Summer at Grandma's House

As kids each summer we would go
to Grandma's house in Idaho.
In Nez Perce country near Lapwai
we had a five-star place to stay.

With cousins we'd play by the hour
within the barn where hay bales towered.
We'd ride the horses, milk the cows
and toss old corn cobs to the sows.

We all found shade on her front porch.
The summer sun could really scorch.
And side-by-side on Grandma's swing
we'd listen to the robins sing.

At night we heard the crickets chirp,
while watermelon we would slurp.
We'd fall bone-tired on our beds
and dream of how we'd soon be fed.

The frying bacon woke us up.
The fresh-squeezed orange juice filled our cups.
Her eggs and spuds adorned our plates.
First Grandma prayed and then we ate.

We kids ate much but she ate more.
Her height and width were 5 feet four.
But we weren't bothered by her weight.
It was good proof her food was great.

And there we'd sit when we were done.
Those table times were lots of fun.
Our Grandma spoke of childhood
back in the Blue Ridge Mountains wood.

She told us how she met "The Greek"
who coaxed a smile when he would speak.
His accent made his English fun.
And soon enough, her heart he'd won.

She'd arch her eyebrows and she'd wink
which caused us kids to sort of think
that maybe some of what she'd said
was bull that was baloney fed.

I miss those days at Grandma's place.
I miss her girth and godly face.
I miss how simple life was then.
I wish it was like that again.