from the Millers of Sweden, the Wiederholts of Germany,
and Bradys of Ireland.
the farm near Conception Abbey,
in the family since 1895.
family values, hard work, and strong faith.
I’m from Miller’s hill.
for sledding if you avoid a mostly submerged glacial erratic.
Wildcat creek bridged with whispering weeping willows.
A dirt road of fine silky loses soil for bike riding.
on roller skates on a maple tree root bumpy sidewalk.
from bare-toes rain-dancing in squishy mud.
Tanned freckled skin.
Open window air conditioning.
No electricity before 1948.
No boredom--“Get a hoe or pickup rocks”.
I am from quiet walks at twilight
serenades from mama cows and bullfrogs.
Moon rings to predict rain.
Green pastures, long corn rows, velvety leafed soybean fields.
“It’s purdy green” in the
hay field to “Let’s get this baled before dark.”
I am from wood heat--you cut it, carry it and burn it.
Home grown, processed green beans, tomatoes, corn, and beef.
Fun times on a dead tree log or a refrigerator box.
Kittens in the boot box and baby calves with wet curly hair.
Cell phones and PDAs in tractors.
and harvest by GPS.
Giant windmills that generate electricity.
I call all of this home.