Dry Holler Kentucky

I am a poet but don't know it, yet my feet show it. They are Long Fellows.

Try to remember back to the fifties.

There were no Interstates then,

Highways were mostly two lanes,

Winding through the countryside and small towns.

 

An old station wagon,

Inched slowly along,

It seemed oblivious to the path it followed,

Seeming to know its destination.

 

The driver was a lad barely in his teens,

Seated by his side an old man,

Great Grandfather and Great Grandson.

One keeping a promise, the other making it possible.

 

They turned onto a gravel road,

Barely wide enough for two cars to pass.

After a short distance,

It became nothing more than a cow track.

 

At long last they turned onto a creek bed.

Finally when the wagon could go no farther,

They got out and walked,

Without a path the old man knew the way.

 

The old man spoke now.

Remembering how they had taken him to the poor farm.

Forced to leave his precious farm.

"Too old to stay here." They said.

 

He pointed to an oblong stone.

Resting on the bank of the creek.

"That is where the house stood.

All that is left is the hearth stone."

 

"I planted that apple tree and those pines.

Cleared the benchs all the way to the ridge.

Raised corn for the animals,

Your mother loved those apples, I loved the land."

 

He lowered his long, lanky frame to one knee,

And to make his point,

He kissed it,

As a man would kiss a long lost love.

 

Later the lad stumbled and skinned his knee.

The old man helped him to his feet,

And rubbed the dirt he loved so much on it.

Speaking with reverence he said,

 

"You have this dirt in your blood,

And will never be happy any where else,"

Wise words from a wise man.

I have since lived in many places.

 

I have never found a place,

That could give solace to my soul.

The old place has been sold for Judas' gold,

But Dry Holler is in my blood and will always be my home.

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

"If I cannot live on Dry Holler, I can live any place.
If I can live on Dry Holler, I cannot live any place else."

Todd Fyffe 1857-1963 RIP

I am the Great Grandson. The old man was my Great Grandfather.

Reviews

[Sean Allen]

I would have thought that he passed away in 1963, but it looks as if he lives on in your beautiful story.

[Phibby Venable]

a wise man & a wise great grandson. very lovely & true hearted work.

[Ladysue]

This was so beautiful. Yes, the message comes through very well in this piece. Nicely done!!! Good luck!!!

[Emily B]

This is beautiful, Frank. I well understand. I've known for many years now that Kentucky is in my blood. I could never live anywhere else.