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Little Pocono

3/13/2016

14 Comments

 
Picture
Holding my hand
We slowly climb the mountain.
Leaves pack the earth,
A rustling cushion beneath our feet.
 
He holds my hand and
I feel the years of raking leaves,
Of planting vegetable gardens,
Of building stone terraces in his grasp.
 
We walk among the trees so tall
I cannot seem to find their tops.
He points and names them –
Needle kings and leafy queens.
 
In a clearing we stop:
Deer tracks – large and small –
No doubt made by a pair
That visit our salt lick.
 
The woods smell clean and crisp,
I blow hard, but autumn air
Not yet cold enough to
Form a frosty blast.
 
“I love the fall,” I say aloud.
“Leaf Dropper!” Grandpa replies,
And I nod my head and giggle.
“Party Gal!” I say and Grandpa laughs.
 
The trail winds higher and higher.
Off the muddied path I spy it,
A little fir tree trying hard to
Sink its fingers into a rocky ledge.
 
Strong rains and melting snows
Would surely pry its roots
From the sparse soil and
Wash the little fir away.
 
My grandfather and I are close,
So close that he can read my thoughts.
I don’t need any words.
This is one of those times.
 
With bare hands, Grandpa digs.
He digs around the tiny fir,
Careful to take some moist earth, too,
That clings to its lacy roots.
 
We slowly make our way back,
Down, down, down  the steep mountain.
The little tree rides in one of the big pockets,
Grandpa’s red-and-black plaid lumber jacket.
 
The next morning we are saying good-bye
To cabin, to lake, to salt lick, to mountain.
Grandpa will return to check on things,
But it will be early spring before I return.
 
The fir tree stands all the way home
In a metal bucket with some rocks and water.
I wedge the bucket between my two feet.
I steady it and talk to the tree.
 
I tell him how big he will become,
That we will grow together.
Grandpa plants it with my help
At the corner of the house.
 
I don’t want to go back to Philly,
And the tears start to come,
But Grandpa says, “He needs a name!”
I smile because I have it….
 
“Little Pocono!” I shout.
And Grandpa nods in agreement.
“It is a good name,” he says.
“Little Pocono,” we say together.


14 Comments
Aileen Hower link
3/13/2016 05:33:51 am

I love these lines: I steady it and talk to the tree.
I tell him how big he will become,
That we will grow together.

Only the young can approach life and nature in such a pure way.
Thank you for writing about this memory!

Reply
lynne dorfman link
3/13/2016 06:03:25 am

Thanks, Aileen. It is such a vivid memory for me. All my grandfather stories are filled with love. He was my hero. My love for nature was something he cultivated.

Reply
Margaret Simon link
3/13/2016 05:43:44 am

This is a lovely poem. I enjoyed taking this walk with you.

Reply
lynne dorfman link
3/13/2016 06:05:14 am

Thanks for reading, Margaret. It seemed like a good piece for a Sunday morning!

Reply
Clare link
3/13/2016 06:12:22 am

This is so beautiful!! I love: My grandfather and I are close,
So close that he can read my thoughts.
I don’t need any words.
This is one of those times.

I think this type of poetry might work for me - almost a story - a slice but in a poem. Such a beautiful memory -- is the tree still there? How big did it get?
Clare

Reply
lynne dorfman link
3/13/2016 06:20:18 am

Hi, Clare. Thanks! Yes, you should try this because I think it would really work for you. Clare, you are an incredible, insightful writer - there is no doubt about that! The tree was planted in Coopersburg at my grandfather's house many years ago. It grew quite large! When we arrived from Philly, the first thing I would do every weekend is to race around the house to the backyard to see the tree. I lost my grandfather to a massive heart attack when I was 22 years old. Just about two years ago, Ralph and I drove to that house in Coopersburg. I knocked on the door and spoke to the lovely lady who now lives there with her husband. I did not go into the backyard. I wanted to believe that the tree was still there.

Reply
Shelly
3/13/2016 06:50:56 am

I love how close your grandfather and you were...so sweet. Amazing memories! Thank you for sharing this great poem! I love the Poconos!

Reply
lynne dorfman link
3/13/2016 07:57:43 am

Thanks for reading, Shelly. I loved the time in the Poconos. That is where the Highlights Foundation workshops take place . We should do one!

Reply
Rose
3/13/2016 07:23:17 am

I know this story in many forms, but I think this free verse poem is the best. It just seems to capture all the feelings so well. It reminds me of Owl Moon.

Reply
lynne dorfman link
3/13/2016 08:00:50 am

Thanks, Rosie. I did shorten the story a good bit by writing it as free verse. I think I like it this way, too. Wow! If it reminds you of Owl Moon, I did something right!

Reply
arjeha link
3/13/2016 07:24:20 am

What a beautiful memory. Thanks for sharing, Lynne.

Reply
Judy Jester link
3/13/2016 07:34:54 am

This is just lovely, Lynne. Mind if I steal it to use with my kids?

Reply
lynne dorfman link
3/13/2016 07:55:12 am

Please do, Judy. I would be honored!

Reply
Adrienne
3/13/2016 07:46:20 am

What a beautiful memory of your grandfather. I never knew my grandparents and I am always a little jealous of people who did. You are lucky in more ways than you know.

Reply



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    Lynne loves to write in the early morning hours, especially in warm weather when she can sit outside on the patio.  After a walk with her three Welsh Corgis, her mind is cleared and her spirit is inspired by the choir of birds in nearby bushes and trrees. 

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