Indiana

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Indiana

A muddy

squishy Spring

r

  a

    ins...se
              e
               ping

               from the rusty

                                   downspout

                                              to a barrel

                                                 below

                                               to collect

                                                  today

and help the sweet corn

g

r

o  

w...up green and tall

in the kitchen garden

out back.

It grows

like the weeds grew

around the weathered red barn.

(just like them kids did)

So fast...you hardly noticed

                                    till they's grown

                                                      and gone.

There's lines in the

                              chipped white paint

                                              up the door-frame

                                               And  Mother's

                           hieroglyphs                      besides them.

                            which looks a lot like names and inches

                                             but really says

                                                   LOVE
                         
                                (...look closer...)

The purple crocus

                              are up...and the yellow daffodils sway

                                                     in the breezy March wind

And the World smells like

damp dirt and earthworms

                              in Indiana in Spring.

Summer here

is lazy.

With red and white

                         Herefords

                         laying in a clump beneath

                                            a large burr oak

                                                           in the field.

                                   Tails swishing maddeningly          u        in

                                                                               at the flies  b      zz            g

                                                                                           e

                                                                                           v e          yw h

                                                                                                         r

                                                                                                er             e

And tiny sugar ants

                    parade along the kitchen counters

(the...ants...go...marching...one...by....one)

                    and heaven only knows how they manage

                    to get in the honey jar

                                              but they

                                                         do.

"And just look at them beans, will ya."

Cicadas drone

from the tree tops

till Grandpa done turn't his

Miracle Ear

               completely off

And them kids

race down gravel backroads

drifting on the curves

and a rooster tail of dust

                                                hangs           air like     was  NASCAR.
                                                          in the              it

"I reckon h'its time to oil tha front

again"

              Uncle Jim

                                agrees...before spittin' Mail Pouch

                                             at an Army green

                                                  grasshopper.

                         (who was mindin' his own damned business)

And a watermelon

cracked...green...red and luscious

                  in a farmhouse a mile down the road

                 but you can smell it

                                                 like it was settin'

                                                right here on this

                                                   old concrete

                                                     well cap.

Like whiffin' bacon

                   or hotcakes and maple syrup

                   or fried chicken

                   in the Indiana Summer air.

The air is heavy with corn pollen

                                                'maters and green beans

                                                 filling every available

                                                inch of counterspace

                                                           and Lord no...we don't need

                                                                                       anymore zucchini,
                                                                                                Betty.

                                                                                              

And from his chair

Grandpa silently nods and adds

                                                       “ever"

And suddenly

just when you get so hot

             that your fixin' tah melt

                          like your cousin Joe's orange

                                          Push-Up

                                               did all over his nice clean bibs.

Fall Arrives.

Just like some old Gypsy woman

              sauntering in
             outrageous 
         wearin' velvet and silk

                                            red and gold and orange
                                     jes' swishin' round her feet.

And the sky is so blue

if you painted it that way

                                        why,

                                it wouldn't look real.

                    They'd think you was makin' stuff up
                                  (...they would...)

And the combines chugging

from dawn to dusk

                          and even later

                                              still

                                              thanks to

                                                            Mr. Johnny Deere

                                                                                 (and headlights)

And red graintrucks

                piled so high with corn

                                        and beans

                                        and after the rain the blower

                                                             done run all night.

And there's bean suppers

                       and chili cook-offs

                       and the fish fry

                                      ' cause Fall in Indiana means

                                                              Eatin': A Sportin' Event.

And the hayfields is

                brung in by sweatin' men and boys

                      and you kin tell the new'uns

                          by their short sleeves an

                                      itchy arms. 

 

                "Bet they won't do THAT again" 
                             snorts Uncle Leroy

                      (...here Son...have a glass of sweet tea...)

And Uncle Ed just shakes his head.

 
                     Grandma always said he had ears

                     that stood out from his head

                     just like the doors on Bob's '57 Chevy.

And the whole fambly takes hands

around the table

                      and gives Thanks

                  (to the Lawd that is)

                                        for another year

                                        for another good crop

                                        for all this fine food

                                                                    but mostly for each other.

And a chill begins to sneak into the evenings

                  and the sunset is spectacular in reds and golds

bit of rainbow 

set on       either side       of the sun

And Bobby Ray says them are called sun-dawgs

but Mr. Reed

           who taught us

             Science down at the school

                            says they are ice crystals

                            way up high...reflectin' the sun

                                                     an he should know 
                                                      bein' 

                                               college educated and all

Pretty soon

them ice crystals ain't up so high

anymore, though.

They are

f

   a

  l

        li

ng

and piling

right up around

the trees and the barn

drifting across the county roads until they                          
                                                                                           

                                                                                                                                                                                                                         just                                                                                                                        disappear.
                                                                                    in a pile of snow.

                                                                                                    

And the whole world smells like woodsmoke

                                            and bread baking

                                                    and Grandpa's pipe

As we drag in

                               the

                            fir tree

                         that we cut

                     for the holidays

                               and
                         the

 house smells just like

                               pine tree

                               and cookies baking

                               and peppermint

                               and Grandma peeling oranges.

                                                                           and it's
                                                       Christmas in Indiana.