Today’s guest post was written by Don Casada.
Where I come from
Its dragonflies and flutterbies
And rabbits on the run;
Regal ironweed in late summer, Foggy meadow in the morning sun.
Its “purty, purty, treat-treat-treat”
From a cardinal on a springtime morn.
The persistent sigh in the whippoorwill’s cry Haunting, lonesome and forlorn.
It’s blueberries on high bushes,
And huckleberries a-hanging down low. The worst of blackberries ain’t the briers – It’s the chiggers, don’t you know.
An azalea flaming on a mountainside Little bluets alongside the creek.
A preacher bird’s sermon upon the ridge, Amen, Brother, say on – speak.
It’s backbending loads on crooked roads, It’s friendly, heartfelt waves.
Ninety-nine points from cows and horses All lost in a yard of graves.
It’s a barefoot kid along the bank
In search of spring lizard treasure.
It’s a hot and buttered cathead biscuit And sourwood honey – pure pleasure.
Where I come from
It’s a brown-eyed Susan and a blue-eyed girl, Yellow tresses shining in the sun.
It’s a rocking chair and a thankful prayer When a good day’s work is done.
It’s katydid or katy didn’t
Way up in a mountain holler.
It’s the hint of a trail through a laurel hell That leads to an old bear waller.
It’s butter crocks and mossy rocks
In the springhouse by the stream.
It’s a stooped old man with calloused hands Whose eyes still smile and gleam.
It’s where there’s jewel weed in summer, And diamonds in the springtime dew. Leaves of gold on an autumn hickory, And there’s silver in the wintry grey hue.
It’s dust upon my britches
And sweat upon my brow;
It’s a-wondering how hereafter Could be finer than here and now.
This is the place I come from – Oh, how I miss it when I’m gone! Kinda like the place I hope to go When the crown of life is won.
—Don Casada
I’m betting you enjoyed Don’s poem as much as I do! But there is one thing that could make it even better… to hear Don recite it.
Listen to Don’s recitation on the player below.
Last night’s video: Pizen, Vomicing, Wallering, & Sitting up with the Dead in Appalachia.
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I love that so much!
I just love to hear other’s stories through word/poems like this.
I’m so glad you encouraged us to write like this before my sweet momma went home to Heaven. I got to read my poem at her funeral and I know her and Daddy would have been proud of it. Tipper, you encourage us in so many different ways. God gave us such a blessing through you and your family.
Continued prayers for Granny! She is such a precious gift!
Don I agree with your brother you could have been a writer, do not know what english teachers you had at Swain (I was a yr behind Jim). You did a great job with and other posts you have written. In a way I am jealous because you are still there to enjoy our mountains.
The part I loved best is how could anything created in the afterlife be any better than the wonderful bounty we have right here in Appalachia. “Kinda like the place I hope to go When the crown of life is won.” Thank you, Don Casada, for capturing the beauty and wonder of Appalachia.
Awesome delight! Thank you so much Don. Your poem blessed my heart. God sure has provided us a great place to wait on eternity! Prayers for Granny and family. Ya’ll bless my world so very very much. Thank you bunches ❣️
A well written and recited poem. Beautiful! Tell Granny hi and prayers for her.
Thank you for sharing, Tipper.
I love Don’s poem. As with most of your posts, Tipper, it sure does make me wish I could visit the Appalachian hollers. One part of the poem confused me though. What does he mean by, “Ninety-nine points from cows and horses?”
Diane,
The 99 points from cows and horses refers to a game we played when I was a boy going on rides in the car through the country. It was something to both keep kids occupied as well as to incentivize them to pay attention to the countryside. You’d have a team on the drivers side and another team on the passenger side. The team could be one person or a couple.
For every cow you passed – on your side – you got a one point. As I recall, it was two – or maybe as many as five for a horse, donkey or mule. Sheep, goats, pigs, and all livestock counted, including chickens.
But in addition to looking for animals on your side of the car, you kept a lookout for a cemetery on the other side, because if you passed one, all the points on that side got buried. If you saw one coming up on your side (or knew it was there), you’d try to do something to distract your opponents so they wouldn’t notice. The same was true if you spotted animals on their side which they hadn’t seen. Some subtlety was needed in this part of the poker 😉
Forgot to mention – it was called cow poker. My wife, who grew up in Charlotte, also played it, but she says that if they drove past a lake on one side, all the animals drowned. That wasn’t part of our cow poker.
Thanks so much for explaining the game, Don! We used to keep track of the animals we saw on road trips by tallying them in the back of our coloring books, but your game sounds like so much fun! And competitive!
Thanks for sharing the poem, Tipper; and thank you Don for writing and reciting it. Well done!
God’s Blessings to All, and especially for Miss Louzine.
Sure hope to hear another of Jim’s poems!
Good stuff. Send us more, Don/Tipper.
What a beautiful poem and to get to hear Don recite it made the words come to life. What a gift! Thank you both for sharing. I also enjoyed seeing the girls shopping at the antique and thrift stores and I loved the video of you sharing the Appalachian words and phrases. I was surprised at how many I knew myself. Prayers for Granny and all the family.
Oh, lovely! Thank you.
I remember the butterhoopsies in the evening twilight.
Beautiful poem, and I enjoyed it even more when I heard Don’s voice reciting it.
Tipper, when I saw the words noted on your video it brought a deep smile to my old weather-worn face. I sure can remember my Grandparents and my father saying the word “Pizen,” “Wallering,” and my Daddy telling about “Sitting up with the Dead in NE MS.” My Daddy said they had been notified that his Grandfather had died and he felt like he was going to pass out when he got to his beloved Grandfather’s home and saw he was laid out and loved ones would be sitting up with him through the night. It was my Daddy too that told stories about that old Wampus Cat but he always laughed when he told them.
Little brother Don done done (yes the repetition is intentional, and I guessing some readers will realize as much) the family proud. Mind you, I might be inclined, as a family member, to gild the lily a bit in this case, but anyone intimately familiar with the place of our raising (N. C. side of the Smokies) will readily identify with the sounds and sights he describes.
Ron Stephens, I don’t know this to be the case, but “preacher bird” likely refers to a free-range roosted cowing to remind the world to wake up.
Beautiful well written poem. Thanks for sharing.
Beautiful!
So beautiful! How blessed Don is to live in that heavenly place!
I love that poem, reminds me of my childhood days. It gave me such a homey feeling, so glad I still live in the county. I don’t think I would be happy living in the city. In natural I feel closer to God and His beauty. I can’t help think of my Grandparents and my great grandma’s old home place. Thank you for sharing that.
All the good things we see in life, they don’t just go away.
For all good things return to the Maker from whence they came.
Don’t mourn for lost things you’ve seen in your life, they’re still there and more!
Waiting for you to live them again! And again!
All the bad things we see in life, all the things we think we’ve made.
We’ll never see them again for they are returned to their maker too!
Now, what about the spiders who work all night to just to collect the brilliance of a fall morning sunrise on a heavy dew?
Beautifully phrased and captured the feeling of us all! Thank you, Don.
Beautiful!!! Don Casada’s deep, mellow voice really brought it to life. Thanks for sharing!
A beautiful poem, the reading and then listening to Don recite it was great. Thank you great way to start this wonderful day!
Beautifully written poem by Don Casada. It sure sounds like home to me.
Beautiful!
I love the poem. Thanks for sharing it.
just beautiful – thanks tipper.
Don wrote and recited a beautiful poem. He truly captured our Appalachia home so well. Thank you for sharing it in the post and the player so we could both read and hear Don recite his poem.
Beautiful!
All I can say is WOW what a poem and poet! You NC hillbillies are putaneer overrun with multi-talented artists of all types!!! I’m simply astounded and when Tipper and Don put their brilliant heads together, they can come up with all kinds of wonderful ideas then spring ‘em on us (thank the Good Lord!) Many blessings to you all and especially “ the usual suspects” whose initials are G and K and baby. Oh, they say we’re all going get meteor struck on Saturday Sep. 23. Let’s hope not, although my nerves feel nefarious goings on inside… lol
Sadie, I am not worried the least bit about the meteor shower, if I should get killed by one it will only mean one thing, I am on my way to Heaven to spend eternity with my wife that I miss so badly. Oct.26 would be our 49th year wedding anniversary and we “went together” 2 1/2 years before marrying when she was 19 and I was 20.
I love poetry and that was just beautiful and gave me such a comfortable feeling—like my warm cup of coffee on this chilly morning. I also very much enjoyed the girls trip to the antique store and thrift shop video and your video on Appalachian words and phrases. Have a blessed day!
Beautiful poem! So rich in imagery…so wish everyone could live in the sanctuary of God’s nature…
Blessings, Allison
I can say “I did too” to many of the things Don wrote of in his poem. I would add hardworking God fearing parents that were poor but had unlimited amounts of love for their family, neighbors that would drop everything else to help out each other, a time when you didn’t need to lock the doors of your house, neighbors that would always wave when you passed by their home, hearing a bobwhite quail call, a morning dove cooing, the call of a crow, a time when families made and spent time together and men would gather around at the country stores and fellowship with one another. I could add more, but now I no longer hear a bobwhite calling, many neighbors are strangers and unwilling to help one another unless they get paid, doors have to be locked, and deer are more often seen than rabbits. This week I have been listening to a screech owl calling late in the evening just before “can’t see” dark.
Intriguing wording in Don’s poem because it is so Appalachian. Native sons and daughters will understand just fine and have memory images to go with the words. Others from elsewhere might find several puzzling things. The only puzzle I found was “preacher bird on the ridge”. I’m pretty sure I know the bird but not by that name. As for the thought about whether hereafter could be better – the thing that relates the two is simply love. There can be no doubt that Don loves his home place, home country, home life and home folks and that his soul knows it right well.
We have a neighbor that stops on his way home from work five days each week to get our mail and bring it to us. Most Saturdays he drives or rides his mower up to get it then. He has mowed our yard all of July, August and September since my neck breaking adventure in early July. The neighbor on the other side will drop whatever he’s doing if my wife calls and says, “Jackie needs a little help.” We learned many years ago that to have good neighbors you have to be one.
Jackie, this is what I meant in my comment about neighbors helping one another. Most of our neighbors were poor just like my family and we had to help out one another. The only thing we asked for when helping a neighbor was for them to help you out if you ever needed help. This still goes on today in my community. I agree with your last sentence of being a good neighbor in order to have good neighbors. When it comes to getting along with people it ain’t always “them” that’s the problem.
Ron,
The preacher bird I was referring to is a variety which I used to have a conversation with about important matters of the universe when miles away from anyone else (other than my wife, sometimes), in the mountains. I’m not a bird expert, but I think it’s the red-eyed vireo. If you’ll search for that name, I think you’ll find some example songs, but the ones I found on-line were going on too long. My experiences were where the bird would do a fairly short piece and then be silent for a few seconds. So maybe it’s not a red-eyed vireo, but some other warbler. Whatever is the case, they are really hard to spot by eye, but their tune is cheerful, upbeat, and non-repetitive. I could say they’re not like some of these modern praise songs. But I won’t do that.
There were times when we carried on a whistling conversation. I’d do the first line “This is my Father’s World” and a bird would sing a few notes and pause. Then I’d whistle “The birds their carols raise” and get another line from the bird. Ditto with “The morning bright” and so on.
I know I recorded this once or twice with a little handheld recorder. If I can find one, I’ll send it along to Tipper to share.
I thought I was the only one in the world that tried to talk to the birds in the woods! I try (badly) to mimic them. Some few will go on as long as I do. One of those is the rufus-sided towhee (aka Joree). We two have heard the red-eyed vireo but for the life of me just this minute I can’t remember the song. Thanks for the response.
Very nice, I enjoyed the poem.
Blessings to all.
What a beautiful poem. Brought tears to my eyes. God bless Granny and her wonderful family. I can’t wait to hear her sing again.
YES….Don Casada did a wonderful job….the reading was icing in the cake! Thank you (& Don) for sharing!
A lovely poem. I truly admire people who can pour out their heart so beautifully.
God bless Granny Louzine Wilson with healing and health, love care and protection in Jesus name