Where I Come From

I come from peaceful swimming holes...picnics on a hot summer day.
I come from mystical misty rain forests...lush ferns that glisten in a shaft of sunlight.
I come from New Hampshire. Massachusetts. France. Nova Scotia. Quebec. Sweden. England.
I come from mailmen and factory workers. Fishermen and mapmakers. War veterans.
I come from stay at home mothers. Writers. Thinkers. Feminists. Nurses. Farm women.
I come from small town neighborhoods. Freedom to play. To wander. To grow.
I come from the land of loggers. Hard drinkers. Hard workers. Hard players.
I come from a home full of brothers. Neighbor kids. Foster children. A room of my own.
I come from a rock solid educational foundation. Small school. Excellent teachers.
I come from endless outside games. Horseback riding. Bicycles. Forts. Snow.
I come from the ocean. Fishing trawlers. Hood Canal. Butter clams.
I come from ice cream cones. Dairy Day parades. Penny candy. 5-and-dime stores.
I come from paper dolls. Chatty Cathy. Skipper. Tammy. Barbie. Midge.
I come from my bedroom. Sunbonnet quilt. Cherry blossoms outside the window.
I come from books. Comic books. Music. Poetry.
I come from dinner at the table. Hand-washed dishes. Laundry on the clotheslines.
I come from love misunderstood. Misdirected. Confused. Hidden in layers.
But love nonetheless.
I come from God, and He has directed my life.