Atherton, Missouri is a tiny town,
which a lot of 'tater fields surround.
I used to pick 'taters down in Atherton,
where there ain't no shade, while you fry in the sun.
There's skeeters that's as huge as a silver Dollar.
And they'll suck up a pint, afore ya' feel it and holler.

But the times were tough, and the money was lean,
so you were destined to follow that pickin' machine.
You got a dime to fill a hundred pound bag.
It made your shoulders ache, and your backbone sag,
cause you're goin' on twelve, and it weren't no fun;
pickin' them 'taters, down in Atherton.

'Tater pickin there has history,
close to eighty years, as I can see.
First light , you started pickin' on that dry terrain,
and you quit well after sundown, fully racked with pain.
You'd sweat and you'd thirst, till your mind's undone.
It's what you got for pickin' 'taters, down in Atherton.

If you want to be a picker, boy, well don't make haste.
'Cause the rattlesnakes are thicker than Santa's waist.
And them skeeters are bad, to say the least.
They'll carry pickers off, to where the big ones feast.
Down in the swamps, when the screamin' was done,
We'd be shy a couple pickers, down in Atherton.

In World War Two, they continued the toil.
Sent German POW's to that arid soil.
They said, "Der temperture ist blazing, und dem skeeters, zo bad!
Pleaze..... zend us back to Stalingrad.
Var is hell!! But it sure vas fun,
Compared to pickin' 'taters, down in Athzerton"

Noon would come and we were beat,
But we'd stagger into town, for a bite to eat.
I had an Aunt Bertha in the Co-op store.
She would slice bread and cheese, till her arms were sore.
A sandwich, and a pop , and off we'd run,
Aunt Bertha fed us pickers, down in Atherton.

Last night I was dreaming that I was dead,
and the devil stood there, all dressed in red.
" You've been sent down here for your way of livin'.
(Them people up there can be mighty unforgiving!!)
But my computer says that up thru Sixty One,
That you were pickin' 'taters down in Atherton."

His eyes welled up , tears ran down his face.
He said, " Now this here is a special case.
You go on to heaven, and I wish you well.
You've already done your time in hell.
Now get outa here boy, and bless you son.
You survived pickin' 'taters, down in Atherton."

04/29/2005

Author's Note: This basically is a true story of how we kids made money in the summer, in Atherton Missouri, in the early dayz....

Posted on 04/29/2005
Copyright © 2024 Fredrich Mohre