Growing up meant being surrounded on one side by peach and apple orchards while across the road were acres and acres of pasture and broom straw fields. Now the once daring pasture with its bulls and fences contain high end apartments with swimming pools and tennis courts…too bad they could not have left the fishing hole.
Carolina Country Wind
Scaling acres of pasture fences go we two boys free and bold.
Dodging cow patties; laughing at nothing and toting fishing poles.
Come now old man Noah riding range in a red 1952 pickup truck.
Seen him coming; quick, run and hide, nothing but pasture, were sitting ducks.
He kept going, he did not see us, he was looking the other way.
Racing now with the wind, off we go over the hills and around the bend.
Out of breath with lungs now afire, we two boys come to pastures end.
The smell of bream beds and willows greets us as we arrive at the ole fishing hole.
Dean is still wheezing his asthma got in the way; he shrugs it off and reaches for his pole.
The hint of fall comes soft as late summer leaves rustle with blowing August wind.
On the opposite bank are this years used worm cans stacked neatly end to end.
Fall will soon arrive and school will start, fishing trips to the pastures pond will be no more.
Never went back after 1966 to this pond again, Dean moved away and left me with my imagination blowing evermore on the old Carolina country wind.
J. Allen Wilson © FOUR-Twenty-Six - TWO THOUSAND & SEVEN
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|Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader)
|Reviewed by Taylor Ryan
|I love the feel of this poem Allen...nostalgia comfortable enough to wrap yourself up in and wear on the creek banks. I am so saddened by "progress" sometimes. I remember horseback riding on what is now interstate highway, and my Aunt and Uncle's acres and acres of farmland and dairy being flooded by the Little T dam....the snail darter meant more that homes,land, and ways of life and now luxury developments cover the shoreline. The only blessing is that we are left with the breeze of memory. YOu have such a gift , Allen...
|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|So beautifully penned! Peering back, walking through time to a place that exists no more. Sad the empty fields were built upon. Wish sometimes progress would slow down. And they call this progress? The beauty has been ravaged, distroyed, such a shame. Enjoyed this.
|Reviewed by E T Waldron
|Allen you do these look backs so ell and the nostalgia
is palpable, bringing me into my own neighborhood at that
time and oh the changes seem so unfair... Great work!
|Reviewed by Barbara Smith
|Allen, I like the picture a lot...it reminded me of a swimming hole we use to spend hours in during the summer months. I liked the country scene I captured while reading this...I will say, it kept my interest and I found it enjoying and entertaining.|
|Reviewed by Sharon Jordan
|"...left me with my imagination blowing evermore" - a beautiful way to summarize this poem.
|Reviewed by H Cruz
|Awesome reminiscent dude!|
|Reviewed by Louisa Dobbins
|Ahhhhh the scents of the Carolina Country Wind. I always tell folk that I was born in Blythewood, when it was country.|
|Reviewed by Butch Howard
|Wow Allen, does this ever dredge up old childhood memories for me! I remember when I lived in KY we "snuck" over to a pond in the middle of a thoroughbred horse farm and I talked my friend Scott into getting onto one of the resident colts. As soon as he got on the horse's back, I slapped the horse on the rump ....and the race was on. Scott fell off about 50 yards away. He never forgave me for that. The bream were bedding and I remember catching them until our arms got tired. Thanks for the memories and the excellent poem!
|Reviewed by Ed Matlack
|Love the memories you have invoked...no old fishing holes on this end, but we all had our own special places...this is one of your best, showing your happy go lucky side...Ed|