Happy Holidays

From our Home to Yours

Tom & Glenda Conlan

Blackcreek Farm

 

Leaves yet to drop…

Sweet Betty does not mind…

Venus wears a pink scarf…

Time to start the woodstove…

The garden sleeps – will an orange bucket protect the red, red roses?

Grapes are growing sweet,

and soon will be wine.

Apparently the birds think so…

 

One yellow bloom erupts

beneath a bird feeder.

Seeds planted by a fence never see the sky,

while wild shoots grow tall.

Sunflowers find their own place.

When old friends come to town…

 

For Doug Manning

No More Unexpected Calls                                                   (For Doug)

 

As he drives through Charlevoix

on the way to the UP,

where we searched for a cabin in the woods.

Years later he found one.

He first showed me this country some

forty years ago.

I need a buxom lass, he called out,

who is up for a swim, though nearly midnight

in Northern Lake Michigan.

 

We first met in Saint Louis,

two Michigan boys working on

the Mississippi River. Never missed lunch

at Hodge’s Chili Parlor down on Market Street.

Fast friends, and somehow we knew the bond would last

through friends and partners and moves and ups and downs,

through rag top bugs and pickup trucks.

Never argue nor refuse a good bowl of chili.

 

He grew up a man child of this north country,

a hunter, a sailor, a gregarious soul

who made me feel special each time we spoke.

Cards on the holidays in some exotic pose,

usually a hat of some proportion,

a smile to match his wit.

And on each November eleventh,

For nearly forty years,

an expected call no matter

where he was off to,

hunting elk or moose or whitetail,

Thank you for your service.

 

But it was those calls out of the blue

that I will miss,

expecting me to drop everything for a road trip.

And sometimes I did,

and I will never regret answering the call.

She strolls by

gets his attention

naturally, he follows…

So, I am trying something new. Give a listen to the recording below – From my lyrical memoir –

My Journey Begins Where the Road Ends…

‘Fawn’     ‘I Hear the Sea in the Wind’     and     ‘Half Cord’

 

Well, the new vines are pruned and March has not yet ended.

Cool air, snow still on the ground, and I have a wonderfully fulfilled feeling.

Muscles ache, more than they used to. But hell, at least they ache…