The Third Day of Autumn

Happy birthday Dad...Do you remember this place?

Life as a child was not always difficult; after all I was a child. I’m thankful that through self-discovery, I am now able to search and find pleasant memories of good times past, to find a balance from my half empty half full childhood. Here is a snippet of my “Olden Days.”

I always wanted to be a farmer. Dad’s oldest sister had 80 acres in a small town along the Molalla River by Union Mills. He was a fireman for my first 15 years. With 24hr on and 48hr off shifts, he would work the land for the family. I would ride around on the fender of that old Ford tractor and keep him company. My boarder collie, Solo would run along with us and catch field mice, gophers and moles. It was a wonderful memory. When the crops were in during the summer we went fishing and camping all the time. Here is a great example of me and my dad. We were very poor and dad sacrificed and rarely bought a thing for himself, but I remember this one time he bought a new fly rod before a fishing trip. He sat it by the big chair in the front room and admired its beauty when ever he got the chance. After a few days we left for our first trout fishing trip of the season.

We are 50 miles down the road going like hell to get there for the evening bite. He pulls off in some gravel and says, "Oh Shit!” We turned around and drove back home. I'm thinking what's up with that. He goes into that little house and comes back out the door with that fly rod. I did not laugh out loud until I knew it was safe because Dad never swore around me... Then I giggled like a little girl every time I thought about it for the next 300 miles.

We got there and put up an old canvas tent and launched our old wooden boat with a 5 horse motor and oars as the backup. The next morning when I got up at O dark thirty there was a foot of snow on the ground. The fly rod was with other fishing rods leaning on the snowy picnic table. I got a new hatchet and hunting knife for my fifth birthday that winter and was itching to cut down a tree or slay a grizzly bear or something manly. I was hacking at a piece of firewood my dad cut up the night before when somehow that fly rod slide off the table and in the path of my hacking with the hatchet. I cut about 2 feet right off the tip. The former mentioned giggles of joy turned into giant tear drops running down a five year olds face. My dad took out his big red handkerchief and wiped my face off without saying a word about what just happened. What a man!

The farm had about a two acre garden, dairy cows, chickens, and rabbits and assorted other creatures. All my Dad's 9 brothers, sisters and family's and Grandma and Grandpa would have giant Sunday feasts there. My uncle Harlan was the tenth child but was killed in a railroad accident while coupling rail cars. I never new him, only why I shared his name, yet spelled differently than he. The aunts would bake pies and cakes and cookies while aromas from heaven filled the giant kitchen. They would make fresh egg noodles to go with the freshly slaughtered chickens for Sunday supper. I knew what love was in those precious days.

I always used to say I wanted to buy a farm in Scotland and grow potatoes. It was the dream of leaving it all behind...Don't ever think that new dreams can not grow when new seeds of hope are planted in the remaining dust of forgotten dreams...Even if it takes a few tear drops to water them.

Peace on the Planet...

Tommy Emmanuel...Amazing Grace

instrumental acoustic guitar

http://youtu.be/vc9Oy06IHXc

Authors note:

If there is any interest in why this poem was written just follow the link to the side bar called

Diary of the Falling Dominoes

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