Where I'm From.
I am from sunshine on seawater, from beach food, from Durkees' on French fries and cherries floating in cokes, from shrimp fried in Mayport.
I am from a home in which I was loved and sung to and read to and rocked, I am from a home that I could always count on to be home, from a home in which in which my parents grew old together, from a home that moved -- love intact -- from north Florida's gardens to Atlanta's suburban lawns.
I am from roses, from magnolias, from dogwoods, and azaleas, from kumquats and crepe myrtles, from sour woods, and towering pines. I am from the strong arms of live oaks, and the tender fronds of weeping willows.
I am from generations upon generations of Tennessee farmers and from Southern talkers, from the keepers of family history and from those who live long. I am from a father who tenderly nursed my mother through the long years and years of her dying.
I am from Victorian grandparents and I am from modern times. I am from the days of watching rocket ships lauched from Cape Canaveral, from TV shots of landing on the moon, from blow-dryers to personal computers to laptops to I-pods, from Yardley and Bonnie Bell to Prescriptives.
I am from the joy of reading, from Winnie-the-Pooh and Dr. Seuss. I am from churches in pretty buildings in big cities, and I am from a little church in the country, where the sermon was accompanied by the swishing of fans, fans provided by the local funeral parlor.
I am snatched from days lost in prodigal wanderings and in older "brother" grumblings. I from God's hands, from Christ's blood, from the Spirit's word, from the cross and the resurrection, from the new birth in baptism, from the school of Jesus.
I'm from the South, from Florida and Georgia and Texas and Alabama and Tennessee. I am from fried chicken and biscuits and buttermilk pie. I am from cats napping on beds, from afternoons in porch swings, from breezes blowing in through open windows.
I am from men and women who turned wilderness into plantations and farms, from men who fought in the American Revolution and the Civil War, and from women who held things together while they were gone, from parents who lived through the Depression and World War II.
I am from my husband's faith, his love, his hugs, his laughter, and his support, and I am from my children's kisses, their smiles, their love, and their joy.
I have from wondrous places and from astonishing times -- from mostly sweet and from sometimes bitter -- and, still, I am on my way home.
I got the idea to write this after reading Lori Seaborg's post on Keeping the Home. She gave a link to this template: http://www.swva.net/fred1st/wif.htm
I love this template, because 1) it makes you think and 2) it is a way for someone who is not a poet -- like moi, the non-poet -- to express herself in verse. Well, after reading this, you may think that #2 is a bit of a stretch. :)
Check out Lori's version of Where I'm From: Where I'm From -- Lori
If you do one, I'd love to know.