There are some folks who want to remain at home and be a friend to man, like the poem by Sam Walter Foss entitles the House by the Side of The Road. It always amazes me, that is one of my favorite poems. It is such a contradiction because I love to travel. My next favorite poem is ‘Home’ by Edgar Guest. Of course that is one of my favorite chalk drawings and story.
The house by the side of the road though is a poem written by a traveler about the different folk in the world.
There are hermit souls that live with drawn. And
There are souls like star that live apart in a fellowless firmament.
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths where highways never ran,
Then he says:
But let me live in my house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.
That is a noble goal, and I can appreciate it, but Sherry & I fall somewhere between The Hermit soul and the Pioneer feeling. We feel drawn to see what is on he other side of the mountain.
Now Old Edgar Guest nails our early home life, we had wonderful families, and lived in a home. Mr. Guest says:
Now Folks, it taks a heap o living in a house to make a home.
A Heap of sun and shadder and you sometimes have to roam.
Afore you get to ‘preciate the things you left behind,
Ye’ll hunger fer ‘em sometimes with them alus on your mind.
So, It don’t matter how rich you get to be,
Or how much your luxury,
It ain’t home to you,
Though it be the Palace of a King,
Until you heart is sorta wrapped around everything.
I learned these poems in Mrs. Melissa Grill’s seventh Grade. A hard but wonderful teacher. She tried to teach us to appreciate poetry in the small Mountain School at Valdese. She did plant a seed. I do love poetry sometimes. I like down to earth poetry. I see several poets on line. They are poets of their own, they write for their own satisfaction and sometimes put one on line. Paula is one, you have to enjoy that Texas slant. I have some of her poems going into my childrens story book. If you read Rags you read one of Debbie’s poems, she has a way with words. I loved that poem called ‘The Invisible Man. It just fit old Rags to a T.
Anyway, Sherry and I here in the hospital room with Sonny, I got to thinking about traveling and comparing Sonny’s life to ours. Sonny has lived his entire life within three blocks. His house now is two blocks from Where his mom and dad lived. Moving is not in his blood. He and Colette loved to travel, but like most folks they were glad to get back home.
Sherry & I are like the turtle, we carry our home with us. So we are at home no matter where we are.
Thanks for reading this ‘stuff’.
Too much of a good thing, is never enough!
I know there are brook gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height.
That the road stretches on into the long afternoon,
And a way into the night.
But still I rejoice with the travelers that rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that mourn.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.