Where I’m from . . .

I am from fabric; from Singer, Gingher, Coats and Clark.

I am from homemade bread and milk fresh from the cow; from butter paddled and rinsed from the cream and vegetables dirty from the garden.

I am from the pines and the birches; from barbed-wire pastures and deep cedar glades.

I am from the little house with 40 acres on the north bench.

I am from books read aloud and six people sharing a single bathroom.

I am from Zilch and jigsaw puzzles; from Nancy and Wayne; from grandparents and cousins all living in one another’s hip pocket.

I am from Cattail Canyon and Salamander Swamp; from the big rock and blue-tailed lizards.

I am from stubbornness and perfection.

I’m from drinking coffee will make your feet black and Run Sheep Run.

I am from quiet. I am from dark shadows and bright lights.

I'm from Idaho and Germany, meat and potatoes.

I am from the muddy, rocky bottom of the Moyie River watching false teeth and glasses floating away. I am from branding day at Hinthorns’ and swimming on the point. I am from camping on the west side and huckleberries on the east.

I am from the box in the top of the closet and the reels on the shelf; from the priceless relics and memories of the past.