world, is known as “The Northwoods Balladeer”. This song, however, is not a ballad; Matthew is singing about the present.

 

My old friend Scy’ is a sharp lookin’ guy
When he dances he cuts a mean rug
Made of alder and apple with a clover moustache you
Will drink the best rye from his jugAnd once Scy’ gets stoned all his senses are honed
You can hear a fine ring in his steel
He’ll work hard all mornin’ he won’t need no cornin’
Just a good night’s rest right on his heel

But when Scy’ gets dull he’ll need a good pull
To bring him clean through on each stroke’
And if you abuse him you’ll certainly lose him
Hit some rock and he’ll be heart-broke

A wipe with a rag will cut down on the drag
And Scy’ will lay down wheat with ease
He don’t ask for much and he’ll make a good crutch
When you hay ’til you’re weak in the knees
………………………

Chorus

Oh, dancing with Scy’ puts a gleam in your eye
A half acre dries in the sun
When the new morning dew soaks your breeches clean thru’
By nine a.m. mowing is done
………………………
Now folks have it made when the tools of their trade
Are treated with care and respect
And when they wear out there should be no doubt
It is from long, hard use, not neglect

Scy’ serves me so well on my farm in the dell
Singing Hi Ho the Derry Oh Day
When mowing’s begun it turns into fun
And working seems much more like play

A weed-eater spumes all its greenhouse gas fumes
Man’s ingenuity gone awry
I’ll never go near a new riding John Deere
As long as I have my friend Scy’

Now some call me fickle but give me a sickle
When the rye stands shoulder high
I’ll leap at the chance to reap while I dance
With my trusty, not rusty, old Scy’
………………………
Chorus
Oh, dancing with Scy’ puts a gleam in your eye
A half acre dries in the sun
When the new morning dew soaks your breeches clean thru’
By nine a.m. mowing is done
………………………

©2001 Matthew Heintz