Wednesday, September 16, 2009

My Dad and Summer Memories. Gene Wellman

Model T Ford with Compound Low. I learned to drive in that Big, Flat-Bed Truck. Dad Is Building The Large Roping Arena In Our Backyard.

Mondo's, Faria, Rincon, We Called It: The Cove

My Dad and I, Almost 58 Year Ago

Tressa wrote this poem out in the meadow near the creek for her Grandfather in 1990. She presented it herself at Grandpa Gene Wellman's funeral:

Sad is the feeling, deeper it goes
through your heart then to your toes.

Pain is real and remorse is strong
The times that we spent, the seasons so long.

Smiles and frowns, heartaches and joys,
Christmas with packages, so many toys.
Ponies and saddles, bridles and boots,
Horses and gallops and a big gun that shoots.

Tractors and fence-post so straight,
pitchforks and the long hours he worked so late.

The love that he shared, the stories he told,
The smiles he brought to the young and the old.

The animals that love him and followed him,
And brought such glee.

We really do love him, all of us, you and me

By Tressa Lazenby Saviers 2-20-90

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