Missouri Raised

Growing up in Podunk Missouri, meant that we had the freedom to roam. Up and down rivers and wooded hills, those places that we called home. Picked berries, peaches, plums, and cherries, and at least the ones that didn’t fill our bellies. Mom would turn them into some mighty fine, pies, cookies, canned juices and jellies. Morel mushrooms in the frying pan, could find them after a soft spring rain. Serve with fried Catfish rolled in cornmeal, and tomatoes, ‘taters, and onions. Rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, and possums, our blue tick was ready and able. With the help of a marksman’s keen eyes, it was easy to fill the supper table. We built hideouts from leaves, weeds, and twigs, out beneath a weeping willow’s green. We laid with our backs against soft grass , wishing on each falling star we’d seen. The screeches and hoots of a night owl, watching us capture fireflies in jars. The call of goatsuckers and whippoorwills, filled our summer nights beneath the stars. Wildflowers covered all the ditches, that ran down our dusty gravel road. Wood-post fences cradled new-born calves, or protected crops that had just been sowed. Some nights we ate around a campfire, had no white tablecloth with frilly lace. Beggar’s lice clinging tight to our jeans, and red mosquito whelps on our face. Soles of shoeless feet tough as leathe,r as up and down those hills we would climb. Moving deeper into life’s adventure, we tried to outrun the passing time. Those joyous years there in the woodlands, before the future took us away. Left me with many fond memories, of that happy childhood yesterday.