Strangers & acquaintances they'll ask
where I'm from.
I smile and reply,
"A place north, called Block 40."
"What!? Where's that?" or
"Oh, I know that area north by Stratford,"
will be the reply.
But they truly don't for they're not of the same ilk.
Our daddies fought wars, veterans,
hard working immigrants, farmboys with dreams,
Mothers, extraordinaire, who placed us before them
without hesitation; with hobbies or part-time town jobs.
Chores weren't an option; sweat allowances
were those jobs we took from outside the routine;
setting water, stacking hay or picking rock.
Never ask for payment, for you reap what you sow.
Land poor we were, happily so.
We're rich with the neighbors our parents trusted
who knew far more than we ever told at home.
Many a surprise given when asked, "What happened out back
changing water?"
"Uh, nothing."
"Where's your brother?"
"He's coming," with the bruise the size of an egg....
Farm kids eager for projects;
Boy Scouts, 4-H, FFA, church groups.
Anything that let us play with kids
outside our siblings or earn a buck or two.
Problems were shared, no one a stranger.
You walked to your neighbors, chasing down cattle
or they dropped by for Saturday tea
for a wink and a chuckle.
We'd serve them up pot-roast of the one who
destroyed last Fall's wheat.
Again if you ask me all I'll say, "In Block 40,"
looking somewhere beneath my feet.
I'll need to guard my eyes a bit
while remembrances dance
on my mind. Here's a smile to those who help
made me; you'll know them as I speak.
|
Free Forum Hosting
Important Announcement
Recommend
First 