Where I'm From

I am from buckwheat cakes and strawberry jam, from homemade apple butter and fried bread.

I am from the second and third house on the left, from quiet summer nights and days full of winter snow.

I am from horse shows in the summer and baby goats in the spring,  a garden full of rhubarb and green beans, potatoes and sweet corn.

I am from the unyielding and compassionate Holyfields, who always give everything they have, and from a father I never got to know.

I am from Christmas dinners and Easter Sundays, and trail rides to the river as soon as it got warm.

From a family who never turned their back on someone in need, and who showed me that hard work can get you anywhere.

I am from lazy, restful Sundays and people who believed that faith was not measured by your church attendance, but by your actions alone.

I'm from large, home-cooked meals and days baking cookies with Mom and Grandma.

From my cousins and I singing to the Spice Girls in my grandmother's kitchen and the strength of my mother, who had to courage to walk away.  From a grandfather who's life was saved, and then so soon taken away.

I am from Pap's home videos and shoe boxes full of photos; a lifetime of priceless memories.