Diddily-dee-dot's Dreamland, Welcome's You All.

 

THE MYTH OF PAN

In a very far-away country, a long time ago, there lived a man who loved music and little children and the birds and flowers. And the little children loved Pan--for that was his name--because he told them such beautiful stories and played on a set of pipes which he had made from the reeds which grew by the river.

Every evening, when it was time for the sun to go to sleep and all the little stars to wake up, Pan would take his pipes, go down to the river side, and play all the songs he knew. Everybody could hear Pan's music for miles and miles, but many of them did not like his music, and wished that he would not play.

Once some of these people gathered together and planned how they could stop Pan from playing his pipes, and while they were talking, some beetles near by heard their plans. Now, one of these beetles had hurt his wing at one time and had fallen down in the dust on the road, and could go no farther. It was a very hot day, and the poor little beetle was almost dead from the heat. Soon Pan came walking along and saw the beetle, and,  picking it up very carefully, he carried it on some green leaves to a shady place, where he left it to rest and get well. The beetle had never forgotten Pan's kindness, and when he heard the plans these bad people had made he said:
  "Come, friends, and go with me, for we must hurry and tell Pan what the wicked people have planned, so that he will not be there when they go to push him into the river."

The beetles had only one day in which to reach Pan, for the evil people were going to carry out their plans the next night, so they spread their wings and flew as fast as they could fly. They could not travel far at a time, because their wings grew very tired and their bodies were so heavy. When they could fly no longer they would walk, and when they were tired walking they would fly again. In this way they hurried on and on, for the day was growing into night, and they could hear Pan playing his beautiful songs way down by the river bank. They had almost reached him when they heard what seemed to be a crowd of people running through the bushes and among the trees, and it seemed that they were going toward the river. Next there was a big splash and many voices talking loudly, and after that--silence.
When the beetles reached the place where Pan always sat they could not find him; but there in the river were his pipes, which he loved so well.

The people had reached Pan before the beetles, and had pushed him into the river, and his pipes fell in too, but Pan did not wait to get them.
He climbed out and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The people
ran after him, but he leaped and bounded over the bushes and flowers,
and ran on and on. Sometimes they were almost upon him, but he always
out-ran them.
He wished to hide, but could find no place. He could not climb the trees, for the people could climb trees, too, and he could not hide in the grass or under the bushes, for they would be sure to find him there.

At last, along the river bank, he spied the little violets that had
closed their eyes, but were still gazing at the stars. One little violet seemed to say to him,
"I will hide you," and it folded its little petals around him. Pan was safe now, and from his hiding place he could hear the people searching for him. They looked for a long time, but they did not find him. He was  happy and thankful, and, as he was very tired and the soft petals of the violets made a pleasant resting place, he was soon fast asleep.

Away back on the river bank, where Pan always sat, were the beetles.
They were very sorry that they had not reached him in time to tell him that the people were coming, and that they could not get his pipes out of the water, where they had fallen. And, though they never saw him
again, they always remembered him and the beautiful music he used to play.

One day some little children were picking violets by the river, and they found one little violet that had eyes just like Pan's eyes. They took it home and named it Pan's Eye, in memory of their old friend, but, as that was rather a hard name for the little children to say, they called it Pansy.

diddilydeedotsdreamland .

What is song's eternity?
  Come and see.
Can it noise and bustle be?
  Come and see.
Praises sung or praises said
  Can it be?
Wait awhile and these are dead --

  Sigh, sigh;
Be they high or lowly bred  
They die.

"_Tootle tootle tootle tee_" 
  Can it be
Pride and fame must shadows be?
  Come and see --
Every season own her own;
  Bird and bee
Sing creation's music on;
  Nature's glee
Is in every mood and tone
  Eternity.





By the wonderful John Clare

The Farmer's Boy,

along with Almanzo and Laura Ingalls Wilder

                       Click here ^ if Video stops

I also found this Website while looking for something to go with the lovely rhyme from Arthur Mee.  All the gen for it is at the end of this page. Do try and get over to see the whole of this amazing project. love diddilydedot in Wales

WELCOME TO WILDER HOMESTEAD

Almanzo & Laura Ingalls Wilder Association (ALIWA), incorporated June 5, 1987, is a volunteer, historic, educational non-profit organization. The museum/home-stead consists of 84 acres of farmland, woods, restored ORIGINAL post and beam constructed farmhouse (1840-1843), reconstructed post and beam framed barns and outbuildings, a museum/visitor center/research library/ archives/gift shop/ office building complex, orchard, covered picnic pavilion, and nature trail to the Wilder family frontage on the Trout River .

This organization and historical site provide an educational opportunity through narrated tours, workshops, artifact museum, demonstrations, nature walk, archival research availability, school tours, and special events (i.e.. Christmas Story Hour, Harvest Festival & craft demonstrations and classes) for children and visitors to experience the period lifestyle of Almanzo Wilder who was born and raised here, 1857-1875. Interpretation of this site is based on the American classic book, Farmer Boy, written by Almanzo's wife, famed author, Laura Ingalls Wilder, as he described his recollections of his life here at this farm to her.

Please view the video trailer the full dvd can be obtained from the

Almanzo & Laura Ingalls Wilder Association

This historic house is the only ORIGINAL house on its original site of all those written about in the Little House book series. It is the only site dedicated to and original to Almanzo Wilder. It is an important piece of northern New York history.

The mission of the Almanzo & Laura Ingalls Wilder Association is to educate people about the rural life in Northern New York from 1840 - 1875 through the preservation and restoration of the Wilder Homestead, Boyhood home of Almanzo Wilder, as depicted in Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

A group of students were asked to list what they thought were the present
  "Seven Wonders of the World." Though there were some disagreements,
the following received the most votes:

1. Egypt's Great Pyramids

2. Taj Mahal

3. Grand Canyon

4. Panama Canal 

5. Empire State Building  

6. St. Peter's Basilica  

7. China's Great Wall

While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student
had not finished her paper yet. So she  asked the girl if
she was having trouble with her  list. The girl replied,
"Yes, a little.  I couldn't quite make up my mind
because  there were so many."

The teacher said, "Well, tell us what you have, and
maybe we can help.

"The girl hesitated, then read, "I think the
'Seven  Wonders of the World'   are:

5. To Feel

Adapted from  http://www.dadazi.net/choto/pwdyka/7wndrs.htm  by Diddilydeedot

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
'Now DASHER! now DANCER!
now PRANCER and VIXEN!
On COMET! on CUPID! on,
DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!' 

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,