Mother and father was how we referred, for reasons unknown to me now, to our father's parents.

Mother and Father’s Farm   The lane was long and winding, from the road to Mother and Father’s farm Barb wire fences and strawberry plants framed it all the way up to their  barn   The soil was rusty red and coated all that comes in close contact Potato plants grew high and strong hay grew in the field out back   The farmhouse smells drifted invitingly ginger snaps, home made bread Fresh butter, farm fresh eggs and buttermilk churning in the shed   The cows grazed in the pasture, pigs in a pen, chickens ran everywhere Barn cats and a big old mangy dog even one old sway-backed mare   We called grandparents Mother and Father they spoke a funny kind of talk Sometimes they’d talk all in French which was a little bit of culture shock   Lots of pretty young cousin girls and boy cousins who knew a lot Like how to stash some beer away that at parties parents soon forgot   These were such wonderful memories of that Island I truly blessed The old homestead is gone now Mother and Father in Heaven rest!