"...This is the path that takes me home
and everything surrounding ,presents view of its soul"

It was one of those autumn days when the air smelled cool and fresh.
The subtle tastes of a winter approaching, forced me into a
self-embrace.
Golden yellow highlights that transcended across the sky,
reflected its colors on the Maple leaf and each shaft of wheat,
as I walked by.
Holding onto my chills and the contemplating thoughts that filled a desire to remember,
I looked down at every step I took,
each crisp breath I unselfishly breathed, inhaling my past and treasuring my present,
and then, It jumped into my thoughts!
".....It came upon me, as one would say, saying out loud, to myself...

This is the path that takes me home
and everything surrounding ,presents view of its soul.
Even the bark, seems to speak from the trees
and the branches that hang over the pheasants that screech,
The fields of wheat that keep me so warm,
and her devotional watch felt that keeps me from harm.
This is the place that was meant to be,
a place that God has chosen for me.
I will cherish the picture this paints in my mind,
holding it closely and ever so dear,
knowing always and forever,...
His Spirit is here!

This is my memory, my way back home, walking back to my childhood on
"WoodLane Farm"
So childish, so perfect, such innocent ‘cites.... Visions of sugar plums and yes,
all is right!
"Down the lane", was the direction towards the house
And , as I took strides, with my legs stretching wide,
counting how many steps it would take,
I noticed how the apple trees were symmetrically planted on either side.
thinking, ...daydreaming, maybe?
One step, two steps,...long and slow, bringing me into the past once ago,
And, seeing,... before I ever came along , asking,
"Did someone plant their seeds?"
I couldn’t help that it made me wonder...
Who he was, what did he looked like? Yet, I could see him.
Did this farmer have the same thoughts about this place?,
while perfectly measuring the distance, he faced,
between each tree, of a tree, only he could imagine ?
Did it ever cross his mind like its coming across mine now,
walking down this lane where we both have been?
In the beginning, like in the end of their days,
Just what kind of fruit will she bear?
I actually found myself looking down at my smooth, flat tummy, thinking,...
What kind of fruit will be in my womb,... if I dare?
I filled my stomach with air and push it out as far as I could,
"This is how mom always looks!", then I laughed.

A lightning bug just passed by...

So many times now, I find myself, knowingly, knowing,
how I always go running off on these wild goose chasing tangents,
infinitely reminiscing,
about long in the days before my time,
and far in the nights ahead of myself.
Was I the only one who thought these thoughts?
Has something ever made you sit and wonder
and wander like that?
"WoodLane Farm", who named her that?
And, maybe he wasn’t a" he" after all,
the farmer, you know!
Maybe
"he'  was a "she" like me,
always getting dirty, down on the farm she sowed
Everyone knew building forts and climbing trees with pine sap, wasn’t a girly thing to do.
Especially, with long, long brown hair. Oh, such pain!
What to do?
My mother had no patience combing out the mats that clumped up behind my neck.

Then, I pictured this women again, proud of her farm
faithfully believing, how beautiful the apple trees would be some day,
Down on her knees, sweating, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and thoughtlessly drying it on the back of her jeans,
placing each seed with her fervent prayer,
"Grow, grow, grow, like a apple tree!", she’d say with pride.
"Bear your Red Delicious for my future grandchildren’s lives!"
Did she picture the juice running down my chin just now?,
from that mouth- stretching bite I just took?
Sometimes, I can see her smile.
Well, enough,
I could let my thoughts wander with each and every step I place,and it seems,
that every, very first step I take, this happens,
on my way back home
Walking back to my childhood on "Woodlane Farm"

Still walking, passing these trees, it was very obvious
that they had given their best harvest many, many years ago.
Their branches revealed such character yet, an eerie feel would come over me.
Her fruit was long gone but its soul purpose, still abounding!
They could call out to me if they had a voice,
"Someday you will understand that I am more than just an apple tree
that lines both sides of your lane!"

I still think back trying to understand that, at first.
So, now I’ve come to a point, where I feel,
sharp stones that were under my feet.
They remind me of the races I had with my dad and
all of my six, skinny brothers
running down this, long, long lane,...
"On your mark,... get set,... stop...", my dad hollers,
"Now go!"
Our barefoot races on gravel could prove us so very tough.
And, being a girl, this would drive my feet harder ,
into the very rough.
The corn was close to 6 feet high and the smell of alfalfa took me back.
"Enough play", I would say,
"Time to get the hay while the sun still shines!"
I must feed the horses when I get there.
Home, that is.
Mr. Zeke is waiting!

The trees are behind me,
but their fruit still lingers in the air.
And the unpicked, laid rotten apples,
could still be seen amongst the weed,
that ever so tickled the hair on my legs.
But, beware the yellow jackets stealing any leftover apples!,
Their sting is sharp, like those many stones that
lay quietly on the path.
This must be life as it is ,I feel.
And yet, there’s so much more to it than this!

I’m coming on up to my grandmother’s house, where they lived, half the way down the road.
Her clean, white linens, so humbly they waved and furled out like the flag on their pole.
So bright and so bold, they almost were shouting,
" from sea to shining sea!"
But, really,... it wasn’t the sheets after all ,
what I heard, I recall,
"Hey you kids!",...my Nana pleaded, "stay off that lawn your Pop-Pop just seeded!
Her shouts flashed me back, watching him, watching me
from the corner of his eye, as he planted.
It was like,... as if,...he was carefully preparing, his very own garden in Eden
and,
Sometimes, I would sit there missing him already,
in my tree fort overlooking his house,
I promised myself, if I ever have such a beautiful yard, a yard of my own,
Someday,
I would try to remember, just exactly where he planted what
and I would do it exactly the same.

I’d imagine if lawns were like life.
If, apple trees were like women?
If having babies really hurt?,...
Are those barren trees crying?
I looked back.
Looking forward, I notice the brilliance of yellowness
on the Forsythia at the bend in the lane.
I turned the corner by the old split rail fences, where dozens of roses grow,
their heavenly smells fulfill all my senses, as it clears all the thoughts that I know,
... of old apple trees and stinging bumble bees and even what labor might feel like.
Fragrant buds blinding , the lilacs' purples, winding
and
if you keep to the side, to the left of the lane, sharp stones they don’t even bother,
Gone is the pain, when they place child in hand,
and into the arms of its mother.
Soft , cool ground up ahead!

Soon, my strolling thoughts will end, just the same,
at the newel post up ahead on our lane,
where I roam,
and while I walk toward the house, the house, I call home,
The dinner bell will chime, exactly at five, and all the kids will come racing in.
Yes, mom has a time for the supper hour, and God forbid if your late!
The fire has a place where I can see her plume, from the chimney way up on top.
So warm inside, where I’m safe and sound,
for this I will thank my God!
The dog is fed, our bath time, then bed, the horse just laid down in her stall.
And,...Somehow,... it all makes sense!
For in the morn’,
in the middle of the night,
Starlight,
our new colt was born.
This is my memory,... my way back home,... while walking back to my childhood on
"WoodLane Farm"

 copyright November 2005 Kimmy Van Kooten
photograph of our Lane on "WoodLane Farm"