A Child of the Mountains
I am a child of the mountains,
Running barefooted where wild honeysuckle
and mountain laurel bloomed full,
Spilling over the rocks and hills.
Soft green moss carpeted my playhouse
with rocks providing couch and chair.
My family of stick people with Mommy, Poppy and children
were my playthings.
A swimming hole where Poppy taught us to swim,
Still ringing with long ago squeals of young children.
The house stands empty now on the mountain top,
While the wind carries faint sounds of children laughing
My mind slips back to those long ago days,
Reliving the days of great joys and gentle love.
I long to go back to the days when life was full,
Where wild honeysuckle and mountain laurel bloom.
written by Anita Evans Griffith
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I hope you enjoyed Anita’s poem as much as I did!
Tipper
I am a child of the mountains as well. My feet hate shoes and socks, but love cold creek water! I recall the photo of Chitter barefoot in the freshly tilled garden dirt – that’s the way I garden, too. Anita has such a way with words, I could feel my childhood. Please thank her for me.
With love from the riverbank in Marshall!
Ed Ammons, it’s O.K.
In parts of E.ky. the farms are on high ridges and the flats and benches are farmed. The hollers and gorges are too narrow. Anita
Ed Ammons, it’s O.K.
In parts of E.ky. the farms are on high ridges and the flats and benches are farmed. The hollers and gorges are too narrow. Anita
Ed Ammons, it’s O.K.
In parts of E.ky. the farms are on high ridges and the flats and benches are farmed. The hollers and gorges are too narrow. Anita
Ed Ammons, it’s O.K.
In parts of E.ky. the farms are on high ridges and the flats and benches are farmed. The hollers and gorges are too narrow. Anita
Sweet ! Made me remember our playhouse underneath the sycamore tree by the branch of water, and the rocks which made the outline of the rooms.
Anita Evans Griffith’s beautiful poem resonates with my own childhood. I thank her for writing it and I thank you for posting it. She resurrected many of my own memories with what she led us to see through her words.
Beautiful!!!
I’ve been longing to move to the mountains for quite some time now. Maybe one day, it’ll happen.
God bless.
RB
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If it is OK, I’ve saved Anita’s little poem for when I need a little spirit boost. I promise not to show it to anybody else unless they have slipped as low or lower than me. In such a case proper credit will be given.
Thank You Anita!
Loved the poem and it transported me back. However, I’d have put house in the valley or house back in the hollar. It’s people from out of state, usually summer residents, who build on mountaintops usually; they go home before the roads are so slick.
I love that poem, a simpler time.
I really enjoyed the poem. I am just beginning to see the beginnings od the blossoming mountain laurel and I look forward to a couple of weeks from now when my entire back view will be filled with the delicate, waxy pink and white flowers.
I agree. The poem caused me to see, hear and feel. Beautiful.
Beautiful picture and poem!! So well written. I do believe Ron Stephens comment wrapped it up for me too. It is spring here in south central PA. Flowers and flowering trees are trying to out do each other in an array of colors sprinkled through the forest and over the hill sides here.
The flower in the picture is a flame azalea according to botanists and horticulturists, but to me it is and always will be a wild honeysuckle. I am sure it is the same wild honeysuckle Anita references in her lovely little poem. Her remembrances mirror my own except my playhouse was a fort with swords, spears and slingshots.
In one instance we have a minor clash of viewpoints. I have never seen a mountain home built on a mountaintop. Summer homes and vacation homes, yes, but self-sufficient mountain families never built their homes on the mountaintop. At least in the area where I grew up.
Loved the picture and the poem. There is something so magical about being a true child of the mountains. The beauty was our backdrop no matter what we were doing. The expression “it made my heart sing” describes then feeling of walking along a mountain path discovering anew all the beauty along the path. Each day and every turn in the path bring something new. I always enjoy the people who never lose that childlike enjoyment. They are the ones who point out the Mallards playing in a mud hole or leave a bird nest perched in an area that is inconvenient. Somehow all becomes lost when we start declaring war on nature’s gifts instead of leaving them for the wildlife to enjoy. There can be nothing more touching than to be presented with a freshly picked dandelion from one of our tiny children of the mountains. Great post today!
What a beautiful poem! It is so reminiscent of my own childhood. I, too, am a child of the mountains and proud of it. Thanks for sharing this poem which expresses it so beautifully.
Something there is about childhood, whether it be innocence or lack of responsibility or wonder or imagination or something else that makes a deeper imprint than any adult years. Seems we were closer to wisdom then than we have ever been since but realized it least. I guess that is why I want children to enjoy childhood to the fullest while they can. A happy childhood is a blessing for life.
Beautiful poem Anita’s writing draws you in. I was there, seeing and smelling the sights. Thanks for posting.
What a lovely poem and a stunning photo to go with it. It’s spring in the mountains and it’s glorious!
Beautiful