I am from...

I am from slapping screen doors,

linoleum floors,

and three television channels.

I am from gentle mountains of brilliant red, orange and yellow,

where the swish of dried leaves underfoot is a child's favorite hobby

and a babbling clear brook a constant companion.

I am from granite.

I am from lilacs,

dried hay,

and swiss chard.

I am from brown ash ear drops and pine tree gum.

I am from maple syrup.

I am from overboard Christmases,

pioneer frugalness,

catching fireflies,

and dowsing.

I am from Paul and Danny and Barbara by luck,

from Dick and Alice by chance,

from Gail and Rick by blood.

I am from fighting about small things

but never discussing the big,

divorce that never settled disputes,

abandonment

and best friends forever.

From money that doesn't grow on trees

and do it yourself because no one is going to do it for you.

I am from Baptists who believe in music,

a white spired church as familiar as my heartbeat,

strawberry festivals and ice cream socials,

town parades and 4th of July fireworks.

I am from the three room schoolhouse with the dog in the corner

and the stars in a cardboard box.

I am from New Hampshire and Finland,

England and New England,

saltines and milk, and cranberry bread.

I am from cups of tea and too much wine,

head cheese, scratch biscuits, welsh rarebit on crackers,

baked beans and brown bread, yellow pea soup.

From the paratrooper with shrapnel scars who jumped on D-Day,

the future mother who dropped paper out the window

until she met her husband-to-be,

and the brother and sister who left for their future

without any goodbyes or apologies.

I am from a shoebox in the front hall closet,

assorted frames on the dining room shelf,

military medals and memories long lost,

black and white photos of hands in the air,

dusty class photos long stored yet never forgotten.

Where are you from? Try this for yourself. You can find the original post and form here. It's amazing what memories - good and bad - it brings back.