Where I’m From

I am from mountains and beaches, from Southern fried chicken and sweet Gulf shrimp.

I am from the little red brick, from cement block and screened porch, and the place on the beach with the rattly drippy window units.

I am from dogwoods and stinging nettles, from Queen Anne’s Lace and  sea oats in the sweet, salty  breeze…

I am from FatMama and Papa, from Grammy and Granddaddy, from the south and the  midwest and struggles young me didn’t understand.

I am from the  hands that squished out buttermilk biscuits and shucked corn and the feet that walked sandy beaches looking for shells to reinvent.

I am from Heavenly Sunlight and Ave Maria, from Southern Baptist preachers praying exuberantly from the pulpit and beautiful quiet rosaries.

I’m from the Carolinas and from the Florida panhandle, from hands that plowed the field and had lots of babies to hands that engineered formulas and defended our country with his brain.

From the football star, the Air Force, the Navy, the nursing school, the bookkeeping school and the unemployment line and the struggles of depression and recession.

I am from rusty barn roofs and breezy beach places, the scent of dirt and hay and salt spray and shrimp boats full of catch.  I’m all of these things to my core, and life is adding more.

(to make your own “Where I’m From,”  visit Fred First’s page for the template.)