I am from second hand skates, from Tim Hortons doughnuts and epic Barbie sagas.
I am from the split level red house and a family cottage and “I see the lake first!”
I am from the sweet peas, the purple thistles, the heather and the wheat waving in the fields.
I am from “One big happy family!” and freckles, from Nell and Lorna, Ken and Donald Ivor.
I am from talking too loud and bold opinions hollered while laughing too loud.
From “God has a plan and a purpose for you” and “Expect a miracle.”
I am from small gymnasiums filled with choruses, from dancing on Sundays and tongue talking.
From the farming and the truck driving, from Simpson Sears and sales.
I am from the newspaper corners at Kitchener School, from the flats in Moose Jaw, from the ice-is-finally-off-the-lake at Last Mountain Lake in the middle of a flat-no-mountains-in-sight prairie and the bonfire under the stars.
I am from the keepsake box under the stairs, the homemade life, the just-caught-my-parents-kissing-again-life, the carrots washed off with the garden hose and the crab apples. I’m from cold lake water and warm mothers, from thread bare terry cloth towels and Strawberry Shortcake wallpaper.
I’m from thick family Bibles with notes in the margins and laugh lines, from truth and reconciliation, from grudges and elusive forgiveness.
I’m from restoration and new life, from cold winters with snow squeaking and blistering summers with mosquitoes buzzing.
From skinny girl arms wrapped around each other and secrets as delight, from paths through the back forty and cousins and quilts, oh, I’m from love.