Friday, September 25, 2020




THOSE  MISSOURI SUMMERS                                                                      

I remember those sultry, sweaty summers

visiting relatives in Missouri, traveling

like gypsies from one home to another,

we ‘city kids’ always eager

for the once-a-year farm adventures--


Riding bareback astride a coarse

horse blanket, feeling the bristly

coat of the steed chafe against our calves;

The fun and fear of feeding hogs,

mom insisting we enter the pen barefoot,

we never realizing the makeup

of the ooze beneath our feet;


Haphazard attempts to pluck eggs

from feisty chickens reluctant to give up

the treasure hidden within the downy nests;

Milking cows as cats begged for squirts

of cream from the sagging teats,

feeding more to felines than to the bucket;


Harvesting the bounty from substantial

vegetable gardens, me always consuming

more tomatoes than I gathered;

Digging up potatoes, carrots, and onions

from muddy soil, almost tasting the stew

we would feast upon that evening;


The enjoyment we had playing ‘scarecrow’

in the cornfield, swaying in the balmy breeze,

moaning to frighten off ravenous crows;

Learning patience while we ‘drowned worms’

eager to hook the monstrous catfish

grandpa alleged dwelled in his reedy pond.


The laughable screams from my sister and me

as we watched a headless chicken dash around,

then fleeing brothers armed with severed chicken claws;

Rescuing squirming kittens being dropped

through the pipe in the root cellar roof

by the same mischievous brothers.

Pursuing fireflies, always just one blink behind,

but able to capture a few each evening,

sister and I watching their glow within a jelly jar.

Our brothers smeared the insects upon

their scrawny arms to try to glow in the dark.


Now, today, I yearn to once again be

that carefree little girl visiting relatives in Missouri

during the sultry, sweaty summer.

by Rose Lefebvre ©


  1. Thant put a smile on my face. Practically its a repeat of all that I have done. And my fav was pluck the eggs from feisty chickens.

  2. Sounds like you had a wonderful childhood. Have a great weekend. xoxo Kris

  3. Such fun and wonderful memories! So lucky to have them... the headless chicken, though....that would have traumatized me! I love that you gathered all the ingredients for the stew. Life seemed so simple then, but I can imagine it was hard work. Your wonderful poem gives us the experience, too. x K

  4. hi rose just checking your blog as I remember Oregon fires were in your direction, hope you are safe and your home was not anywhere near that. Take care - Betty