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Those Weathered Boards Remind Me - A Poem By J.P. Marentette

I consider myself lucky to have grown up on a farm near Comber, Ontario. I am now an elementary school teacher at Jack Miner Public School in the town of Kingsville, Ontario. Although teaching is now my profession, I have many fond
memories of life on the farm. About five years ago, I wrote a poem about the old barn that is still standing on our family farm. I regret that I was not able to share it with my father, Wilfrid Marentette, before he passed away at the age of 93. My father was a lifetime farmer and the barn was an important part of his life. The farm was worked by my brother Norman, who has since retired. Today, the land is rented out and the barn stands mostly empty. I am sure there are many people that can relate to the sentiments expressed in the poem that is titled, “Those Weathered Boards Remind Me.” I hope that it will bring enjoyment to many readers and perhaps even bring back special memories of their own.

                   Those Weathered Boards Remind Me

 

Out in the country                                          

South off Highway 2

Half a mile down a side road

A farm comes into view 

There stands the homestead

The place where I was raised

And the old barn that’s still standing there

Really shows its age 

The boards are worn and weathered

Time seems to have a way

Walls, once a brilliant red

Are faded now to grey 

To a person from the city

Or a stranger driving passed

The barn has little meaning

A mere relic from the past 

In this barn Dad made a living

As milk flowed from the cows

And the sweat of many a man

Raised hay into the mows 

Though I was just a little boy

When the milking chores were done

As years went by and I grew older

It was a place for fun 

With ropes for swinging, beams to climb

And forts built in the hay

Days spent in this rural playground

I treasure to this day 

And the one day from my childhood

That stands out most of all

Was the day Dad bought my pony, “Prince”

And helping to prepare his stall 

The barn stands mostly empty now

No chores are done today

There are no men hard at work

Or children as they play 

The weathered boards are still standing

Sometimes, when I close my eyes

Scenes from the past flood my mind

And it’s then that I realize 

To most who see it, it’s just an old barn

Of its value, they have no measure

But these scenes are a part of our family’s story

And it’s these scenes I’ll always treasure

By: J.P. Marentette

Views: 660

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Comment by OntAG Admin on March 23, 2013 at 10:47pm

Nice poem.

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