Where I'm From

I am from a weathered white trunk, from chocolate gravy and biscuits and a cold glass of milk.

I am from eight different houses, where home is defined not by the rooms but by the people in them.

I am from the hardwoods and the pines, the leaves and needles and branches.

I am from farmers and storekeepers, from Halls and Fraziers and Nana and Papa, and Ma Ma and Pa Pa.

I am from the hard workers and the loud singers.

From fear of armadillos and reading road signs aloud until everyone wanted me to stop.

I am from God-fearing, saved by grace Christians in a home full of the evidence of His love.

I'm from the foothills of Arkansas, for generations, from chicken and dumplings and fresh corn on the cob.

From a Papa who gave me a love of history and travel, a Nana who gave me the gift of laughter, a Ma Ma who showed me the blessing of family, and generations on both sides who gave me the music that fills my soul.

I am from the stitches in old quilts, a chimney standing in an overgrown thicket, a cool, muddy creek, and a red barn, and my heritage is everything to me.







This was an exercise we did in my English class, and I really liked the way mine turned out.