The "Where I'm From" Psalm

The Home Place

My Growing Up Farm

The photo is a bit wonky since I took a photo

 of a photo in a frame on my hallway wall.

But, it gives the setting for the

"Where I'm From" Psalm.

I wrote this back in 2010 

and have been looking for it everywhere.

On computers and hard copies.

No luck until today-sorting piles.

 I had learned about this type of Psalm

 at a Renovare conference.

 The Psalms were written as story-songs,

and though this may not be sung,

it is story.

So, sharing it here so that it is "filed."

It follows a fill-in-the blank format 

that was given to the class that I took. 

We were to describe a growing up summer

 from when we were 12.

"The Where I'm From" Psalm

I am from 4-H Clubs, from Central Soya

 and home canned peaches.

I am from the farmhouse with black shutters,

 guarding the slightly leaning Civil War barn,

 and dew-drops glistening on the catalpa branches.

I am from soybeans, massive pink peony bushes,

 black walnuts, and tasseled-out corn, 

purple lilacs and dusty gravel roads.

I am from fast-pitch softball and loyalty,

from Aunt Birdie and Riebelings and Grafts.

I am from repaint, reuse and cherish

and spin out and hang on the clothesline.

I am from "crooked, tilled rows never make

 themselves straight"

and "spritz, roll and freeze" 

before you iron those sleeves.

I am from Lutheran, Lutheran, 

that good ole', no smiles Missouri Synod.

Neighbor, neighbor, ain't we all?

I'm from Ossian and the Preble Low-Dutch Germans 

and pluckets and that hot potato salad.

From the gentle, caring nurse that excelled

 in foot rub healings, 

and the "30 and out" factory-worker farmer,

 and the whirly-gig grandpa.

I'm from iron plank bridges 

across phlox covered ditch banks,

 log and branch huts along the creek, 

and the back-forty land laid open

 in cultivated ridges

 of acres of black gold dirt.

Constance Laine Graft Martin Denninger
March 2010