I am from...

I am from homemade biscuits, orange salad, honeysuckles, and the pantry lined with jars of fresh green beans.

I am from the porch where Grandma sits to crack her pecans while a warm summer breeze makes a melody in the wind chimes.

I am from the rose bush, the Bradford Pear trees, and the rows of silver queen corn in Grandma’s garden.

I am from football games on Thanksgiving Day with aunts, uncles, and cousins in the back yard, from Alice and Teresa Ann, from Grandpa Jack and his five dollar bills that always put a smile on my face as a child, from Cordie Mae and Ollie Mae, too.

I am from the shouters at Pittsburgh Pirates games, and the togetherness of a tight-knit family. From track stars and wrestlers and football players. From clarinet and saxophone and guitar players. I am from poets.

From the den where I cracked Uncle Jamie in the head with a telephone and a poker, back when I was just “a little thang”. From “Something’s out there!” and “It’s Mary on the phone!”

I am from those who believe that family is the tightest bond and no matter where you go or what you do, or how old you get, you never outgrow that circle.

I am from good ole mountain people of Ashe County, NC, grandma’s chicken-n-dumplin’s, and her world- famous zucchini bread, covered with homemade, love-filled icing on the top.

From the tree house and backyard where Jamie and I used a shoebox, a stick, some yarn, and bread crumbs, impatiently waiting to catch a Blue Jay.

From the kitchen with the door that all the grandkids think leads to another secret world, known only as “The Basement…”

I am from the living room where the walls are lined with pictures of faces, each life represented in a frame; a place untarnished by time. A house where family gathers around Grandma’s table and laughter fills the air.