Routt County, 1920


I'd boil those beans all day,
we was up so high above timberline.
Then when your granddad come home
he'd drop them on that plate
like hail on a chicken coop roof.
Mexican beans, he'd say.  Missouri
cooking.  And he'd grunt,
don't you know, his folk
all thought I was ugly, I
want you to know, such
feet I had, such an ignorant
hillbilly gal. 
I never did get warm.
It was ten miles in to Oak Creek
when Mary was born, drifts
as high as Topper's shoulders.
That first winter I never had me
visitor one, just
that old tin stove, I'd
stoke it and stoke it
and lord how I'd boil those beans.


From Samisdat

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