Where I’m From
I am from the Foothills along the winding Hwy 9; from saddle shoes and hand-me-down clothes.
I am from the yellow mobile home next door to my Grandma’s house and across the street from church.
I am from the crick, buttercups chins, dandelion chains and skunk cabbage fans.
I am from blinking porch lights to get a horn toot from the 9 o’clock train and chasing cows at 2 a.m.
I am from family camping trips and Vikings, from the Ferry’s and Boice’s and my Grandpa Butch and my Amma.
I am from artists and jokesters and thinkers.
From “Here comes trouble” and “Say that again…slower” and “I can do it MYSELF!”
I am from grassroots, charismatic Jesus Freaks and proud of it! From Sunday services that could run all day depending on how the Spirit moved the congregation. From Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Little House at the Ferry’s, choir practice, Christian schools.
I’m from San Bernardino, from Iceland and American Heinz 57.
I am from Vinarterta and hamburger casserole and gingerbread houses.
From the family who moved with their entire village to North America, the man who once tried to count the Mama bulls, and the woman who survived the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.
I am from “butt shots” and polaroids in albums so worn out their covers are missing.
I am from the land of hippies, yippies and yuppies; from as far west as you can go without jumping into the Pacific and as far north as you can go without entering Canada.
I am from Van Zandt, population 52 if you include the cows, in the Foothills along the winding Highway 9.