Ode To the Ozarks

Growing up in the Ozarks, for brother, sister and me meant, for the most part, that we were totally free. We had freedom to explore, to roam about at will, there was no one to fear in those Arkansas hills. We searched for wild plums, grapes and berries, knowing Mother would make luscious jams and jellies. We listened for the owls in the stillness of the night, the call of the whippoorwill, waking us at first light. The woods were calling, luring us farther each day, eager to investigate, we did chores without delay. We gathered mushrooms, springing up after a rain, Mom would "fry them up," serve lunch fit for a king. Terrapins and "tumblebugs" were fascinating to watch, we spent time in stillness observing their steady march. Wildflowers were abundant, struggling up through rocks, signaling us that it was time to shed our shoes and socks. We ran barefoot in summer, our soles tough as leather, one pair of shoes per year, saved for cold weather. We climbed over rail fences and through barbed wire too, where persistent beggar's lice clung to clothes like glue. We made our own toys, such as the "guide & wheel," keeping the wheel rolling took practice and skill. We swept leaves away, hauled rocks till muscles burned, built outdoor playhouses, impersonated adults by turn. Fueling our imaginations and fostering dreams untold, our play brought us together in a love we'd always hold. This poem would go on and on if I named every pleasure, suffice it to say instead we've many memories to treasure