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Posts Tagged ‘Andrew’

                  Golden  Days

           

   H  How can one hope to ever present, 

   A  All that’s happened, event to event?      

   P  Pretty high school girl, Winton Woods “date.”

   P  Pretty Tennessee bride, life’s soul mate.

   Y  Young marriage?  Yes.  God, His wisdom sent.

 

 F  Finances were often super tight

 I  In spite of work and homemaker’s might.

 F  Finished (always wed) B. A. degree,

T  Teaching Hobe’s literature was to be.

I  It introduced us to the sea’s sight.

E  Eventually, teaching changed a bit,

T  The Bible became more life’s great “hit.”

H  Helping prepare workers for the field,

 

W  Wishing to increase the Master’s yield,

E  Ended in Friendsville – God’s timing fit.

D  Dining, other duties tired my wife,

D  Dual/triple “chores” consumed my own life.

I   In eighty-five pulled out for AK:

N  New roads, tent, campsites filled every day,

G  God’s given pleasures, only slight strife.

                 

  A  Andrew, Lincoln, Laura, and Heather

  N  Nested in Bryan’s nest together.

  N  Nice to each other, nice to Mom, Dad,

 I  In times when little was all we had.

 V  Vacations? – with long or short tether.

 E  Eventually each sought/found a mate.

 R  Rightly, their finds would be hard to rate,

 S  Seventeen “grands” bless Martha and me,

 A  A few near, but most “over the sea.”

 R  Rich we are – this side heaven’s grand gate.

 Y  Yield (all!) so you’ll live beyond the blue.

   

 B  Babe, you’re good for me, hope me you.

 A  Always ‘member, I’ve loved you always.

 B  Blessings on our own fiftieth days.

 E  “Edgar and Martha,” happy “young” two.                  

  – eab,6/23/11

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Here and there on branches bare,

A cocoon earthward swings,

Waiting, a month or two, to be a zoo,

Of six-legged flying things.

 

Earth is so pleased to end the freeze,

It’s bursting up with joy.

And down the street, with peddling feet,

Rides a six-year boy. [1]     -eab,  4/1971


[1] Andrew in the first grade, riding his new red bike bought by Granddaddy and Grandmother Scarbrough. Written in Paris, OH.

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I’ve known the joy that only a boy                    

Could feel – the swing of a vine. [1]

That’s entwined in a tree, for lads like me

To discover and enjoy. (Age?  Nine.)

 

I’ve felt the soft nose of a horse at repose,

And jumped o’er the hindquarters bare. [2]

And ridden baby cows or even some sows, [3]

When the farmer or owner wasn’t there.

 

I’ve enjoyed the snow fall; drifts fences tall,

And the resulting thrill – no bus! [4]

Sat with my feet on the oven door for heat,

That coal stove with ashes and fuss. [5]

 

I’ve ridden through a bridge o’er the blue [6]

That was covered and painted red.

Or walked or ran the bare-planked span;

That inside looked like a shed.

 

Ah, and, I’ve felt the pain of a leaving train,

When my lover was inside. [7]

And watched the last light till out of sight,

Then turned on my heel and cried.

 

I’ve stood still and wet on the date set,

Waiting for that girl in white.

Perspiring that season, for more than one reason,

On the year’s last, hot, June night. [8]

 

I’ve relished the smell of fall as it fell,

Time after burning-leaf time,

And drank cider sweet; it was hard to beat

Soft, amber, pure, sublime.

 

I’ve been privileged to hold the tiny mold

From which God makes a man.

And knew that his name and mine were the same;

Twenty-one years the span. [9]

 

I’ve known what it means to have little but beans

And then miss a bean with a dip.

To have cookies is nice – but because of the price

A cookie without a chocolate chip. [10]

 

I’ve walked the drifting miles; mid frowns & now smiles

Of students on Saturday hikes. [11]

Or joined them near nine, asphalt roads to entwine

On our trusty, but soon tiring bikes. [12]

 

I’ve been privileged to be three years near the sea.

O!  The smell of salt in the air!

See it calm or forlorn or white-cappy in storm,

Return with it still in my hair.

 

I’ve walked up with pain the inclined plain

Of a mountain’s bristly backbone.

Provisions in pack on my back,

Miles and hours from a phone. [13]

 

I’ve met and do know some of Christ’s best below

Saints, yes, saints above sod.

Who’ve worked in love, His power to prove,

Before they go home to God.

 

That’s not all I’ve had as a boy or a dad

There are, I’m sure, many more

In thirty one years, many joys, a few tears,

Since birth to seventy-four.       -eab,  2/10/74

 

[1] Off the edge of one of Uncle Wallace and Aunt Em’s fields on the farm off Stage Coach road (parallel with US 22.)

[2] At Mark Ricketts house, my school mate 1952-1957

[3] At Mark Rickett’s to which I’d walk (3-4 miles) to play.

[4] Drifts were from fencepost top to fencepost top in 1950.

[5] Stove also had reservoir for heating water on side.

[6] Was the first kid on and last one off so passed through covered bridge four times a day for most of five years (over 3500 passes).

[7] Union Terminal about 1960, Cincinnati, watching my sweet Martha head home for the summer. Took her there in a taxi.

[8] The church was not air conditioned on June 30, 1961.

[9] Andrew (also called “Charlie Brown”) It was not my idea to name him after me but since Martha wanted that, made him E. Andrew.

[10] Not complaining but times were slim back then.

[11] Hobe high school biology students and I would hike Jupiter Island from the end of the road to the island’s end (approximately 10 miles) specimens they found were theirs – fun belonged to all of us!

[12] Biology kids on bike hikes in Jonathan Dickinson Park. 

[13] Hiked the entire AT (Appalachian Trail) through the Smokies but this particular memory is when Carson, Dan, Andrew, and I ascending Thunderhead on a Christmas vacation trip. 


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Today I sat in a cathedral – of oaks,  

And watched the mighty sun,

Enter in devotion-like rays,

Before he began his run

Of supplying ever welcome days;

His slants came through like so many spokes,

Light strokes, in the cathedral of oaks.  – eab, 12/27/7 9    [1]

[1] Written while deer hunting in the “steel stand” off the edge of Lookout Mountain in north Georgia. (Fellow hunters were probably Carson W Scarbrough -my late father-in-law, Carson, Dan Roush, and Andrew.)


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