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The Springhouse

A Poem by Linda (Miner) Bryan

See "The Raspberry Patch" and "Lessons from the Hobo Express"

At the southwest corner of Grandfather’s farmhouse
Next to the weeping willow tree, stands the
Spring house – small, about six by ten - its size
Discourages the farmhands from stashing
Dirty rakes and shovels within its clean walls.

It’s a perfect little building built of fieldstone
Grandpa hauled in on the hay wagon.
It only stands about five and half feet high forcing 
Adults to bend over to enter but this little
Goldilocks finds it to be “just right!”

On blistering hot days it is crisp and refreshing.
Visitors, once through the wooden Dutch door, are
Greeted with the refreshing coolness of crystal clear 
Spring water flowing steadily over a hand-built wooden trough.
Instantly, the scorching mid-day heat becomes a distant memory.

Eight inches of continuously flowing water envelopes 
Cheesecloth-covered crocks of milk gently coaxed from the
Guernseys this morning.  Freshly churned butter in wide-mouthed
Mason jars, brown eggs in wire baskets and enormous jars of 
Pickles, fragrant with fresh dill floating on the brine line the walls.
I retrieve items grandma needs to prepare meals.  

Later, sitting at the huge round kitchen table
Slathering homemade butter on thick slices of warm, crusty bread –
Then washing it down with a tall glass of fresh milk 
This Goldilocks believes the day is “just right.” 

Copyright © 2008 Linda (Miner) Bryan. Republished with permission of the author.