I am from

Another Owlhaven project. I loved her I am from... post last week and really enjoyed doing the project myself. It was much more difficult to pare down my memories than it was to come up with ideas. I think I could do this exercise a hundred times and come up with something new each time. Anyhow, if you haven't tried this, there is a blank form to guide you and give your thoughts focus. Enjoy!

I Am From...

I am from bunk beds with wire springs, and blue striped pillows with embroidered cases that smell like wood fires, from three wheeled John Deere tractors and the A.M. radio playing while bacon fries in the morning.


I am from the stucco house by the river, near the cottonwood tree, where the sun shines more gently than the rest of the valley. From where trees and gardens don’t grow, and the wind blows her fury without mercy. Where living is carved out of snow and ice, and leisure is one step away from work.


I am from the sunny meadows, drifting snows and cool, damp, grasses. I am from lambs with long tails wriggling while they drink from old, glass, 7-up bottles and kittens that play in the straw. I am from cows that walk to the barn at dusk and tiny frogs that sing their songs in the night.


I am from Christmas Eve dinners around fresh cut pine trees that have more memories tied up in their collection than the things left under their branches. From flaming red hair and red hot tempers. From Becky and David, and Marian and Verne, and Eugene and Geraldine, and a man with no face.


I am from hard working perfectionists and people who know a little about a lot. From “You can do anything you set your mind to” and “Anything worth doing is worth doing right.


I am from Saint Mark’s pre-school, and the Children’s Illustrated Bible on the bookshelf. Candle lit services on Christmas Eve and white gloves on Easter.


I'm from a little town that is hard to leave. I’m from proud English, and tight lipped Prussians. From patriots who served their country; some returned, and some could not. From grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup, Schnitzel spices in the refrigerator, and Nana’s Apple Pie.


From the time when, three crazy old men raced their new snowmobiles and their old pickup trucks, and made their wives laugh at the stories they told. From Grandma Gerry’s strawberry patch, the County Fair, and the smell of Love’s Baby Soft perfume.


I am from picture albums tucked safely away, and boxes of photo’s awaiting their turn. From school picture days, proud moments and memories spilling out of my minds eye and onto the paper at last.