“Do Farmers farm in Heaven?”
My young son asked me, so sad..
So many times he’d ridden on
The tractor with my Dad..
“Sure they do”, I told him as
His eyes turned to the sky.
“God gives us all a job to do
In Heaven when we die”.
“But, what do Farmers plant up there?”
He asked , so sure that I would know..
So I said “come sit, let’s talk a bit”
“about what farmers in Heaven grow..”
I told how there was so much food
with  fields of flowers everywhere,
And how a farmer like his Grandpa
Was really needed there..
Then  his eyes turned  towards the window
At the tractor by the barn
And he said( as if I didn’t know)
 ”But he forgot his tractor Mom”
I smiled and tickled him a bit
Saying “Grandpa knows that too….
Heaven  has a lot of tractors so..
He left his here for you.”

Connetta Jean

She didn’t set out to live her life
on a farm ( a farmer’s wife)
It’s just what happened, how it went down
A life spent planting , seeds in the ground.
At first her “City” self said no
She didn’t want to reap and sow.
She hated the smells and the hours it took
Seeing life on a farm as work,work,work.
It took her awhile but she came to see
She was right where she wanted to be..
From fresh eggs to gardens she loved them all
The new baby cows and the harvest in fall.
Somehow she grew into her life
Happy to be a Farmers Wife…
 

top  Photo by Cheryl. Poem by connetta

Today I watched two little kids
While their Mama went to work..
At first they both was quiet
With the T.V. and a book.
But,Soon they  both cried out to me
“It’s such a cold and dreary day”
(Both claim to hate December
and wish they could go OUT and play.)
Well, me being  their  Grandma
The idea came to my mind
To make them “WANT” to be inside
And give them some quality time.
So I sat up the old card  table and
Put salt into a mixing bowl..
I knew i was right  on  track
When i heard  voices saying “Cool!”
Once i kneaded in the flour
(added  some  color too)
I got the cookie cutters and
Played  a hour ( more  like 2).
A little flour, salt and water
Can bless a childs creative side
Making  cold and dreary winter days
Great days to play inside.
By the time their mom gets home
We’ll have ornaments for their tree
And when  she smells the baking  clay
She’ll turn to smile at me…
For she remembers oh too well
her time with  bakers clay..
and smells will take her back in time
When she stayed inside to play..

poem and Bakers clay sculptures by connetta jean

Top Photos by terri jean photography

http://www.flickr.com/photos/connetta/collections/72157602558211068/

I’ve been sitting and watching
as the kids from our town
take sleds up the hill
and sleigh ride back down..
from short ones to tall ones
from young kids to old
to them a big snow storm
is white winter gold…
Theres some building snowmen
some throwing snow balls..
others building snow forts
ignoring their mothers calls..
with their nose and cheeks
a bright ruby red,
and heads that are sweating
neith the caps on their head…
They just keep on sleighing
ice skating and stuff
making snow men and snow balls
They can’t get enough..
I watch their parents build fires
that glow into the night
marsh mellows are roasting
It’s a beautiful sight…
Time spent together
memories kept growing old..
are often the treasures
of finding white winter gold…

connetta

The mother walked away,

with an exasperated smile,

She’d been trying to wean her daughters,

from the bottle for a while,

She said,”If you want to be big girls,

you must leave the bottle behind”,

The youngest said,”Tomorrow mom,

I need my bottle one more time”,

Years later in a treatment room,

with her brother of forty-two,

She listened as the Doctor said,

”Sir I have bad news for you”,

“To live you must let the bottle go,

and leave that life behind”,

Her brother spoke with a trembling voice,

”I need my bottle one more time”,

Sometimes we are weak,sometimes we are strong,

and most don’t understand,

There are times in life when weak or strong,

we all need a helping hand,

If we reached out more with love,

perhaps then we would find,

The strength to let ‘our’ bottles go,

and leave the pain behind.

c.d.m.11/09

this poem was written by  my good friend Cheryl, (Photo by me) to visit her blog and check out more of her poetry…go to “Whispers of the Day”  on my  my blog roll or try clicking my link posted here.

http://whispersoftheday.wordpress.com

THANK GOD FOR WORKIN’  WOMEN….

She gets up in the morning
gets the kids off to school
makes Him  a big breakfest
Lord, He  feels like half  a fool.
cause she’ll clean the house leave by 2
won’t be back till after ten.
God bless the workin women
holdin’ up the workin’ men.

They’re  nurses in hospitals
soldiers in Iraq and Iran
they’re teachers in the classrooms
Doing anything they can..
it ain’t how daddy did it
ain’t  some  1990 plan
God bless the working women
holding  up the workin man.

too many  jobs  went overseas
just where to i don’t know…
makin’ 17 a hour Lord
seems so long ago,
daddy always was the one
who made out the budget plan
God bless the workin women
holding up the workin man.

they’re  cops and firefighters
working any job they can
God bless the workin women
holding up the workin man
it ain’t how daddy did it
ain’t some 1990 plan…
God bless the workin woman
holdin up the working man

all lyrics and poems posted by me was written by me connetta jean..

Up on a ridge
there is a road
that called to me
(come see…come see)
on good sky days
the little road
seems to meet the sky…
It’s therapy i guess,
so they say anyway….
to walk and drink in
Natures gifts.
walking alone
i can  hear Autumn
chatting with summer
like she’s a friend..
all the while
making plans
to leave summer behind
and join old man winter..
she’ll  paint him pictures…
And  Autumns  pictures paint
a thousand thoughts..
when summer starts fading
rest assured
Autumn’s somewhere
she’s out there……..
She’s In- between days
where summer fades
and Nature whispers..
she writes Poetry
with white clouds..
on blue skies
for winter to find…
on gravel roads
that lead to the sky…
for poets to find
( lucky stones).
Autumn will try her best
to linger with Winter..
as long as she can..

I love a back road,

right after a rain

when Autumn is saying

“I’m here, YES! I came”..

Little whispers of wind saying

  ”Watch Me turn green into Gold

with beautiful Ambers

and Scarlets  to hold”.

I love A back road,

all shinny and wet

saying “summer is leaving”

( but she’s still not gone yet).

i admit that she’s fading,

she’s fading fast

but all seasons change

her beauty won’t last.

once trees are naked,

and leaves carpet the ground

Jack frost and the old man

 will be hanging around…. 

Lord, i ask that you send
wisdom to those
who can change things…
May they know the pain
of being without work..
of being without hope
trying to survive
on Daily  Blessings…..
I ask in faith
that wisdom be found
to change this time
into a time of peace
that all will know
Your gifts
Your blessings…
Your love
Your promice.
Please Let there be
a end to war
and a road to peace..
these things i ask in faith.
that all i need to do
is ask..
Amen..

Truckers just trucking anymore
Farmers ain’t been farming like before
The few left in the mines
say we’re looking at some hard times
cause folks just ain’t hiring anymore..

too manys unemployed in Tennessee
Folks are out of work in Kentucky
ain’t no work in Texas like there was before
cause folks just ain’t a hiring anymore..

Michigan is hurting, that’s for sure
ain’t no work in Florida, like there was before
Ohio’s unemployment rate, ain’t looking all that great
cause folks just ain’t hiring anymore..

Been to Alabama, been to Lousiana
hitched a ride to the California shore
Hoped a coal train to Alabama, walked to Indiana
folks just ain’t hiring anymore..

Truckers just ain’t truckin anymore
Farmers ain’t been farming like before
the few left in the mines say
we’re looking  at some hard times
cause folks just ain’t hiring anymore..
no, folks just aint hiring anymore..

1988/ connetta jean