I walked through the valley to reminisce and recall the past
I finally spotted my childhood home through the willows and the tall green grass
It was weathered and torn the front porch was all ripped apart
It's roof had sagged down but oh how it did touch my heart
For I only remember good memories as I and my siblings played
A family united with love, an old welcome sign on the front porch laid
The old overgrown flower bed still bloomed through the weeds
I saw Mom's bachelor buttons that had spread out their seeds
My heart felt so heavy and sad, the old wood stove looked so rusty and worn
Then I saw a small wooden cradle that rocked with the babes that were born
The old shed behind the house where we played hide & seek
brought back memories of smoking when Dad's tobacco can we would sneak
An old rusty cream can now looked like an antique
With the letters all faded I thought it looked quite unique
I walked towards the old root cellar, it had collapsed right in
At one time it stored all our vegetables and the odd bottle of Dad's favorite gin
With all of us gone now I'll treasure each childhood day
I'll visit again with my memories because nothing can take them away.
Olga Meronyk.
This poem is special in that it's not a work of fiction but rather a window into the life & memories of a real person. The old homestead is a real place, not unlike the places we visit on our rides. Olga is the mother of a good friend of ours & we had the pleasure of meeting her, but sadly, only the once as she is no longer with us. She was born in Pakan, now the site of the Victoria Settlement Historic site, at one time, the home of a Hudsons Bay Company Fort. One day our friend gave us a little softcover book of poems by her Mother & as I read it, I could identify with the stories written within, as I spend most of the summer months visiting these old homesteads. But where I can only speculate as to the history of these old homes, she has real memories of living in these basic 2 room homes, complete with mud walls, wood stoves for heat, root cellars, outhouses. The hardships of living through times when money was sparse, living through the tough winter after a drought had wiped out their crops. The love of family getting them through, back in the days when family's pulled together & worked together for the good of the whole. Olga's poems are a testament to a fading time, which, sadly, will never return. Olga's life is proof that in hardship, love, sharing & giving creates bonds that can never be broken, something that this generation has lost. Gone are the days of family meals around the table, chores for the children, sitting around the radio at night, listening to everyone's favorite show before going off to bed as 4:00 came early. Sadly, we now live in a generation of entitlement. Children with the latest gadgets, no longer able to communicate unless it's through a text message. Rampant disrespect for their elders, parents using numerous forms of technology as a baby sitter, simply too busy to spend time raising their children. Gone are the days of family dinner, night time prayers, chores. So this little book of poems comes as a breath of fresh air, something meaningful from a distant past, written with care by a thoughtful, caring person. A testament to a life well lived.
James.
I finally spotted my childhood home through the willows and the tall green grass
It was weathered and torn the front porch was all ripped apart
It's roof had sagged down but oh how it did touch my heart
For I only remember good memories as I and my siblings played
A family united with love, an old welcome sign on the front porch laid
The old overgrown flower bed still bloomed through the weeds
I saw Mom's bachelor buttons that had spread out their seeds
My heart felt so heavy and sad, the old wood stove looked so rusty and worn
Then I saw a small wooden cradle that rocked with the babes that were born
The old shed behind the house where we played hide & seek
brought back memories of smoking when Dad's tobacco can we would sneak
An old rusty cream can now looked like an antique
With the letters all faded I thought it looked quite unique
I walked towards the old root cellar, it had collapsed right in
At one time it stored all our vegetables and the odd bottle of Dad's favorite gin
With all of us gone now I'll treasure each childhood day
I'll visit again with my memories because nothing can take them away.
Olga Meronyk.
This poem is special in that it's not a work of fiction but rather a window into the life & memories of a real person. The old homestead is a real place, not unlike the places we visit on our rides. Olga is the mother of a good friend of ours & we had the pleasure of meeting her, but sadly, only the once as she is no longer with us. She was born in Pakan, now the site of the Victoria Settlement Historic site, at one time, the home of a Hudsons Bay Company Fort. One day our friend gave us a little softcover book of poems by her Mother & as I read it, I could identify with the stories written within, as I spend most of the summer months visiting these old homesteads. But where I can only speculate as to the history of these old homes, she has real memories of living in these basic 2 room homes, complete with mud walls, wood stoves for heat, root cellars, outhouses. The hardships of living through times when money was sparse, living through the tough winter after a drought had wiped out their crops. The love of family getting them through, back in the days when family's pulled together & worked together for the good of the whole. Olga's poems are a testament to a fading time, which, sadly, will never return. Olga's life is proof that in hardship, love, sharing & giving creates bonds that can never be broken, something that this generation has lost. Gone are the days of family meals around the table, chores for the children, sitting around the radio at night, listening to everyone's favorite show before going off to bed as 4:00 came early. Sadly, we now live in a generation of entitlement. Children with the latest gadgets, no longer able to communicate unless it's through a text message. Rampant disrespect for their elders, parents using numerous forms of technology as a baby sitter, simply too busy to spend time raising their children. Gone are the days of family dinner, night time prayers, chores. So this little book of poems comes as a breath of fresh air, something meaningful from a distant past, written with care by a thoughtful, caring person. A testament to a life well lived.
James.