I am from big trucks, from Blue Bell and beer bread.
I am from the rickety front porch staircase,
surrounded by sweet blooming Honey Suckle.
I am from the mossy oaks, the vine-filled forests tangling like a jungle.
I am from chicken-fried deer and big bellies,
from Fat Buddha and Abby and Eva Bear.
I am from the late night fishing on the lake
and early morning mudding through twisting creek beds.
From "little girls are the devil" and "eat all your greens."
I am from Sunday school and family prayers.
From the Bible Belt's finest Baptist temple.
From the one place where the Lord's overwhelming love is always found.
I am from Houston, Texas, to Munich, Germany,
from venison stroganoff and Grandpa's pumpkin custard.
From the time my mom forgot to cook the rice in the casserole,
the time her pancakes were raw in the middle,
and the time my dad decided he would cook instead.
I am from walls of photos, shelves of scrapbooks,
and boxes of memories of the life behind us.
From the picture of John, Grant, Elisa, Rob, Courtney,
and the rest of us in front of our new tractor.
From the picture of Kelli and I licking the cake mix
out of the bowl on my fifth birthday.
From the one picture of my dad truly smiling when I got my first buck.
I am from the Southern heritage, from Southern memories,
and from the Lord's Southern grace,
and I am from the one place I can always call home.