if y’ain’t never
took down no
barbed wire
fence with
reg’ler pliers
and a tractor
bucket, yer
invited to the
barbed wire
party next
weekend ~
c’mon,
y’all – free
pickin’ of
the last of
the figs ~ and
don’t forgit
to dust yer
socks for
ticks ’cause
them deer
ticks’ll
keep you
itchin’
in places you
didn’t know
were there
Common Threads 
Oh my gosh…’Memories’… for me, as I, too, sat in your seat up on that John Deere using the lift to reduce manual labor, pulling those posts. And then used the auger to dig the holes for the railroad tie support posts for new fencing. I LOVE the true spirit of your poem, as I look down at the ‘triangular’ scars up and down my forearms because it was just TOO hot to wear long sleeves while stringing new barb wire using the pliers to attach the T post clips. But, the beauty of farm work and clearing fence rows is you can see the effects of your ‘hard physical labor’, aka HPL around our house. Thank goodness for machines that can reduce some of the HPL! As you can see, your poem generated some good memories! 🙂 Now, about those figs…I’d LOVE to be there and pick a few to pop into my mouth!!!
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Love the poem! I can hear that Georgia twang! And figs! My favorite! My grandpa had a garden with fig trees and we’d wrap up like mummies for winter. Now, I have to survive on the figs in my grocery story that tend to be moldy or too green. I have fig envy indeed!
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Sounds like quite a party, Kim. You’re poem was so enjoyable and funny. Love yer use of dialect. Seeing those figs makes my mouth water. I recently discovered fig jam and can’t get enough of it.
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Never did either -barbed wire fences or picking figs…. But this brought me back to my childhood where we would “get to help” Grandpa shuck endless ears of corn for my mom, aunts, and grandma to parboil, cut off & freeze. Best corn to have all winter long!
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Look at you driving that tractor! I would definitely come to your party if I was there. I love the dialect you added to your poem. So fun from the very start…”if y’ain’t never”
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Kim, you brought the country into my home today with your poem filled with dialect, your tractor (that you drive?), barb wire, and the fun of being outdoors. I remember as a little girl that my Nonnie had a vegetable and fruit garden that she picked from. It was a surprise for me, something out of the ordinary. Your slice brought back that memory to me. The figs look yummy.
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