WONDERFUL NEIGHBOURS

Recent books here in Vernon have been published about pioneer days. The best feedback I get from my blog are items I write about pioneer days.
I wrote this verse for the Golden Wedding celebration of:
ANNE AND CHARLIE CAREY

Let me tell you 'bout a friend I knew, Pushing ninety and still working too,
Chopping firewood from dead snag trees, Keeping forests safe and filling his need.
His sweet shy wife, early in the morn', Busy as a bee cooking up a storm.
Planting flowers and watching them grow, Weeding the garden, every row.

Time every day with others to share, Lending a hand and knowing they care.
A gate left open, some stock got out, Charlie took care of it, there's no doubt.
When my guests arrive he waves and shouts "See you got feeders, I'm sure they will thrive." Should a skunk or a weasel your chickens desire, His 22-trusty is ready to fire.

If flocks of starlings hove in your ken, He's ready with buckshot, just tell him when. They'll strip off your cherries quick as a wink, Testing each one fast as you think. One time a thief thought his house to rob, Stole Anne's poppyseed cake to finish the job. But neighbours nearby kept open sharp eyes, Called on the Mounties to go get their guy.

Pursuing them south to the border gate, The poppyseed cake sealed their fate.
Though his "good argument" stays close at hand, The guns of the Mounties still take the best stand. When I "scold them" for late nights dancing 'til two,
He just cheers for noticing that they made it through.

Late night moving traffic, a blizzard or storm, Still their early-rise habits bring an early-up morn. Hear the sound of his chain saw next morning bright,
After calling the square dance half of the night. Time for the wedge on a wide-angled log, But don't drop the axe, could get lost in a bog.

He takes aim at a pole, standing fast in the yard, The axe is implanted - it didn't seem hard. After years as a bush-boss it seems mighty clear, There's a lot of good knowing gone into those years. Early fall they present me with huckleberries blue, I'm surprised they are picking when the bears have been through.
"Just wear a small bell, pick your side of the patch, The bears won't molest you, They have their own catch." Good advice, sweet Anne, and thanks for the treat. Here, try out my cot squares, not as tasty but neat. Your blueberry muffins are topnotch I know, But to wild berry pataches, I fear I won't go.
Sixty years plus since Anne and Charles met, At sixteen a camp cook and to visit her set, A river he'd swim, leave his work clothes one side, O'er the stream Sunday clothes in a tree box would hide.
But one Sunday night, with the moon shining bright, Over waters, no working clothes showed in its light. The cattle had chewed them to bits by the stream, And the country's first streaker never ran out of steam.
We treasure their stories, Such fun to be with, Your friends and your family, both kin and kith. And always remaining in this neighbour's dream, Is you'll start your next century - right on this beam.