I am from. . .

I am from attic fans, from fresh mown hay and fresh tilled earth and fresh shucked corn, from shelling peas and cutting weeds off the hotwire and dirt clod fights.

I am from an acre of land in Grandaddy’s pasture, from Nanny’s plum trees, from “I’ll be riiiiiiiiiight back” and goin’ to town.

I am from the woods beside the house, sycamores and sweet gums, from persimmons and figs and pecans, from Black-Eyed Susans on the side of the road, from jonquils picked in bare feet and wild onions eaten dirty.

I am from the paper mill and a fillin’ station, from Daddy’s boat, from duck feathers, fish scales, deer hides, and squirrel clothes, from gardens and horse sweat and cows.

I am from Johnson and Watts, Bawcom and Williamson, from Ashley County and Trafalgar, from Morehouse Parish and 3rd Ward.

From “be sweet” and “hug your neck.”

I am from Rock of Ages and This Little Light of Mine, from gospel meetings and dinner on the grounds, from deviled eggs dressed up with paprika and lemon cake on Granny’s white plate.

I am from cornbread and crowder peas for supper, canned peaches and Coca Cola when you’re sick, from MerRouge icecream after church and Momma’s soup.

I am from HeeHaw and Gunsmoke on Saturday afternoon, from Dippity Do and pink sponge rollers on Saturday night.

I am from Rose Milk and Oil of Olay, from coffee grounds and yellow rice, from Redman tobacco and gasoline on PaPaw’s shirt.

I am from footballs games in the Louisiana autumn, from cicada songs and moonlight coming in my window while I dreamed of somewhere else.

I am from dragonflies over the pond and hot tar on a gravel road, from belonging and home, no matter what.

Evidently this is a craze that is sweeping the blogger world. . .just found that out through investicagation. . .

but here’s the template


and the original


should you care to do your own. . .and please share them with me if you do.


7 thoughts on “I am from. . .

  1. Yours is beautiful and makes your upbringing sound enchanting — you forgot that you are from the dirt driveway with the chickens in it! 🙂 I have wanted to try this, but “I am from Sunday lunch at ‘the Club'”, while accurate, doesn’t sound very . . . enjoyable.

  2. I did not forget the dirt driveway. . .I actually had that in it. . .along with about four other lines, but like my Senior Chapel speech, it promised to be long to the point of embarassment. . .More accurately it should have been watering the dirt in the yard–not to grow grass but to keep the dust down and from being sucked by the attic fan into that window through which the cicada songs wafted. And the chickens scattering in front of the CRV as you pulled INTO the driveway and kicked up the dust. . .blue Icees and laying out at Mrs. Rosie’s pool could be thrown in there too. 🙂

    I could also have listed Daddy playing jokes on my friends with his artificial leg, the 1/2 a deer carcass in the fridge, a constant indoor temperature of 95 degrees, and the scent of the paper mill. . .

    YOU know the truth. . .the reality behind the enchantment. . .alas, both the reality and enchantment are all true.

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