Grandpa's Farm
Loree (Mason) O'Neil

I got my education
On my grandpa's farm,
When he was really angry,
I viewed him with alarm.

All he had to do to me,
Was give an angry look,
Or give me a long sermon,
He found in the Good Book.

He taught me all the things he felt
That I should really know,
When the creek was up he took me
Fishing with an old cane pole.

He sat me on the saddle,
Astride his old roan mare,
And while we herded cattle,
I felt so safe up there.

When it was time to milk the cows,
I watched from my own perch,
A box nailed to the barn's red wall,
And I giggled with such mirth.

As he aimed a stream of foamy milk,
At a patient waiting cat,
Grandpa's aim was perfect,
The cats all enjoyed that.

The hog pen was off limits,
The sows were all so mean,
As Grandpa always told us,
"They'll eat you right up clean!"

Grandma raised the chickens,
And gathered all the eggs,
She never missed a single one,
After it was layed.

She ran the separator,
That divided milk from cream,
And then took it to town each week,
It bought food when times were lean.

She made my fancy dresses,
And trimmed them with rickrack,
From all the pretty material,
That once was an old feed sack.

And she tried to make a lady,
Out of a true tomboy,
We went to Church each Sunday,
And joined in hymns of joy.

Now I am much older,
With grandchildren of my own
But they are much different,
And are always on the phone.

And it doesn't seem they really want,
To hear the things I did,
Nor take the time to simply be,
A happy, 'country' kid.

But I think some day, they will look back,
At the things, and they will miss,
The warmth, the comfort that I knew,
From Grandma's loving kiss.

The world today is much too fast,
No one takes the time to know,
Their roots and what will soon be past,
Like winds that used to blow.

© 2002 Loree (Mason) O'Neil

Photo: One of the beautiful old tenant homes on the property of past Sheriff Bill Whitehead in Roseland, Virginia across from Jonesboro Baptist Church


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