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
29 Comments
steve a in florence ky
March 13, 2010 at 8:50 pmI couldn’t do mine justice compared to yours. Great Stuff.
Mary
June 2, 2008 at 11:23 pmI 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
Janera
May 29, 2008 at 11:05 pmI love your poem! I’m going right over to give it a try.
Dina in Jerusalem
May 29, 2008 at 8:40 amWhat an opener for my first visit here. Very very moving!
Farm Chick Paula
May 28, 2008 at 12:58 amBeautiful words, Tipper.
Sounds like where I’m from too.
Leslie
May 27, 2008 at 9:42 pmI 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.
renaedujour
May 27, 2008 at 8:21 pmHi Tipper,
I had to give it a shot. It’s no where near as beautiful as yours. 🙂
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.
trisha too
May 27, 2008 at 4:33 pmThat was a beautiful poem.
You always have something wonderful to read, look at, listen to . . .
🙂
Whatsoever things . . .
Amy
May 27, 2008 at 4:20 pmWhat 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.
sherry
May 27, 2008 at 12:14 pmthanks 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!
threecollie
May 27, 2008 at 9:19 amBeautiful!
Ms.Hillbilly
May 26, 2008 at 10:25 pmLove it! Funny how it so well describes two places that are 1,000 miles apart too! :).
Joan
May 26, 2008 at 9:52 pmTipper: Love your poem, as I knew I would! And the photos are beautiful. Thanks for sharing another piece of you 🙂
Miss Cindy
May 26, 2008 at 8:43 pmTipper, 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!
renaedujour
May 26, 2008 at 8:19 pmThose poems actually made me cry. I’ll try it. I don’t know if I’ll post it, but I’ll try it.
gafarmwoman
May 26, 2008 at 6:15 pmHey. 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.
Jennifer in OR
May 26, 2008 at 3:00 pmBeautiful, 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!
Jessica
May 25, 2008 at 11:34 pmyou are so freekin’ cool. Now go write a poem about that!:-)
Paula
May 25, 2008 at 11:25 pmI absolutely love this! Perfect pictures to go along with where you’re from!
City Mouse/Country House
May 25, 2008 at 10:09 pmThis is awesome! I love your poem! I’m totally going to do one.
Mary Anne Drury
May 25, 2008 at 4:18 pmTipper ! What a great post!! Loved it !!!(I’ll have to give it a try)
noble pig
May 25, 2008 at 3:38 pmThat is absolutely adorable. I love it.
gafarmwoman
May 25, 2008 at 2:12 pmHey 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!
cathy
May 25, 2008 at 1:15 pmLovely.
Have a blessed day~
Beckynsc
May 25, 2008 at 12:11 pmGreat post Tipper!
Stephanie
May 25, 2008 at 10:45 amLove this. Especially the pictures!
Carolyn
May 24, 2008 at 11:19 pmI 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
Carolyn
May 24, 2008 at 11:15 pmI 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
susan
May 24, 2008 at 9:42 pmwow! that is awesome! i am at a loss for words….