I am from a purple bike with silver streamers, from McDonald’s hamburgers for 25 cents and cheese pizzas because we didn’t know there were more options.
I am from flat farmland with high mountains in the distance, from the smell of rich dirt on the wind.
I am from the mosquitos biting at twilight and the sweet smell of warm tomatoes on the side of the road.
I am from Grasshopper pie on your birthday, from Clifton and Magdalene and Ward and Helen.
From “work first, play later” and smiling eyes.
I am from dozing on Momma’s shoulder while I listened to the pastor. Now I’m the Momma – same pastor.
I’m from Northern California Ag land, walnuts and Grandpa’s garden vegetables.
From the coffee can aroma quelling my naseua in the backseat, sucking the sea salt out of my hair after a day at Dillon’s Beach, and making s’mores at the cabin.
I am from old photo albums – black pages and white spidery letting. I am from rolls and rolls of old movies with no sound.
I am from Grandma’s attic.