Poet’s Corner: Ode to a Stump Farm 3

17 September 2026

(29 January 2016) We continue this week with more from the title poem to our collection, Ode to a Stump Farm, reminding our readers of our attempt, in this poem, to bid farewell to the place we called home, remembering the first time we visited after deciding to move there, my great-grandfather’s homestead.

Green tunnel behind,
Dad and I entered the meadow,
awestruck
by the view–
other side distant, hazy
my old neighborhood small,
confining.
New grass–bright green compared to pine trees
surrounding the meadow–
clothed naked earth, stretched
thousands of yards before us.
Breeze jostled cattails,
chapped hands rubbed together,
frogs spoke, crickets
sang: “Peace, solitude–peace, solitude–
Home.”

In this stanza I tried to recapture some of the feelings I had as we came out of the forest and saw the open, and empty meadow. I noticed that the neighborhood in which I grew up, one covered in every direction on my “two-wheeled ATV” felt suddenly small compare to the open space here, surrounded by trees, bordered by springs and swamps, and how it felt so peaceful, so wonderful to a teenager who was always going toward the horizon. On Saturday we will share the story of how this place came to be called, ‘stump farm.’ Purchase this collection from the link provided. Until then, good reading!