Inspired by NPR, Sederquist takes a crack at poetry….
I’m from viking ships and churches, heartbreaking losses and hotdish laden potlucks.
I’m from backyard sports, treehouses, and itchy mosquito bites.
I’m from windchills and worries, harsh weather and endurance, from simplicity and priorities.
I’m from drab winter skies and duck hunters ushering them in.
I’m from 8th street and Blizzards,
Cross country runners and bushwackers,
Blue lines and blue lakes.
I’m from lift lines and ski passes, snow days and dreary drifts.
I’m from “You betchya,” and “dontchya know.”
From “watch for deer,” and “keep your eyes peeled.”
From “oh for cryin out loud,” and loving grandmothers who say it.
I’m from “ope” and the politeness of people who pray.
I’m from melancholy fall scenes, where memories hang on in colorful leaves.
I’m from treehouses and Twins, Herb Carneal lullabies and Kirby Pucket kids imitating heroes in the backyard.
I’m from hockey ponds and gravel roads, bait shops and lake associations. I’m from “are they biting,” and “he’s a keeper.”
I’m from cozy cabins and rain on the rooftops. I’m from cedar smells and eggs on my pancakes. From Mapleline and Nestle. From runs in the rain and frostbitten hands.
I’m from sensibility and sarcasm. From long good-byes and longer game nights. I’m from crowded Christmas dinners and laughs around the table.
I’m from gray skies and worn pastures.
I’m from school reunions and July 4th fireworks. From tradition and times gone by.
I’m from Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion,
from a place where you always end up coming back to.
From place you always call home.