Right now I see trees with the most gorgeous golden, red, yellow, and orange leaves. This afternoon I told my husband we should go for a drive just to see the wonderful foliage that the Ozark Mountains has to offer right now. While trying to decide which direction we should drive -north, east, south, west - we decided that our own driveway had the prettiest trees we could see anywhere. So... we stayed home... maybe tomorrow we'll go for that drive.
The Ozark Mountains are where my home is now, but I grew up in a small town in a surrounded on all sides by the Ouachita Mountains. From the front doorstep of my childhood, this was (almost) my view.
The photograph used as a reference for this painting was taken from neighbor's doorstep just a few miles away from where I grew up.
Those two peaks of Rich Mountain bring back a flood of memories and make me stop to sigh a little. Instead of a lake and dock, from my doorstep there would have been a front yard, a dirt road, the neighbor's garden, a pasture or two, then the very same mountain peaks in the background.
[SOLD]
I am from a red-clay road
rolling with dust after each passing car
from a long bed of irises
purple, white, yellow, and maroon
from two cars out front
one with 4 doors, one with a bed, two humps, and a
tailgate
from a front porch with a dachshund
named Noodles lying on the step, a
screen door that slams, and a panoramic view of the Ouachita
Mountains .
I am from tassel-topped corn stalks, thorny
blackberry vines, and staked tomato plants
bringing the flavors of
summer
from a formica kitchen table
surrounded by six chairs
and a stool
from little glass Pepsi bottles, black
angus beef,
and homemade ice cream hand-cranked by strong
brothers
from sit-down dinners, lingering
while the food settles,
and sisters washing
dishes by hand.
I am from Curtis Ray
“Handy as a pocket on a
shirt”
from Gladys Adelle
“Busy hands are happy
hands”
from trotline catfish
dangling off Grandpa’s stringer
from quilts and afghans
labors of love from
Grandma’s worn hands.
I am from Ben Franklin’s, Piggly Wiggly,
and a fifteen-cent
Tastee Freeze cone with a curlicue on top
from a picture window, an attic fan,
an antenna on the roof for
a black-and-white television
from football games on Friday nights, cartoons on Saturday mornings, and
church
twice on Sundays
from
pot luck suppers, “Count Your Many Blessings,” pass the offering plate,
in Jesus’ name, Amen.
I am from a place that is real
from a time that has past
from bonds that endure
I am from home.
