Living in town didn’t suit her, rug rats
Crowded every square inch of space,
No room to breathe or stretch or think.
Neighbors too close, yard too narrow.
Daniel Boone said it first, elbow room!
Farm acres wide and empty, lots of places
To dig a footer, cistern and post holes.
She began to nag, he resists those graces.
Dollar bills in short supply, posed a problem
With the dream. Heads together plot a scheme.
Pap might supply the land and fence for free,
Our bare hands with one aging carpenter agree
To go the extra mile, fill in the gaps, cut costs
Now more reasonable to something possible.
Corners cut, substitutes made, boards laid,
As a house begins to rise, honest, handmade.
Brick cost way too dear, deep red paint filled
In, showed fine. Most were fooled by the look
From a distance, who could tell or care one whit.
New folks on the way to the road by the brook.
Pap would say if the door is closed to you,
Change course and cut you another way.
Two doors, one closed, one pushed open
Because hard work set to and won the day.
Wonder how many other houses along this way
Are what did happen in spite of those that say,
It is too dollar dear, can’t be done, give it up?
Never shall we know, the silent myth of this road.