CHILDHOOD MEMORIES OF THE FARM
I am cuddled up under a feather-tick comforter, waking
up to the crowing of a rooster and the smell of fresh baked bread.
I am a little girl in bib overalls, hair in pigtails, walking into the barn,
watching kittens lapping milk, Holsteins swishing tails, and hearing
the horses gently snorting air through their nostrils.
I am priming the water pump, hearing the squeak, squeak of the handle, bending down and peering into the spout, delighted when water appears, first a trickle and then a gush.
I am walking through the barnyard, listening to a chorus of pigs oinking, chickens clucking, and cows mooing.
I am waving to Grampa who I see out in the field behind the plow.
I am stopping for a ride on my tire swing, rotating my feet until the rope is taut, lifting my feet off the ground and spinning wildly.
I am strolling through the orchard anticipating the harvest of apples and cherries.
I am walking past the front porch lined with lace curtains drying on stretchers.
I am stopping to sit a moment at the edge of the pond, delighted to see a gold fish peeking around a lily pad.
I am going into the cellar, a special place, with potatoes and carrots in the bins, sauerkraut curing in a crock, fruit jars on the shelf making a rainbow of color.
I am playing Chinese checkers with grandma, the aroma of tea brewing on the potbelly stove, the end of a perfect day.
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