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Monday, 24 May 2010

Farmhouse of My Memory

By Elaine R. Winkler

Perhaps it was the scent of peonies in the front yard,

or the yellow paint faded to old gold,

or the wide front porch with gingerbread trim,

or the windmill and pump by the back door,

or the small unnamed stone building, locked,

or the sink and pump in the back room,

or the black iron wood stove in the kitchen,

or the gleaming wooden tank to store rainwater.

Probably it was the shiny dining room stove,

the tiny marble books on the Indian head shelves,

the  horse hair settee and chairs in the darkened parlor,

the gilt-framed portraits of the six family members,

the tiny bedroom displaying nothing but Grandma’s cradle.

Surely it was the best bedroom upstairs, I labeled my own.

[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post



I enjoyed reading your poem and can really relate to it.

As a child, my family spent two weeks each Summer in a farmhouse on Lake Ontario in New York State.

The farmhouse was heated with kerosene that had a distinct odor, and to this day, 70 years later, if I catch the smell of kerosene I am back on the old farm in my mind and I enjoy the memory of being with my whole family again.

My family still lives in the 1850 house that belonged to my great grandmother. My grandfather once had a printing press in the laundry room.
Old houses, many memories.

Elaine, your memories make me want to write about my childhood home even though it was a 1950's ranch. It doesn't matter the style, it's that fact that it was yours that counts.

Loved it Elaine.

Instant memories of my grandmother's farm and of my parents' while I was growing up. Thank you. I loved it.

Loved your memories. They are so similar to my own. It's been years since I thought about the horse hair settee.

I'll bet some wonderful meals were cooked on that black kitchen stove. We had one, too, and I could never turn out the delicious food on my modern stove that had even heat that my Mom made on the coal fired stove.

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