We had our first frost night before last.  It brings to mind a poem which my Dad dearly loves.  When I was a kid he talked the minister into allowing one of us kids to read it at the special harvest service.  It's written in a fashion which old farmers can appreciate.  Given it's age, it falls within Public Domain.

Enjoy:

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern American Poetry.  1919.

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,      
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cok,      
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,      
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;      
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,               
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,      
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,      
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.      
 
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere      
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—      
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,      
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;      
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze      
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days      
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—      
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.      
 
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,      
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;      
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still      
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;      
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;      
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—      
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,      
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.      
 
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps      
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;      
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through      
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...      
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be      
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—       
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—      
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Cal Smith said "hello country bumpkin, how's the frost out on the pumpkin?" :)

I believe you are correct.  He may have been alluding to this poem, or 'frost is on the pumpkin' could be a common colloquialism that denotes that summer is o'er and fall is upon us.

Pierre wrote on Sep 22^nd, 2011 at 8:28am:

colloquialism

Say it again. ;)

Pierre wrote on Sep 22^nd, 2011 at 8:28am:

fall is upon us.

It's HERE! it'll be half a year before we can "welcome sweet springtime..."

Keevy Hazelton wrote on Sep 23^rd, 2011 at 12:39pm:

Pierre wrote on Sep 22nd, 2011 at 8:28am: colloquialism  Say it again. ;)

coke weall.   :-? cloak weazel...  :( collodial...  :-[ Aw shucks, you should a listened close the first time.