Where I Am From

  Memories are wonderful, and they are made up of so many different things that come together and leave an imprint in the mind. Sometimes they are as clear as if they happened yesterday, and sometimes they are just bits and fragments...a sound, a scent, a taste, a feeling. 

  Many years ago, I came across a blog that had a little picture with the words, "Where are you from?" I clicked on it and found that it was based on a poem, and that many people had written their own version, based on their own life. I loved the one I read, so I decided to write my own.

   Some of my childhood memories will sound familiar to my kids and grandkids, but many of them will be things that they may never experience. I believe that taking the time to jot down some of these memories is a nice memoir to pass down to future generations. I'd love to have one written by each of my siblings, and my children!

  

Where I Am From

I am from the prairies, from the crocus and the cowslips, 

and the pussy willows in springtime.

 I am from walking barefoot on hot sandy roads.

I am from swimming in Jackson Lake, dugouts and swamps in the summer; 

from climbing trees, and swinging from ropes tied around branches.

I am from skating on ponds, and playing in the snow after dark in the winter;

 building snow forts and making homemade snow shoes from spruce bows; 

from sliding down hills with cardboard for a sled.

I am from walking with my brothers around a four mile country block, 

and walking along the railway tracks collecting shiny stones; 

from exploring the Collie Hills and old vacant houses.

I am from a one room school house; 

from playing games in the basement in winter, 

and playing Johnny Can’t Cross the River 

and Pump, Pump, Pull Away in the spring and fall. 

I am from practicing for the Christmas Concert at Arizona Hall, 

and going to Field day in Austin.

I am from Spruce Woods Park, 

the Assiniboine River,

and the Carberry Desert.

     

                             I am from strawberry fields and picking cucumbers; 

from bouquets of glads for the farmer’s market, 

and from strolling through Mom and Dad’s garden.

I am from Sunday supper, roast beef and potatoes;

and from fiddle diddles and spice cake,

and I am from Sunday drives to tour the gardens at Morden, 

and climbing Mount Nebo in Miami.

 I am from Manitoba.

I am from putting one foot in front of the other,

and what goes around comes around; 

I am from befriending the friendless and rooting for the underdog.

I am from Gerald and Ede Blair.

That's where I am from. Where are you from?

   This is an updated version of that old post that I wrote back in 2008.

Read the original Where I Am From, by George Ella Lyon.