Saturday, July 1, 2023


 By Mary E. Adair

My parents bought some land,
A double lot in town,
On the southernmost unpaved street
And their roots they planted down.

There was a certain urgency
Because the education must be begun
Of their oldest daughter, me, you see,
Whose school would start in 1941.

Mother had her garden and two cows,
And Daddy's orchard had many a tree,
But when WWII came they leased their house
To do their part to keep America free.

And my Daddy Jack, a welder would be
In Vancouver's busy Shipyard there,
While Mother, her team's foreman, she,
Strung the ship's electrical connections everywhere.

So various officers rotated, in turn,
While stationed at Rattlesnake Bomber Base,
To dwell in our home, we later would learn,
Though Daddy only met the first one, face to face.

After the War, they came back home,
And though the orchard had died of thirst,
In Mother's garden, she turned sand into loam,
And Daddy became an Iceman, our family's first.

We marveled at our playground there
Daddy made monkey bars, swings and a slide
And we played Tarzan in tall Elm trees
Because within their leaves we could hide.

And the night before I first was wed
Upon the bark of the tallest tree
Which held my favorite dreaming spot,
I slipped a little and skinned my knee.

The house, like our family, grew
And weddings it held, and even the dance
Of my Sophomore Class Party was held there too,
A home that nourished my parent's romance.

Through the years as our family grew
Like street names, last names of sisters changed
But it was always truly our home we knew
Though thru many places our lives ranged.

And as time passed, and lives did too
The family found new homes far away
Though I returned to this same town
I'm the only sister of four who chose to stay.

And recently the local High School
Which had flourished in growth close by
Purchased that home and others too,
And there, a parking lot shall lie.

So they can pave over the garden,
Over the house, and the fallen trees,
And over the playground and the patio,
But they can't pave over my memories.

©June 30, 2023 Mary E. Adair

Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
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