A few weeks ago I got an e-mail from the mom of a school friend - Gail. Gail's mom (my friend's Grandmother) was my grade six teacher and I loved her. At school she was Mrs. T. At home she and her husband were "Gram and Pops". When I broke my arm, it was Mrs. T who looked after me and drove me home.
Mrs. T has had to move to a special care home, and so my friend's mum was going through her things. She found a poem I wrote when I was 11 - in Grade six. She e-mailed to ask if she could send it to me. I got it late last week and will admit to having a little sniffle.
I talk about connections a lot and why it's important for us to be connected to people or places. If you've read any of my stories, you'll find that there is often a response, a connection, between the character and the place where the book is set. Whether it's the open space of the prairies, the restlessness of the water or the call of the mountains, that connection is there and with me it is usually a rural type thing. I will admit to not being a city dweller. I love where we live now. Not really the country, but there is room to breathe, with trees and grass and only a minute away, the lake.
This connection goes wayyyy back for me, and I realized it when I read the poem I wrote when I was the same age my daughter is now. It made me a little nostalgic, gave me a little laugh, and made me feel a little proud that the girl who loved words and writing back then is still loving it now. So here you go - a little insight into my childhood - when I lived in a place lovingly called "The Ridge" and walked past our orchard to the school bus stop.
While kids are anxious for school to end,
Apple blossoms are here again.
A silent moment to sniff the smell
Then off to school to make the bell.
The silent buzzing of the bee -
The country, that's the place to be.
City folks don't care a smidge,
But there's nothing as sweet as on the Ridge.