There has always existed an affection for the song Old Folks At Home in my house. It is a song I've caught my father singing along with Que Sera Sera and Blue Moon of Kentucky. Coming from the cold tundra of the Miami Valley in Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky Dad has always appreciated Florida. The Florida that serves sweet tea north of Orlando city limits and cafe con leche in Miami. Diverse, Beautiful and overrun with New Yorkers and tourists. This song is his favorite way of embracing his adopted State.
It has been in the press lately that there will be a vote to replace Old Folks at Home (Swanee River) with a new song Florida, where the sawgrass meets the sky. Now, I know a song about geography is unlikely to offend anybody, but what is wrong with our history? True, there are what are now considered offensive words in a verse that no one sings. I have, nevertheless come across offensive words in books that I would not dare throw out. Surely the works that describe Sherlock Holmes are worth tolerating now ugly words like niggardly and imbecile. Please click on the links provided to see the proper meanings.
Having this beautiful song removed from our collective conscience is like returning to your old hometown with its ugly K-marts and working class friendlyness. Followed shortly thereafter with a visit to a newly gentrified city; its history demolished and new glass towers empty and with little meaning.
Sure, down here the sawgrass does meet the sky. Yet, somehow I feel that I'd rather have mammy and pappy waiting for me than a flat politically correct Florida horizon.
Below are the lyrics to both songs.
Old Folks at Home
Stephen Foster, 1851
Way down upon the Swanee River,Far, far away That's where my heart is turning ever That's where the old folks stay All up and down the whole creation, Sadly I roam Still longing for the old plantation And for the old folks at home All the world is sad and dreary everywhere I roam Oh darkies, how my heart grows weary Far from the old folks at home
2. All 'round the little farm I wandered,When I was young Then many happy days I squandered, Many the songs I sung When I was playing with my brother, Happy was IOh, take me to my kind old mother, There let me live and die
2. One little hut among the bushes, One that I love Still sadly to my mem'ry rushes, No matter where I rove When shall I see the bees a humming, All 'round the comb When shall I hear the banjo strumming, Down by my good old home
Florida, Where the Sawgrass Meets the Sky aka (Flaaah - riiiiiiii - da)
Jan Hinton
Florida, where the sawgrass meets the sky. Florida, where our hearts will ever lie. Sitting proud in the ocean like a sentinel true, Always shielding your own, yet giving welcome. Florida. Mocking birds cry and ‘gators lie out in the sun. Bridges span southward to the Keys and rockets skyward run. The orange blossoms’ sweet perfume and fireworks fill the air. And cultures rich, our native people share. Florida, where the sawgrass meets the sky. Florida, where our heats will ever lie
I forgot to mention that the new song is quite slow and with a northern accent as demonstrated by several long three sylable flaaaah - riiiii - da's. Honey, its pronounced Flor-da
