My mom has been cleaning and re-organizing her life as well as nicks and crannies in her house. Every once in a while she sends me a box of wonderful treasures. The last one arrived with a pink boa, flashlight, candles, my dad's tape measure...well you get the picture.
In that box was also a copy of a poem my dad wrote for me years ago when I lived on the farm with Bob and the boys. I had a small cookstove that I used for cooking, but oh, I so wanted a bigger one (which I eventually got!)
My mom and dad came to visit and my dad wrote this poem for me. There is a picture of the two of us holding the poem and I pasted the original copy of his own handwriting on the back.
We were both so young then!
Here is the poem my dad wrote for his homesteading daughter!
The world around her kitchen turns
With lots of love and sometimes burns
But nothing is so downright purty
As my daughter with her apron dirty.
I see her in the pantry spicy
With all those things that smell so nicy
But I declare, it's hard to take
An apron black - as chocolate cake.
The old wood stove with the whistling kettle
Is hard to work and tests her mettle
But you know she has that special knack
When she ties on that old black sack.
I guess she wants a stove much bigger
Why she does I don't much figger
But black as tar that apron shows
A labor of love from spring to snows.
Happy Birthday Dad!