The Next Year People, Brand new poem Options

[vessq]

The Next Year People

The preacher picked us out of a stream
of National Western Stock Show enthusiasts
as we walked toward the entrance gates
on an icy sidewalk.
He approached spraying spittle,
pointed with a grimy hand,
and shouted loudly.

"Are you people of faith?
Do you believe"?
Uh-oh, I thought,
nobody, but nobody, shouts
at Grandma.

Later, over ice cream,
she said, “I've been thinking
about that sidewalk preacher
and what he was yelling.

I should have stopped
and told him of our belief.
It is pure faith to turn bulls in with cows
and believe that, come spring, there will be
Rambunctious white faced calves bucking
and bawling and butting heads.

And when we bury tiny seed
a quarter inch deep in dry soil,
we believe a miracle of lushness
will happen to feed us and our livestock.
Is that not faith?

When hard times come,
we hang on like leeches
and believe that next year
it won't hail out the wheat,
or rain on our fresh cut hay.

Next year, all the cows will have twins
and we will be able to pay the bank.
Oh yes, I should have told him,
We believe and have great faith
because we are next year people."

[vessq]

Hi Sylvia,

Thanks for the kind words.

The note about your dad and the apples made me think of a young woman who grew up in a family apple growing and packing family.

She said her uncle would always turn to his wife when the last box was picked, packed, and shipped and say. "Now, cover me with love for I am tired of apples."

It is all about faith in and love for what we do.

Vess

[Psyche]

Yes, precisely, Vess. All that worry & hard work is deeply rooted in faith & love. I agree with you.

In our case, since we were quite poor, apples appeared on the table every day, in some sort of fashion, until I was SO sick of eating them..! My Dad stored them in a cold, dry room, in boxes and on shelves, and I remember him turning them around regularly, to keep them from bruising. Just the way one takes care of a bedridden person, to keep away the bed sores...wow...

And of course "our" apples were second class, the ones not sent to market..!

Nowadays, I'm very fond of apples.

Best, Syl***

Hi Sylvia,

Thanks for the kind words.

The note about your dad and the apples made me think of a young woman who grew up in a family apple growing and packing family.

She said her uncle would always turn to his wife when the last box was picked, packed, and shipped and say. "Now, cover me with love for I am tired of apples."

It is all about faith in and love for what we do.

Vess