Fridays With Grandpa

Friday's promise sets hearts aglow,

As country music, soft and low,

Floats from the truck's old radio—

Alan Jackson, Brooks and Dunn in tow.

First stop at Phil's, across the hill,

For beef jerky and treats until

Our arms are full of weekend fare,

While mountain air lifts every care.

Then Gearsbeck's counter, lined with hope,

Where massive subs and tales elope—

"Extra bacon," Grandpa grins,

As weekend adventure begins.

Up winding roads to camp at last,

Where present meets beloved past,

The pump to prime, wood to arrange,

As city cares to wonder change.

Each task a dance we know by heart:

Unloading gear, each plays their part,

While chickadees dart through the trees,

And bluejays scold the mountain breeze.

To Grandma June and Grandpa Jim's,

Where trailer lights through windows dim

Welcome us to their addition's grace,

Time slowing in this cherished space.

The big blue light casts gentle glow

Across the yard where memories flow,

While stories drift on evening air

Of hunts and times beyond compare.

Around the lantern's golden sphere,

Tomorrow's plans grow crystal clear;

Which ridge to walk, which trail to take,

Which project will tomorrow make.

Rain drums soft on tin roof high,

A lullaby 'neath mountain sky,

While kerosene heat warms the room,

And comfort fills the gathering gloom.

Sometimes nature's call at night

Sends us rushing, full of fright,

To outhouse dark through mountain air,

Adventure found even there!

Morning breaks with joyful sound

Of birds announcing treasure found—

Another day with Grandpa here,

In mountains that we hold so dear.

The radio crackles morning news,

While coffee scents the morning dews,

And plans unfold like morning light

For moments we will hold so tight.

These weekends were pure magic spun

From simple things so deftly done:

A sandwich shared, a tale retold,

Worth more than any mountain's gold.

Each ritual, each sacred stop,

From valley floor to mountain top,

Built memories that still remain

Like sunshine after summer rain.

Now when I hear those country songs,

Or smell camp coffee coming on,

I'm back there in those moments true,

Where every Friday brought me you.

For in these mountains, time stands still

At Phil's store just over the hill,

At Gearsbeck's counter piled with subs,

In every place that speaks of love.

These weekend trips, they shaped my soul,

Made broken pieces something whole,

Each moment spent in your wise care

Made life beyond

d compare.