Beyond Measure

On what would have been our 36th Wedding Anniversary (5/25/1985)

The Buggy

This was no ordinary horse buggy, oh not at all,
It was a family heirloom that was used to haul,
Barrels of water during the land rush of 1893,
When The Oklahoma Territory was the place to be,
Selling cups of water to the settlers along their way,
Was a lucrative business I would say,
Charles and Nettie Harris were the owners of this treasured ride,
Until 1918, Charles purchased his first car with pride,
Then Nettie drove it directly through the back of the garage,
Causing a loud and unforgettable barrage!
Not knowing brakes were part of the car,
She never drove again; She never went far,
She was a schoolteacher until 1911,
When she married Charles, thank heaven,
For in 1913, she gave birth to our “Grandpa Harris”, Roy,
Who rode in the back of the buggy when he was a boy,
Roy’s grandson, Jerry, wanted to preserve this piece of history,
He drove from NC to KS; his love of family was no mystery,
That is when the wagon made its way to the East,
It was a long journey back to NC, to say the least,
But for years, Jerry had cherished this family treasure,
And it held a place in his heart that was beyond measure,
So happy to give it a new home; his determination never swayed,
He had dreams of restoring it and riding in the Benson parade,
God had other plans for Jerry and He took him away,
The wagon is now “in Memory of Jerry” today,

Donated to the State of NC, after much thought and consideration,
It will someday be displayed in their proposed museum of transportation!

Written by: Tammy Harvey
5/24/2021

No Expiration

 The Feathered Hat

In a world of disposables and a throw-away mentality,

It is comforting to know, some things don’t warrant a finality,

I am so thankful that some treasures are preserved,

So, we can enjoy them later, as they are well-deserved,

Of our fondness, as we stroll down memory lane,

I am speaking about vintage things that still remain,

Like the hats my mother wore in the mid-century years, 

During spring-cleaning, it is amazing what appears!

I found these tucked away in the original tattered, Sears hatbox,

In the top of my closet... if only I could turn back the clock,

To see my mother adorn these hats would be a gift,

I inquired of her to tell me the stories and her response was swift,

There was the feathered headpiece with netting, so divine,

The story behind it was a favorite of mine,

Mother conveyed the time she wore it to a TN football game “ages ago”,

If only we had a photo of that day: she with her beau,

She wore a green suite, lizard heels and a matching handbag,

“Made in Italy” was still on the inside tag,

Quite fancy I think for this girl who grew up poor on the farm,

Bet she was proud of her look, as she took him by the arm,

“In those days, we dressed up for the games”, she said,

I was intrigued by how that tradition had fled,

I couldn’t be happier the hats were kept for another generation,

Some things, you know, have no expiration!

Tammy Harvey

Written: 4/28/2021

Journey not Destination

 Explorer (Grayson)

A 20-month-old touches everything in sight,

Everything is fresh and new, and he tries with all his might,

To take everything in- that nature has in store,

His Gigi, that’s me, enjoyed watching him explore,

On the short walk to the playground, I would soon ascertain,

The sidewalk wasn’t wide enough to keep his curiosity contained:

Tree bark, a stick, a signpost, a lock, a fence, a rock, a sewer drain,

Electrical boxes and water meters intrigued his little brain,

Birds chirping and airplanes flying above did not escape his inquisition,

The closed swimming pool and bike rack were also supposition,

Mounds of mulch around each small tree and straps to hold them straight,

Were points of interest to him, before reaching the playground gate,

Well, rain had fallen earlier, and the equipment was soaking wet,

He stood atop the slide and contemplated “Ready, Set…”,

But “Go” did not follow as he wiped the water with his hand,

I helped him down the steps because it was too slippery to stand,

And we headed back for home, him in constant exploration,

The adventure was the journey...and not the destination,

He stopped for a picture holding firmly to a metal sign,

“Cheese” he said joyfully, but the joy was all mine,

Tammy Harvey

Written:  3/25/21

A Hop, Skip and Jump

Hopscotch
A little girl sat on the front porch steps, her chin in her hands,
She gazed at the end of the driveway- where the mailbox stands,
She ran inside and brought out a box of colored chalk,
She had an idea concerning the plain sidewalk,
On the concrete, beside the mailbox, she drew,
A multi-colored series of hopscotch squares, beneath the sky so blue,
Returning to the front porch perch, she curiously watched for when,
An unsuspecting pedestrian would pass by again,
A jogger was the first to make an appearance in front of her house,
But scurried on by like a frightened field mouse,
Probably didn’t see the hopscotch anyway,
She was disappointed, but waited patiently all day,
A dog-walker came next, and more of the same,
He did not take a turn at the hopscotch game,
A mother with a baby stroller also passed hurriedly by,
And the little girl was about to give up and/or cry,
When the familiar mailman who waved to her most every day,
Put the mail in the box and decided to play,
He hopped, skipped and jumped through the hopscotch like an ace,
Which put a great big smile on the young girl’s face.
Take time to hopscotch, every once in a while,
Don’t miss a chance to make someone smile!
Tammy Harvey
Written: 3/24/2021