Memories At the Rivers Edge

The Saint John River rolls along 
Under skies of baby blue, 
Touching lives of country folk 
Just the way it used to do 
Before the war to better times, 
When steamboats churned and church bells chimed. 

The Continental whistle blew 
To barking dogs along the track. 
At Sutton's Crossing, passengers 
Would smile as they reached Ketepec, 
Where noses perked to sawdust smells 
And farmers fiddled in their dells. 

Allie Bonnell had a dream. 
He grabbed his hammer and a saw, 
And raised a platform to the sky 
Where people came to dance and jaw. 
There were no TV shows to watch, 
And only baseball bats to notch. 

For what's a place without a song 
That's played by some and sung by more, 
Prancing princes, kings and queens, 
All heels and toes upon the floor? 
Accordions were quite a sight. 
Fifteen cents to dance all night. 

City dwellers cherished days 
Of summer at the river's edge. 
Campfire smoke still lingers where 
Fairies flit through forest hedge. 
Sailboats slicing, paddles skimming, 
Anglers splicing, midnight swimming. 

The KBM took center stage 
For capital communities. 
Ketepec, Belmont and Morna 
Steeped in clubhouse memories... 
Tennis, horseshoes, softball games, 
It could be called the "hall of fame". 

And when the flakes of winter sealed 
September's corn boil in a dream, 
The river made a skating rink 
For silver blades and hockey teams. 
Deer leaned against the nearest birch 
As Christmas called from St. Anne's Church. 

The Saint John River rolls along 
Under skies of baby blue, 
Touching lives of country folk 
Just the way it used to do. 
As timeless minstrels pluck their strings, 
Now we must find the words to sing.

Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019

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