Tradition

Mom and I would early rise 

Every year at Easter-tide 

For sunrise service at Oak Grove. 

And cozy were the evenings 

We all gathered at home

By the glowing woodstove. 

Beef stew at New Year’s

Hearty and bold, 

Dad throwing sparks, 

Dazzling cold. 

We wandered the hills 

For the Christmas tree fight 

To find a cedar - one just right 

Tall, thin, fat, squat…

There were magical nights 

Spent in the woods, 

Supping on hearty, hearth-cooked goods, 

And sleeping to the marching sound 

Of chanting katydids all round.

With lake warm summers and autumn visits, 

Morning coffee and Hardee’s biscuits, 

Aunts and uncles and cousins galore

A family could ask for nothing more. 

Written Easter Sunday, 2023