born on this day one hundred
nineteen years ago
Each summer you came
to the farm to visit with
your only daughter
I can still see you
standing at the farmhouse sink
shelling garden peas
And I remember
your black crocheted shawl kept for
cool New York evenings
This weekend was a lovely weekend away, with a visit to family on the farm where I grew up, and a loop around through the mountains of north-central PA to lunch with my step-daughter at college.
Western NY is lovely at the close of summer, gardens bursting with tomatoes and beans and pumpkins, the corn drying on the stalk and the leaves not quite turning.
This day started with a visit to market, and reminiscence with my sisters about how over 90 years ago our grandpa used to shop for plain Mennonite suits at the Hager Department Store, with its ornate “H” and elegant facade. Amazing to think how long ago he walked the same streets & shopped the same market where our very feet were today.
The day ended with a fast-moving, intense thunderstorm, and then the quiet of a sunset.
A motorcycle rests on its side; a semi blocks the lane.
Paramedics huddle while emergency vehicles scream for an opening through traffic snarled for miles.
Temporarily inconvenienced, I will go home and eat Chinese takeout with my family
While someone else’s evening spirals into horror with a squeal of a tire and a blindsided swerve.