Freda's Garden

 Welcome to my Garden:

The calendar is quickly moving toward March and spring,
but someone forgot to tell mother nature that, She is still
holding winter in a serious grip as shown in this past week's
storms all across the US. It reminds me of my childhood days
and the winters I spent on my daddy's farm. He bought the
farm that my great-great grandfather homesteaded.  The
winters there are still vivid in my memory, as indicated in the
following poem.

WINTER ON THE FARM
I remember winter time, as a kid back on the farm.
Mamma put hot, flat-irons in my bed to keep me warm.

With a big, tacked comforter over a flannel sheet
I would be toasty warm, from my head down to my feet.

To touch my feet to the floor next morn, I would be hating
I would bravely hop out of bed when mamma called,
                "breakfast is awaiting."

Read-eye gravy on the stove, biscuits in a pan,
Mamma boiled molasses down, poured from a gallon can.

Coffee boiling on the stove, smelled better than it tasted.
Daddy sternly pointed out, molasses were not to be wasted.

After all the chores were done, I hurried off to school,
Pulling on my stocking cap, I was off to learn the golden rule.

It would take the live long day to thaw out you see,
And I was just waiting for the last school bell to set me free.

I would head home, by way of frozen pond or two
By the time I got home, my hands were turning blue.

I'd rush right up to the  big iron stove, to warm my hands and feet.
Oh, how they ached, before the thawing was complete.

I'd rush right back out again for a snow-ball fight.
Mamma wondered why, I coughed so much at night.

She'd grease me with a little camphor, mixed with rendered lard,
And putting up with that flannel cloth, was almighty hard.

I'd try real hard to suppress my cough, for I knew next would be,
A great-big teaspoon full of sugared kerosene for me.

Freda Fullerton
February 21, 2011