It was one of those autumn days when the air smelled cool and fresh
and 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. 5

Holding onto my chills and contemplating thoughts that filled a desire to remember
I was looking down, at every step I took, each crisp breath I unselfishly breathed
Inhaling the past and treasuring my presence
. . . and then, It jumped into my thoughts!
". . . It came upon me, as one would say, saying out loud to myself . . . 10

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
O’ Fields of wheat, that keep me so warm, a devotional watch felt, that kept me from harm 15

This is a place that was meant to be
A place that God had chosen for me!
I will cherish the picture, this paints in my mind
Holding it close, and ever so dear
knowing always, and forever . . . His Spirit is here! 20

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 was right! 25

"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, ". . .Bring me into the past, once ago!" 30

And, seeing, . . . before I ever came along, asking,
"Did someone plant their seeds?"
I couldn’t help, that it made me wonder. . .
"Who was he, and what did he look like?" Yet, I could see him.
"Did this farmer have the same thoughts about this place, while perfectly measuring the distance he faced?" 35

Between each tree, of a tree, only he could imagine
"Did it ever cross his mind , like it’s coming across mine?"
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?" 40

I found myself looking down at my smooth, flat tummy, wondering . . .
"What kind of fruit will be in my womb, if I dare?"
I filled my stomach up with air  and pushed it out as far as I could
"This is how mom always looks!", then I laughed
A lightning bug just passed by . . . 45

So many times,  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?"50

"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 "him' was a "she" like me!
Always getting dirty down on the farm she sowed 55

Everyone knew, building forts and climbing trees dripping with pine sap
wasn’t a girly thing to do. Especially, with long, long brown hair!
Oh, such pain! "What’s a little girl to do?"
My mother had no patience combing out
the mats that clumped up on the back of my neck 60

Then. I pictured this woman again, proud of her farm, faithfully believing
"How beautiful the apple trees will 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
She placed each seed with a fervent prayer. . . 65

"Grow, grow, grow, like an 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?"
This time, I can see her smile . . . 70

Well, enough,
I could let my thoughts wander, with each and every step that I placed
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" 75

Still walking, while passing these trees, it was very obvious
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’d call out to me if they had a voice!
"Someday you’ll understand, I’m more than just an apple tree that lines both sides of this lane!"80

I still think back, trying to understand that at first
But, now, I’ve come to a point where I feel sharp stones under my feet
Reminding me of the races I had,  with my dad and my six skinny brothers!
Running down this, long, long lane . . .
"On your mark, . . . get set, . . . stop . . . ," my dad hollers, "Now go!" 85

Our barefoot races on gravel, could prove us so very tough
And being a girl, I would drive my feet harder, deeper down,  into the rough
The corn was close to six 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! 90

The trees are behind me now, 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 upon my path
This must be life as it is, I feel. And yet, there’s so much more to it than that! 95

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 were almost shouting,  "From sea to shining sea!" 100

But, really, . . . It wasn’t the sheets after all, what I heard, from what 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. 105

It was like, . . . as if . . . he was carefully preparing his very own garden of 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, one-day.
I would try to remember, just exactly where he planted what,  and I would do it exactly the same!110

I’d imagine if lawns were like life.
If, apple trees were like women?, . . .if having babies really did hurt . . .?
Are those barren trees crying?
I looked back. Looking forward,
noticing the brilliance of yellowness on the Forsythia at the bend in the lane 115

I turned the corner by the old split rail fences, where dozens of roses grow
Their heavenly smells fulfilled all my senses, as it cleared 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 a child in hand, and into the arms of its mother! 120

Soft, cool ground up ahead!
Soon,  my strolling thoughts will end,  just the same, at the newel post at the end of our lane.
And, when I walked 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 you're late! 125

The fire has a place where I can see her plume, from the chimney way up on top
So warm inside, where I am 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 made sense in the morn’,  for in the middle of the night
Starlight, our new colt was born! 130

This is my memory, my way back home, while walking back to my childhood on "WoodLane Farm" 131

Copyright November 2005
Kimmy Van Kooten