Art and a Poem for the Weekend

My family is graced with artists. When I was a little girl my mother made us paper dolls with clothes. Once when she wanted to draw a picture of my sister Janice she had nothing to draw on except some wall paper. This is the only picture our family now has from her drawings.

My granddaughter Melissa does all kinds of art. Some of her pictures are on her web site, Libellus Stellatus. Recently she posted, beneath some other photos of her husband's broken nose,(He got into a bicycle accident), a picture of two purses she painted. I particularly like the one with a girls face on it. (Perhaps an angel, the girl has wings.)

The other purse has red skulls and flowers and a funny name on it. The name is funny because Melissa didn't know what the word meant until after she put it on the purse and even that was an accident. You will need to go to her posting to read about the purse and Spencer's broken nose. November Photo Journal

I haven't drawn in a long time but here is a picture of children enjoying each other's company across a garden fence. I drew it many years ago.

I would like to post some of my sister's pictures but they are framed and I can't find an easy way to post them.

I have spent the day looking for a post card one of my nephews, Duane Andersen sent us a long time ago with one of his pictures on it. I think it was "Our Lady of Perpetual Cherry Pies." Duane has taught art at BYU and now makes movies.

Because I can't find, at the moment, anymore pictures to post I will end this with a poem I wrote for my children many years ago. It is about the farm I used to live on, and the country school I went to. For your information "lambsquarters" are a wild green better than spinach.

For My Children (And Grandchildren)

Take my hand my children and walk with me today.
You may not know me very well until you come this way.
The road is brown and soft; it goes up hill and down.
It twist and turns between the farms and there my farm is found.

The house is aged and gray, its rooms are huge but few.
It sits without foundation, but its ways are old and true.
A cistern brings us water, a lamp our light to read.
A country Church and school house are where our hearts will feed.

In springtime you may go with me into the thicket wild.
We will gather mushrooms by the bucket, lambsquarters green and mild.
We will sit beside a little stream that runs within a draw,
and pick the pretty mayflowers, sweet williams blue and tall.

And when the weathers hot and loud thunders crashing round,
we will smell the musty air of my cellar cool and sound.
We will sit among the many jars of beans and peas and beets,
and wait for distant storm to rumble onward in defeat.

Now when the ground is frosty and the air smells of smoke,
you may hear the hounds all barking and our closest neighbor folk.
They have the foxes running. They're after rabbits too.
And they hunt beneath a canopy of red and golden hue.

We will walk above the fence tops when the snow is on the ground,
and sit within a schoolhouse and hear the pleasant sound
of children reading books aloud and praising God in song,
and whispering to their neighbor that their answer is still wrong.

Oh how I wish my children that I could place within your heart
a little bit of this my memory that is still of me a part.
Baby pigs and wild roses, cherry blossoms in the spring,
picnics by the creek side and whippoorwills that sing.

Cornfields and catfish, gooseberries plump and sour,
a garden full of vegetables and every kind of flower,
the twilight of the evening with the cow bells ringing home,
please take my happy yesterdays and make of them your own.