If you don’t know where you’re from, You’ll have a hard time saying where you are going. - Wendell Berry

I have never heard of the “Where I’m From” exercise, but came across it on a blog this morning and thought it would be fun. I am in a retrospective, reflective, and feeling-kinda-sorry for myself mood today so this may even evoke a tear or two. But who cares, it cleanses the soul. Here goes:

I am from the long gravel driveway and rolling hills of green, from Jif peanut butter and mama’s sweet sun tea.

From county fairs and horse shows.

I am from the house at the bottom of the hill with the creek you could hear running while lounging on the porch swing on warm summer nights. I am from sheets drying on the line.

I am from the honeysuckles and sunflowers and rose bushes my mama could make bloom like no other.

I am from card game get-togethers and fourth of July parties and always having homemade ice cream. I am from Betty Jane and Thornton and William Coagle and Kati.

I am from catching fireflies and being stung by bees. I am from snapping green beans and playing with the new kittens at Papaw Hopie’s on the way home from school.

I am from baking homemade chocolate chip cookies when it snowed and being picked on for being the baby of all cousins.

From “Don’t sit so close to the TV” and “Wait til your father gets home”

I am from not going to church, but knowing God was with us.

I am from the heartland and from bluegrass and from air that smells like sweet alfalfa. I am from trekking the 1/4 mile to my aunts and back because she needed to borrow an egg. I am from screen doors that squeak and slam.

From fried chicken and steaks on the grill, salmon patties with macaroni and cheese and not a single family dinner without a mounding basket of fresh bread.

I am from quick tempered red heads and barefooted babies and stubbornness and the unwavering will to do it right the first time. From homemade puff paint sweatshirts and wooden crayon boxes.

I am from tire swings hanging from fragile branches, and riding horses through the fields at sunset. I am from pretending and playing make believe.

I am from family vacations at the beach and eating bologna sandwiches in the sand. I am from farmer tanned men and just as hard working women.

I am from farmer’s markets and antique malls.

I am from Cincinnati Reds games and eating peanuts and looking at my dad and thinking he was the smartest man I ever knew. And the most brave.

I am from black and white photos of a grandpa I never knew and stories of a family of 9 growing up on Monroe Street when times were tough.

I am from strong women and dedicated men.

I am from love.

Of course I ran my mouth a little much, and this is much longer than the exercise calls for, but if you would like to do this for yourself, you can find the template here.