Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, August 19, 2019

In the Trees

I'm cheating a little for this week's Poetry Monday.

The topic is camping.
And I'm reusing a poem I published a couple of years ago.
It's even more poignant to me today . . .
Each summer, since the dawn of time,
We’d pack our kids and dogs and gear
With plans to spend a week, sublime
And frolic with the bears and deer.

For camping was our family ‘thing’,
Anticipated through the year,
And, oh, what praises they would sing
When finally, the time was here.

We parents’d sit beside the fire
And eat and laugh and shoot the breeze,
While younger legs who’d never tire
Would charge together through the trees.

With shouts and laughter as they ran,
Or giggles, hopefully suppressed.
‘Hide and Seek’ and ‘Kick the Can’
And ‘Find the Flag’ and all the rest.

When daylight waned, called back to camp
To spend a moment round the flames.
And crown the glowing, happy champs,
Then plan for the Tomorrow's games.

What fun to hear those voices shout,
And watch their progress through the trees.
To see them scurrying about
On fleetest feet; or hands and knees.

Time’s gone by. It’s what it does.
And still, we’re camping in the trees.
But something’s missing now, because
There’s silence floating on the breeze.

We parent’s camp, as we have done,
With tales to tell and wood to hew,
But in the trees, there is no one,
No voices yelling, “I’ve found you!”

We tell ourselves it’s peaceful, true,
As restful as someone could wish,
We do the things we want to do,
Like eat and nap and swim and fish.

At night, we stare into the flames
And talk about the times long past.
When woods would ring with noisy games
And summer days forever last.

But now our kids are raising theirs.
And time’s a thing that’s hard to find,
And spending days with deer and bear’s
A priority that’s far behind.

Oh, what I’d give for one more day,
When simple fun brought endless joy,
When games would pass the time away,
And woods would echo with the noise.


Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought,
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts--perhaps a grin?
So all of us together, we,
Have posted poems for you to see.
Now go and see what they have done
I'm sure it will be lots of fun!
And now you've seen what we have brought . . .
Did we help?
Or did we not?

14 comments:

  1. Missing those days is the right label on theis poem. I'd like to go back in time together wiht you. So well described, I almost cried.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Replies
    1. Thank you, EC! It is both a great memory--and a huge regret!

      Delete
  3. Maybe we'd have had more fun if we'd had more kids! Or maybe not . . .

    I agree with both MotherOwl and Elephant's Child - your poem is so evocative. "And time's a thing that's hard to find" - so true.

    In case you missed it, Delores' topic for next week is "marbles".

    ReplyDelete
  4. Awwww. Would you be able to take the grands with you some times?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Great idea! We've tried it. A bit. They love it. But they are sooo busy!

      Delete
  5. Those were the days. Now you couldn't pay me to go camping but I'm so glad we did it when we were younger.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yep. To me, camping now includes things like--'pool'. Or 'room service'!

      Delete
  6. Sweet and a little sad. Maybe the camping will resume once all the grands are older?

    ReplyDelete
  7. Beautifully done. Time gives and time takes away, but how wonderful are those memories that were made.

    ReplyDelete

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