Where Im From by George Ella Lyon I

“Where I'm From” by George Ella Lyon I am from clothespins, from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride. I am from the dirt under the back porch. (Black, glistening, it tasted like beets. ) I am from the forsythia bush the Dutch elm whose long-gone limbs I remember as if they were my own. I'm from fudge and eyeglasses, from Imogene and Alafair. I'm from the know-it-alls and the pass-it-ons, from Perk up! and Pipe down! I'm from He restoreth my soul with a cottonball lamb and ten verses I can say myself. I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch, fried corn and strong coffee. From the finger my grandfather lost to the auger, the eye my father shut to keep his sight. Under my bed was a dress box spilling old pictures, a sift of lost faces to drift beneath my dreams. I am from those moments-snapped before I budded -leaf-fall from the family tree.

“Where Ms. Mabry is From” I am from pine thickets, from hillbillies and city-slickers. I am from the house that always had music. (Loud, full, the kind where you just HAVE to move. ) I am from my mom’s chrysanthemums the flower gardens that I tried my very best to avoid watering. I'm from four-wheelers and Super Duper, from Roy Hillard and Brenda Gail. I'm from Alliance, Ohio, and Sandy Hook, Kentucky, from fiddley-dipped and corn swaggled! and Wake Up, Little Susie! I'm from going down on the creek on a twenty-year-old saddle horse that was my dad’s when he was my age. I'm from Sissy-cos and Cottontops, pickled corn and boiled cabbage. From cancer that took my mother away when she was only 47, the summer that everything changed. In a storage unit sat a wicker basket full of my artistic inspiration, a collection of old canvas and brushes to paint out my new future. I am from the memories -the ever-building foundation -leading me down an exciting new path.

Where I’m From Katie Pinerola I am from southern accents, From church every Sunday and fashion guru. I am from bickering that turns into laughs by the end of the day. I am from late night heart to hearts while snuggled underneath a quilt. I’m from brown-eyed susans and tennis courts, From unconditional love and caring so much that it hurts. I’m from Italian Christmas dinners And traveling the globe, From sleeping under the sun and speeding down long, winding backroads. I’m from making life-long friends, only to leave them soon after. I’m from an arm full of doodles and aspiring artist, Long, chatty walks and a heart full of regrets. From laughing so hard, That I can’t catch a breath. From watching loved ones Slip away still not knowing how to feel I am from fearing the future and never wanting to grow old.

“Where Mrs. Martin is From”

“Where Mrs. Martin is From” I am from penny pinching, from hand-me-down bikes and hand-me-down clothes. I am from a spender cause, “Somebody somewhere needs this. ” I am from a sewing machine whirring and thumping to make little girl dresses, jams, costumes, and a dress that hangs in my closet still because love runs through every stitch even though I never wore the crown.

I'm from angel biscuits and red eye gravy, from a thermos of coffee and Georgia crackers. I am from the story tellers and the secret keepers, from “when the roll is called up yonder” and “I’ll fly away” I am from cassette tapes and dial phones and Dial soap.

I'm from Cledis and Velda, Reynolds and Della. From tobacco plants, delicate and fragile before they bear punishing power. And turnips cleaned with a wrinkled hand still warm from the summer sun.

Around Shawnee I chased my brothers on a spraypainted bike weaving tales of my perfection in a head full of memories and dreams coming home barefoot after dark. I am from the comfort of a mother’s touch, the correction of a father’s belt, and the bruises and protection of my brothers’ love.

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Write your own “Where I’m From” Brainstorm Where are you from? Who are you from? What foods are you from? What words are you from? What clothes are you from? What entertainment are you from? Back in the day. . . Fill in the blank or go your own way Type into a power point Put on Mrs. Martin’s flash drive or e-mail to me.