Poem: Where I'm From

I am from the foothill of third hill mountain and lick run, from Nadine’s hot French bread and homemade butter from Belle our Guernsey cow.

I am from a family built log home with a metal roof that lulled me to sleep with a gentle patter of the falling rain.

I am from the thick of the forest where wild berries abound and my homemade bridge over a creek where I spent much of my youth.

I am from Feuillet’s and Lees, the French and the Indians, from hearty and independent, loving and free, encouraging and mindful.              

I am from parents who broke the mold and held on to the trail less traveled, who stood by their word and read aloud at the schools and paid it forward.

From moonlight trail rides and hayloft gatherings strewn with Christmas lights.

Raised to give thanks to ALL living things and that God is everywhere. Worshiping in the glorious outdoors with the sky as my chapel and the golden rule at my core.

A ridge runner as my uncle would say with a strong pull to the Bordeaux regions of central France and an edge of the river of the Iroquois nation and a touch of the bagpipes from over the pond.

With a likeness to my Pop from his high school picture but a deep vein of passion for horses that rides back to my ancestors.

Now with the pot stirred what bubbles to the top… the flight of my arrow… the site of my shot…with strong ties to loved ones of blood and of choice.. and no fear of ever using my voice.