GOING HOME

GOING HOME

My plane is airborne, headed south.

Memories march in and out of my mind–

like dogface soldiers.

I’d said goodbye to Mama, then Daddy,

who bent to hug my three year old son

not very long ago.

Emotion struck Daddy like blows.

He straightened, then turned too late

to hide moist eyes.  His blue eyes had

laughed when I was my son’s age.

Youth disappears like the dandelion fuzz

on the face of the wind.

Adams Field is windy . . . but the

planes’ wheels touch the runway

in a smooth landing.

“No, son, Papa’s not here . . .

to meet us.”

Uncle Jim’s brown pickup needs washing.

“Your mama’s taking it bad, ” he tells me.

“Is the wake at the house?” I ask.

He nods. “Like your daddy wanted.”

At the doorway, someone takes my

little boy by the hand.

“The casket’s gray. I never saw Daddy

in a coat and tie before. He’s so cold-looking.

Mama? Mama!”

Her warm arms engulf me.

© 2017 Freeda Baker Nichols

Daddy

BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL # 12

DSC_0065Gene, Freeda, cave on Baker Place, ClintonI am a writer, and I write.  Racehorses run races because they are compelled by forces larger than themselves and writers write because of an inner force too strong to be ignored.   I write to fulfil a need that I believe I was born with–a desire to put words into stories and poems, to create situations and re-live experiences in order to share with others. I write for fun and for profit.

When the wellspring within me overflows with ideas, I grab a pen and paper and write the ideas down.  I pay attention to detail, to unusual happenings, to unique and common conversations.  People are interesting to me.   I am one of the many inhabitants of this earth.  I write to communicate with others.

Writing is therapeutic but that’s not the reason I write.  In fact, I won’t write when I’m extremely sad because I don’t want sadness to show through and discourage others.  Optimism is what I want to express through my words.

I write for fun although some of my better poems came from unhappy times in my life.  Some of my most frustrating episodes turn into humorous stories or poems.  How can sitting at a desk, writing,  be fun, asked my super-active youngest son who is a plumber, by trade.  A daring child when he was a youngster, his idea of fun was spinning the tires of a four-wheel drive truck deep in mud along the riverbank.

Through writing, my reader and I can go into  dangerous areas without leaving our homes.  And I have fun.

  I write for profit, although writing has not been very lucrative.  Still, I attempt to earn money with writing.  And I wind up with pocket-money, at least.

To entertain with  words is my goal and I feel like an actress on a stage.  I want to be good at writing, to be remembered as an author who caused others to read, to laugh, to cry.  I want my readers to be encouraged, to believe that life must be lived to its fullest, that precious time must not be squandered.

I like to draw and to paint and would have enjoyed being an artist.  I have no time for art  because something compels me to write, keeps me at it,  and won’t allow me to be disheartened for long.

That “something” drives me, has driven me since I was nine years old.  Sometimes, it hides from me temporarily, but it always returns and heads me back toward the green meadows, it takes me over purple mountains, it allows me to watch an eagle glide, and sustains me through all my winters and summers.

A racehorse races because he can.

I’m a writer. I write because I must.  I have no choice.

cCopyright, 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols

BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL

Banner Mountain Girl—Post # 8
From my journal . . .
5 October 1978–Today, it came – my first acceptance by a publication—a letter from “Home Life” says they are accepting my manuscript entitled, “We’re home!” With tears, I bowed my head and thanked God for making all things possible. None of my family knows that I’ve had this manuscript sent off, and I want to wait until we are all together this week-end to tell them. The story I wrote began thirteen years ago, in Michigan. I re-worked it recently. It seems to me, although I’m not sure and can’t remember for certain, that it was rejected by “Home Life” a few years ago. My creative writing classes have helped me immensely. It has been a long time and I have been discouraged many times but I hope with all my heart that I can open my heart and share, through my writing the way I feel about life, the precious gift from God to all of us.
30 October 1978—I received a check in the amount of $33.00 for my story, “We’re Home.” It will be in the August/79 issue of Home Life.
(Note: The editor changed the title to a more appropriate one, “A Family Bivouac.” It can be read on my blog by searching for “A Family Bivouac” in the Search window.  Or click on this link https://freedanichols.wordpress.com/2012/02/25/a-family-bivouac–
Until next time . . .
Thanks for reading,
Freeda Baker Nichols

BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL–Part Five

Banner Mountain Girl – Part Five

From my Journal, dated 8 Sept. 1977: It’s lonely, trying to write. I have no one to share with, no one who understands what I do. I don’t know why I want to write. I feel I must write. A writer must have patience, persistence, desire.
From my journal, dated 1 Oct 1977, Saturday:
The desire to write has been a part of me for so long, surfacing every now and then in painful attempts to write something for others to read, but always being pushed back inside where it lies dormant until something revives it. I’m not succeeding with anything– not yet, except letters to the editor, but even those were a beginning, a thrill for me because they were well-spoken of, and talked about on the radio and reprinted in other papers. I felt joy because of those published pieces. I would like, of course, to write something for money– something that would stand on its own merit and become an article widely read and one that people would like and understand.
13 Sept. 1977: Life of a writer is a lonely road, open at each end. Do I go forward and find new rewards or retreat to familiar places? I, alone, can make the choice.
28 July 1978: I mailed my story, “Tadpoles Can’t Bite,” to Homelife today. I hope they like it and use it.
1 Sept. 1978:” Tadpoles Can’t Bite” didn’t impress the editor who read it but I still think it has a lot of value and placed in the right hands, it will make it to the people.
© 2016 Freeda Baker Nichols

BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL

BANNER MOUNTAIN GIRL — part three

FROM MY JOURNAL:

Dated 1 Oct. 77   “I like the story, “Violets from Portugal,” by Helene Carpenter but I can’t write like that–not yet anyway, perhaps not ever. But I want to, how very much I want to write about my inner feelings concerning life and situations in my own life. The desire to write has been part of me for a long time.”

My earliest memory of wanting to write was when I was about nine years old and I wrote a poem about my mother. It was a short rhymed verse. I still have the original copy tucked away somewhere in my files on a sheet from a Big Chief tablet.  I suppose it will be an important item if I ever become famous.

Another entry in my journal:

Dated 19 Feb. 79    Quoting my daughter Tracy, “Mom, you shouldn’t want fame.”

My reply in the journal:  “Fame, though, for my writing would mean I have accomplished the goal and fulfilled the desire to write. Fame for itself is probably not rewarding, but fame as proof of success is nothing more than an exclamation mark after an exclamatory sentence. Hurray. Hurray! Quite necessary for emphasis, I’m afraid.”