I Am From

Thank you everyone for all of your sweet birthday wishes. You know, I have been feeling a little reflective as I turn 30 this year. I did this "I Am From" writing exercise awhile back. Nothing is as precious as fond memories, so I wrote another as a birthday present to myself. The true gift was the smile that came to my face as I relived my childhood in my mind.

I Am From.

I am from worn hardwood floors, from Astro vans, and homemade granola stored in Tupperware containers.
I am from knee deep alfalfa wet with dew and the obsolete outhouse, covered in wild roses.
I am from a coveted asparagus patch growing in our ditch, from straight lines of sweet corn and the dust that billowed behind me as I ran barefoot down the rows. From a barrel full of oats and the delicious smell of my horse after he had been brushed down. From baby kittens born among the hay bales.
I am from cutting a Christmas tree from the woods and a deep love for dessert, from Keith and Chris.
I am from artists and homesteaders. From "What does the music tell you?" and "It's time for sleepy time".
I am from Methodist and Lutheran church pews. From baptisms in the river and Dad silently reading his bible over a bowl of cereal.
I am from a bitter cold January morning the day I entered the world, from the frequently requested candy covered train cake, from cookbooks with recipes marked with a star to be made again.
I am from the mischievous pony who hijacked it's small riders and took them to the lowest tree branch to be clotheslined. From the family baseball games behind the shed, bases one through three being nothing more than the trunks of apple and plum trees. From terrifying sledrides down the icy driveway and from miniature dachshunds.
I am from black and white photos of my stunning Grandmothers with their tiny waists. From senior portraits hung proudly on the dining room wall and yellowed pictures of toothless kindergarteners lining the staircase.

If you would like to write an I Am From of your own, you can find the form here.