Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Houlton, Maine. A town with a motto:
'Valuing the past, planning for the future.'
It doesn't roll, exactly,
off the tongue.
Houlton's byword is its moose, lumber, land.
The houses tilting with time.
Grammy's Country Inn.
There ought to be ballads sung
About Grammy's onion rings,
About the thundering river
They call Meduxnekeag-
Tough to pronounce when you're young.
Nothing comes easy up there.
Living's hard. Words don't roll.
The ladder splinters
When you reach for the next rung.
Nothing's for free. Except, one time, a trout-
A fellow's only catch that morning
And he gave the prize away,
A speckled parting gift wrung
From the waters of red-barn country.
Things knitted, too, things planted.
We made this for you. Always room in the house
For another. Good people among.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 1:01 PM