The Old Oaken Bucket

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Gender FEMALE
Industry Arts
Location Knoxville, TN, United States
Introduction Love of all things old, love of preservation, love of restoration, love of artistic expression, love of friends and most of all love of furry felines!
Interests When we purchased our 1898 log cabin and farm in Eastern Tennessee, one of our first hopes was to find treasures in the attic that provided some stories to the cabin's history. While searching for the belongings of an earlier time, we discovered an original sketch dated April 9, 1930. The sketch is of an old oaken bucket hanging from a well. The drawing is certainly reminiscent of life on the farm and it immediately became our inspiration for our company name and logo. Below is some of the original history behind the song "The Old Oaken Bucket." It is believed that Samuel Woodworth (1784-1842) wrote the song, "The Old Oaken Bucket, " concerning the north river and first saw-mill in Scituate, MA.
Favorite Music Here are the lyrics to the Old Oaken Bucket folk song: How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view, The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood, And ev'ry lov'd spot which my infancy knew. The wide spreading stream, the mill that stood near it, The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell. The cot of my father, the dairy house by it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well. The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hung in the well. The moss-covered bucket I hail as a treasure, For often at noon when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell. Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness it rose from the well. The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hung in the well. How soon from the green mossy rim to receive it, As poised on the curb it reclined to my lips, Not a full flowing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Tho' filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell. As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket that hung in the well. The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hung in the well.
Favorite Books If you love cats, you need to read Dewey. You will laugh and cry all at the same time. I just read it straight through only stopping for a bite to eat.