From Michelle H. Barnes at Today's Little Ditty: Click HERE to read this month's interview with Carrie Clickard. Carrie's DMC challenge is to write a poem about a person, place, or thing that spooked you as a child. This may be the longest I've ever gone to write for one of Michelle's guest's challenges. I have been busy, but usually that doesn't keep me from being inspired.
This time, I've dug into the memories for a spooky childhood tale, and nothing came to me, until this week. I do have worries, but few really scare me. Here's that one thing I finally remembered. My father was killed in World War II, my mother remarried and I had a wonderful step-father. My contact with my father's family became a summer visit for a couple of weeks or more. I've written about that time in other ways, love my memories of the visits. Those grandparents ran a self-sustaining farm. They grew most all their own food, kept horses, sheep, cattle, including dairy cows, chickens, geese, numerous cats and dogs. They didn't have hot water or an indoor toilet until I was in my teens. I loved every minute of my time there, except for one scary thing.
I Just Can’t
I'm ten years old,
love the daily summer pleasures
on my grandparents’ farm -
reading from old Saturday Evening Posts
on the south porch swing on hot afternoons,
evening ride with Grandpa to bring in the cattle,
watching the sunset alongside their easy ambling,
dew-washed feet in the early morning garden,
choosing the noon dinner with Grandma,
long-sleeved shirt on for blackberry picking,
gathering eggs,
never!
I could not find the courage
to evade the pecks, to feel that warmth
Grandma told me was so dear.
Hens cackled when I entered their house,
flapped wings, feeling my fear.
They never allowed my invasion,
and I never invaded.
Linda Baie (c)All rights reserved
photo credit: frankieleon How are your investments going? via photopin (license)