I’m from the weekends spent up north,
     The crisp autumn days,
     The hunting for antlered whitetails,
From the whispers of the forest in the wind.

I’m from the frigid winters in Wisconsin,
     The glisten of a fresh foot of snow,
     The soft crunching under my boots,
From the gray skies of a mid-January day.

I’m from the same 21 year old house,
     The hundred acre cornfield across the street,
     The backyard adventures in the woods,
From the hum of snowmakers, the ski hill, a quarter mile away.

I’m from the Sunday morning gatherings,
     The harmony of hymns,
     The softening of heart,
From friends met with love in Christ.

I’m from “How does it work?”,
     The shock from a 120 volt outlet,
     The grease in Grandpa’s shop,
From tinkering with electronics into the depths of the night.

I’m from the swimming pool on an 80 degree day,
     The rumbling stormclouds,
     The five mile bike rides through the country,
From working with Dad in the humidity of a late-July afternoon.