I’m from playing baseball with cousins at family birthday parties, from Uncle Sam’s towering fireworks in the field and having bonfires with friends in the night-time sky.
I am from the deep woods, outdoorsy feeling of the cabin room
I am from the 12 foot tall maple trees in the backyard, the bushes green like grass in the front.

I am from noodles and cherries and big laughs from Grandpa Don and the Seidl’s and Serres’.
I am from blood and sweat at the feed mill and tailgating at the Packers’ games
From “Years ago, we used to…” and “How many times have I told you…”
I’m from I am with you always, even to the end, and “do we have to go to first service?”

I’m from Wisconsin, from fresh eggs for breakfast when we’re up north.
From the time Grandpa Serres caught turtles and fished the mill pond, the time Great-Grandma Ethel told us stories about baseball’s ancient past, and the time Chuck learned to play the drums and smacked himself in the face, leaving a grape-like purple bruise on his cheek.
I am from a small town, but an enormous, loving family who is always there for me.