The county road still curves
where it curved
when wagons wore the ruts.
I know these fields
by what was planted here,
tobacco, then corn, then tomatoes,
the rotation older than memory.
There's a language in this soil.
How to read the sky for rain.
When to harvest by the moon.
Which slopes hold water,
which shed it.
The knowledge came through hands,
through watching,
through years of getting it wrong
until it stuck.
This is what grounds me,
what I carry in my bones
even when I'm far from here.
The smell of cured tobacco.
The sound of locusts in August heat.
How to walk a furrow line.
But I also carry
what wasn't here.
The pull toward libraries,
toward different voices,
toward building something
these hills never imagined.
I left because staying
would have made me smaller.
I return because leaving
taught me what I'm made of.
The sycamore by the creek
sends roots deep into clay
while its crown spreads wide
over moving water.
It simply does both.
I'm learning that too.
How to honor the ground
that shaped me
while reaching toward
what it could never give.
Both true.
Both mine.
Both necessary.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
Such a beautiful and profound way to compare your roots and what has allowed you to branch out. Reading it gave me a feeling of calm appreciation
This is beautiful. I love the idea that sometimes we need to be both away and near
“ There's a language in this soil” Ah, my heart! I felt a kinship with you, as one who has felt these things intimately. Beautifully written, Tim!
I love how you evoke smell, sound, and touch to make the reader inhabit the fields and the history. The sensory layering adds emotional weight to the narrative.
Tim, this exceptional. It felt experienced, lived in and better for it. There is that sense of we often have to leave and come back to really appreciate what we learned in our formative years but with the added benefit of what departures gives us. Stirring writing
Love the duality theme. For those of us who experienced duality like that, this poem will stay with us. "The pull toward libraries..." is something so relatable for me. "The knowledge came through hands..." so meaningful. I feel that every day when I'm working in the yard. Love it.