I am from canning jars, bare feet, and Gibson Guitars
I am from steep ridges, dark hollers, and burned bridges
      I am from Irises, Peonies, and Day-lilies
    From fresh mown hay, Dogwoods, and red clay
I am from pulpwood cutters, truck drivers,
and homemade butter
I am from full hearts, empty pockets and hard work
I am from Jerry and Louzine who made me
From Wade and Marie who helped raise me
I am from Charles and Gazzie who loved me
I am from helping hands, Do unto others
and always be kind
I am from Goodnight sleep tight
and Things will turn out alright
I am from Camping In Canaan’s Land,
The Old Rugged Cross and Just As I Am
I am from Ireland over the sea,
North Carolina and Tennessee
From cornbread and beans, biscuits and gravy
I am from the Marine, the Sweet Mother
and the Two Brothers
Tipper
Gosh, you enrich my life and make me think and reflect and be grateful! You have no idea how you and your daughters and family have made me be more grateful for who I am and what I do and where I want and need to go. I am so blessed! You are truly dong Gods work and now your daughters follow. It’s simply amazing! Thank you for all you do! I know it takes a lot of time….
this is so beautiful! I see you’re encouraging others to write down their feelings of where they come from. I feel a strong connection to the past, even though parts of it I don’t directly know. When I went to England and Scotland (didn’t make it to Ireland) I felt it. I’ve alwahs felt it overflow to these mountains, in which my ancestors came. I know why they settled here… I see it and feel it.
I start each day reading your words and seeing your photos and hearing the music. It’s like a daily devotional to start my day. Thank you for that. Especially, now in these crazy times we are living. It gives me peace .
I couldn’t do mine justice compared to yours. Great Stuff.
I enjoyed your poem. I have also posted one. Please drop by when you have a moment. We are from some of the same places.
Blessings,
Mary
I love your poem! I’m going right over to give it a try.
What an opener for my first visit here. Very very moving!
Beautiful words, Tipper.
Sounds like where I’m from too.
I may have said this previously. If so, it is worth repeating. There is just something about being raised in the south. Thanks for reminding how blessed I am to have been raised in the south.
Hi Tipper,
I had to give it a shot. It’s no where near as beautiful as yours. đŸ™‚
I am from chainsaws, work boots and crooked houses.
I am from the mountains, the trails and the pitch of an evergreen.
I am from the huckleberries, the sticker bushes and the earth-worm rich soil.
I am from picket lines, one-horse-towns and Love Boat Saturdays.
I am from the crazy and the stubborn, from French-Canadian Trappers, orphan farmers and mill workers.
I am from German men who worked with their hands and Swedish women who worked with their hearts.
I am from potluck weddings and 23 cousins.
From clean your plate and watch your Ps and Qs.
I am from too many churches and not enough faith.
I’m from logging trucks and beaches, salmon and biscuits and fresh-baked bread.
From the shot-himself-with-a- gun and the old-maid school teacher, the nurse and the navy man.
I am from the parents who raised me, the grandparents who molded me and the brothers who delight me.
That was a beautiful poem.
You always have something wonderful to read, look at, listen to . . .
đŸ™‚
Whatsoever things . . .
What a great post! I will have to think about posting one of my own. . . family memories are hard to return to for me – stuff I am still trying to work out for me and my family.
thanks for stopping by my blog this morning. I love your poem and the precious pictures. I am anxious to read your previous posts. Have a blessed day!
Beautiful!
Love it! Funny how it so well describes two places that are 1,000 miles apart too! :).
Tipper: Love your poem, as I knew I would! And the photos are beautiful. Thanks for sharing another piece of you đŸ™‚
Tipper, I’ve been trying to form my feelings into the words that would be a beautiful poem like yours but it just won’t seem to come together. But to honor your words I want to reply. These gentle mountains (WNC) are my soul. I am in them and they are in me. I am the colors I use to frame pictures and I am the clay I sculpt into heads that speak without saying a word. I am the family I always wanted–a son, a daughter and two beautiful granddaughters. I am the one who takes care of stray cats and feeds raccoons and bears. I am home made bread and jam, I am homemade pickles and sauerkraut. I am the old ways and the old values. I am independent. I am loyal and true. I love the earth from which we come and I love myself. I love to read and I love to think. I’m an idea person, ideas are my toys.
I have friends, I am a friend. I am friends with myself.
And I love you!
Those poems actually made me cry. I’ll try it. I don’t know if I’ll post it, but I’ll try it.
Hey. I am back to look at your poem again. I think I will try it soon and link it back here, if that is o.k?
Have a good day.
Beautiful, I love this. I’ll have to follow your link and see if I can write one of my own. Such wonderful images this evokes. Your photos are perfect. I’m from a little bit where you’re from!
you are so freekin’ cool. Now go write a poem about that!:-)
I absolutely love this! Perfect pictures to go along with where you’re from!
This is awesome! I love your poem! I’m totally going to do one.
Tipper ! What a great post!! Loved it !!!(I’ll have to give it a try)
That is absolutely adorable. I love it.
Hey Tipper,
That was so good. I really enjoy visiting your site. I tried to watch the videos but I have dial-up and it just wouldn’t load. I did see a little of the last one and wished I could watched more.
Have a good day!
Lovely.
Have a blessed day~
Great post Tipper!
Love this. Especially the pictures!
I am from the Blue Ridge Mountains. The pioneer bred grandchild of a Scotsman and a Creek Indian maid, and Pennsylvania Dutch heritage.
I am from strong housewives who made cinnamon rolls and stick to your ribs bean soup. Of men who raised hogs and worked with glass.
I am from never having much, never going without, and never wanting more.
I am from seven children who were considered miracles.
Born from the womb of an angel who suffered from a rheumatic heart.
Taught to be good people by parents who cared.
I am from a time of open doors, open windows and open hearts.
From trust and honor and love of nature.
I am from a God who cares about who and what I will become. In a country where I can be the free spirit I was always meant to be.
Tipper,
Don’t know if that qualifies as a poem type, but it’s who I am. xxoo
I am from the Blue Ridge Mountains. The pioneer bred grandchild of a Scotsman and a Creek Indian maid, and Pennsylvania Dutch heritage.
I am from strong housewives who made cinnamon rolls and stick to your ribs bean soup. Of men who raised hogs and worked with glass.
I am from never having much, never going without, and never wanting more.
I am from seven children who were considered miracles.
Born from the womb of an angel who suffered from a rheumatic heart.
Taught to be good people by parents who cared.
I am from a time of open doors, open windows and open hearts.
From trust and honor and love of nature.
I am from a God who cares about who and what I will become. In a country where I can be the free spirit I was always meant to be.
Tipper,
Don’t know if that qualifies as a poem type, but it’s who I am. xxoo
wow! that is awesome! i am at a loss for words….