Family Heritage

When I grew up on Beechy Ridge
There was always work to be done.
Everyone knew, when the March winds blew
There were chores for everyone.

The winters dragged on, life seemed to stand still
As the snows nearly silenced our lives,
It was then we dug in, from the cold and wind
And focused on just to survive.

My chores included to bring the coal in
From the coal bin down at the road.
Three buckets each night, was what my dad liked
It would take me, most of three loads.

Later than sooner, the earth did awake
The sod began to turn green.
And my father knew, like my grandfather too,
The last of the winter, we’d seen.

Now, we salvaged, and started again
With what the winter had left.
Rebuilding the road, with heavy rock loads,
And work days, I’ll never forget.

But there, through it all, my father stood tall
Not wondering how long it would last.
For my father knew, as we children did too,
That the winter storms came, and they passed.

Families have come and families have gone
From the mountain my grandfather knew.
I am a product of those before me
That gave me the right point of view.

I take my hat off, to those long ago
Who lived their lives to please Thee,
For now Lord, today, I can stand up and say,
Praise God, for that, which they left me!