Holding onto Poplar Bluff

[vaneramos]

Marian, this morning at Poplar Bluff






Brenna


At Poplar Bluff light falls into my eyes and they are full. In August I have watched the setting sun angle across lush grass and thought there could be nothing more beautiful than that glow. But it is rivalled by the silver lustre of March sun across shattered ice packs on the nearby Lake Erie shore.

Mom confided recently that my eldest brother told them they should sell the house and simplify their lives. He didn't grow up there like I did. I understand their endless infatuation with the place. I hope they stay fit enough for many years to keep up with the yard work. I don't see it straining them yet. Why shouldn't they continue working as long as possible at something that makes them happy?

I am a creative person. Work, rest and play blend together. Writing is not much different from looking after a couple acres of lawn and garden the way my parents do.

I have seen accomplished writers retire from their craft. They reach the end of struggling and realize they don't have to anymore.

Maybe the same will happen to me someday. For now I can't imagine ever wanting to stop this expression.