A Ride (literally) Down Memory Lane

My third-youngest brother (Lewis) treated us to wagon-ride down Memory lane

(back our sideroad and local backroads)

on Saturday at our annual summer Martin family reunion...

Lots of laughter-filled reminiscing💖

(because most of us sister's childhood memories of wagon rides was to or from stone-picking,

 one of my sister's said 'yes! she would love a wagon ride!

 as long as there are no stones waiting to be picked😂😂)

 

(Dad and Mom, treasuring the flashbacks)

Young people getting a ride to the baseball field 

before we had our turn...

(to respect privacy faces have been blurred)

Where wild flowers still bloom and dust of youth still (almost) flies

Where fields gleam with bent barley-plumes beneath still cloud-strewn skies...

A few of my siblings teased me about a poem percolating as we trundled down dirt roads

and memory-lanes...while in the moment I couldn't imagine what was to come of it,

it was too special an occasion not to at least try to capture!

I tried to reel it in but it turned out longer than (Hubby, ahem,) 

quick readers would likely prefer...😅

We peer with distant gaze back to a long-forsaken world

Where out of Bygone’s haze an echo-mirage is unfurled

As scenes of common stomping grounds revive in hearts and eyes

And resurrect from misted Bounds, dear childhood’s paradise

Of dusty lanes and creeks and strains of weeping willow’s sigh

The thrill of racing to watch or chase freight trains rumbling by

Of dad and mom much younger then, although we didn’t know

Caught in the quick of hunger and molding what soon would show/grow

…while never going hungry, though a dozen mouths to feed

While learning about boundaries and how fruit follows seed/deed

While always loved no matter what we did or didn’t do

(…as we acknowledge the college, we drew dear parents through)

As we revisit places wakened by Past's sudden swell

As we dare to share secrets; laughing, brave enough to tell

As we retrace bare footsteps tripped through pastures; cow-pie rich

Or point to ‘there A Hay Load Tipped’, ‘there Fast Car Found the Ditch’

Where wild flowers still bloom and dust of youth still (almost) flies

Where fields gleam with bent barley-plumes beneath still cloud-strewn skies

Where little trees are big trees now, where yester-children learned

How swift the hand put to the plow will find time’s tables turned

Where correction we would not choose is worth its weight in gold

Where now we walk in well-worn shoes of swiftly growing old

Where mom and dad (still with us) hold a very precious part

In every single (ten of us’s) thankful-prayerful heart

So humbly blessed, we marvel at the patient, loving care

That surely must have tested their most earnest, pleading prayer

Of accidents (but life was spared) of mischief-foolish pranks

Of innocence guarded, work shared, of humble giving thanks

Memories mete a melody where music-shadows wend

As time perfects the harmony of notes that didn’t blend

As treasure-laden vessels, bent, broken, warped, chipped, and scarred

Embrace each tender token composing childhood’s postcard

Where weathering youth’s recompense makes us meeker of mind

Truth’s tethering of consequence and circumstance entwined

With what our precious dad and mom instilled, example-shod

The cornerstone of home-sweet-home; of love and faith in God

© Janet Martin