The name of my blog as you may know, if you’re a follower, is Cow Pasture Chronicles. The name has a special meaning to me.
I was a precocious child, or so they said. I like to think just a girl ahead of her time, smart, independent, and inquisitive. One of six, I was quiet, but sneaky. I didn’t mouth off or sulk. I stayed quite, said the requisite yes ma’am, no ma’am, listened, paid attention, and when the timing was right, snuck off and did what I damn well wanted to. I rarely got caught, but when I did, there was usually hell to pay.
We lived on a dirt road just outside of town, not many neighbors in sight, and right behind our house was big cow pasture, filled with cattle. You had to go over a hill to see it from the kitchen window. All I had to do was get past mama. As it turns out, getting past mama was the easy part.
It took a few times of trial and error before the cows (I thought they were all cows, NOT) and I learned to ignore each other. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Screaming and shooing a bull a waying as you’re climbing over the fence into his territory, and running past him giggling is something better known later, much later.
The cow pasture became my favorite hide-a-way. Every day I climbed the fence running down the hill until I came to rest under the canopy of trees by the stream. I loved to hear the flow of the water and watch the cattle wander in to drink. The pasture became my escape, my paradise, my oasis.
It was there I began my writing adventure. As often as I could escape the house, I did. In the quiet of the pasture, beside a trickling stream, I filled my journals, writing about my grievances with my mother, poems, and stories. I even waxed poetic about algebra, the bane of my high school existence and signed my work with a pen name, Zeke.
When I decided to start my blog, the name was a no brainer. The cow pasture I used for escape has long disappeared. Instead of cows meandering the fields, houses fill the expanse. My blog, Cow Pasture Chronicles, is now my escape. Here is where I explore the stories within me, voice the occasional opinion, and share the knowledge I’ve gained on the craft of writing.
If you haven’t stopped by, please do. I love to interact with other bloggers, readers, and writers. And I love feedback and dialog.
For your reading amusement, my poem on theorems, enjoy. (Be kind, I wrote this in 1972, when I was just a babe and I am not a poet)
Oh, that teacher in 1st period
his Theorems and his Proofs!
the more I try, the harder it gets
and, the Lord knows that’s the truth
The corollaries and postulates,
know them one by one
now, get to work and state the Proof
Of Theorem 31
I proudly state the given
then comes L1=L2
man, on my way am I
I look again at what
I am proud to prove and
suddenly see despair
I know that Mr. Morgan’s near
I sense him in the air.
He’s standing there right over me
With ruler in his hand
Sheila that’s wrong,
Erase it and try again
Oh, that teacher in 1st period
his Theorems and his Proofs
they’re driving me up the wall
and, God knows that’s the truth.
With a long, deep
and sad, sad sigh
I begin to erase it
I begin to cry
The shreds of hair lay
My tear-stained face
So here, go again
don’t look so stunned
Sheila it’s really very easy
now, take this sheet
Quit pulling your hair
Now, prove theorem 31
Zeke (aka. Sheila)
January 11, 1972
Filed under: Blogging, My 500 Word Challenge Tagged: Algebra, theorems
from WordPress http://ift.tt/1CnSQXm