Gifted Quotes
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The Back Backstory
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My grandparent's farm in New Hampshire
I've often been told that you shouldn't live in the past. But the past is what shapes us into who we are, who we were meant to be and it is in figuring out our purpose for being here that life is all about.
Maya Angelou said "You can't really know where you are going until you know where you've been" and I think a big part of knowing where you've been is knowing the stories of those who came before you.
I've always loved history and especially learning about the about the lives of my ancestors.
Here are a few poems written by my great grandparents in the early to mid 1900's, which gives you some insight into their lives.
I think these represent a simpler time when people focused more on the things that really mattered. Things that are often forgotten today in our hectic, technologically driven society.
The Path Across the Way
By Catherine Roberts Quimby
(My great-grandmother on my mother's side)
Written on Mistwold Farm in New Hampshire, circa 1950's
The path across the way is bare
Yet, hosts of things are buried there
The tramp of many little feet
Their shouts of joy so clear and sweet
The friendly clasp, the whispered prayer
All of these things are scattered there.
I would not have the grass grow lush
In my small path, for that might say
That we were not on best of terms
With folks who live across the way.
On paths oft trod, vile weeds won't grow
And footsteps travel to and fro
The weeds of dislike and greed
will never help a friend in need.
Comfort neighbors when they're sick
A secret path will do the trick
Just keep it bare from end to end
And there will be no weeds to tend.
No matter then if paths are bare
Think oft the treasures that they share
The neighbors calls, the pleasant treat
The daily cheer and friendship sweet.
My path across the way is bare
But all these things are scattered there.
Cardinal Flowers
By Catherine Roberts Quimby
(My great-grandmother on my mother's side)
Written on Mistwold Farm in New Hampshire, circa 1950's
Walking along a lonely road
I wandered off the beaten trail
I found a place where God abode
In a wooden dale
Pushing my way through leafy bowers
I found a pool of cardinal flowers
No other hand could fashion these
In such profusion, straight and tall
Their bright heads swaying in the breeze
To rhythmic tones of a waterfall
I silently stood in reverent awe
Amazed at the beauty which I saw
This happened many moons ago
Yet, I can visualize it still
Just close my eyes and wander back
To the lovely road-when'er I will
I push my way through leafy bowers
And there I still see cardinal flowers
Think Thou, Oh Youth
By Walter Eugene Quimby
(My great grandfather. Catherine's husband)
Think thou, Oh youth
For you must stand
And bear the brunt
Of this world's shock
Time passed on
'Tis moon at hand
Remember who said "I am the Rock"
Think thou, Oh youth
If thoust be free
You must toil and strive
But unlike a slave
You can rise to heights
Where you long to be
Remember who said "I alone can save"
Think thou, Oh youth
If you would grow
In knowledge and truth
That make men free
Read well, God's word
And thou shall know
The voice which said "Come follow me"
How Leaves Behave
Like spangles on a tambourine, the poplar leaves are dancing
The oaks fly upwards, in the breeze like hordes of horses prancing
The maple leaves are more sedate as back and forth they wave
The birch leaves twist and turnabout, know not how to behave
The locust leaves, so modest are, from side to side they turn
The ash leaves flutter up and down and beech leaves seem to squirm
The spruces, pines and hemlocks I can most plainly see
That when the wind is very brisk they start a whispering
You may not believe a word of this but if you watch each tree
Perhaps they will behave for you, just as they do for me.
By Catherine Roberts Quimby
The Old Tin-Peddler Man
By Catherine Roberts Quimby
I could see him coming down the road
A driving his black span
He would look so smart with his big red cart
The old tin-peddler man
He would stop all night and we'd sit up late and sit and talk and chaffe
For each time he came, her was full of news and jokes to make us laugh
When the morning came, we would hustle and pick up all the rags
He would take all kinds and then weight them up and tuck them all in bags
His big cart was full of all kinds of things, from pins to horseshoe nails
And the women folks always took their pay in pots and pans and pails
He had brooms and tubs many baskets too, he had needles, thread and socks
Lots of wrappers, cloth, fancy buttons, toys and wax candles by the box
Oh, those days are gone, they will come no more, except as tales of yore
But I can still see in my memory span, that old tin-peddler man