We didn't have a "drinking gourd" when I was growing up, and I always felt deprived ... in the early years, at least.
Instead, we had a common aluminum dipper (we all drank from the same dipper) beside the water bucket in the kitchen.
Germs aside, it offered a cool, refreshing drink, when the weather was cool, refreshing. During the summer, as I recall, we went directly to the source, the cistern just a few steps from the back porch, to fill the dipper.
The "drinking gourd," on the other hand, resided at a neighbor's house on a nearby hill. Judging from the frequency of our visits, they were probably distant relatives.
They had a well which, I thought, contained the coldest water around.
And that gourd, that marvelous old weather-beaten gourd. I just had to have a drink from it, even when I wasn't thirsty.
Oh, how I remember sipping slowly, dawdling, while enjoying both the cold water and the great shade of the tree near the well.
The poem:
CUP OF MEMORIES
The well water
was never colder
nor more sweet tasting
than when it was sipped
from an ordinary,
but memorably special
gray gourd dipper.
© 1995
(originally published in Capper's)
Today's word: dawdling
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
Thank you, Helen, for stopping by again and sharing those memories of those unmatchable Southern Illinois waters ... and for sharing that background on how "The Old Oaken Bucket" came into being ... all like long, satisfying sips from "the drinking gourd."
1 comment:
You are bringing out memories of old Southern Illinois for me. We lived fairly close to where you did. Before we moved into town, we had a wonderful well like your poem says with a dipper like yours, but it was still the coldest, best tasting water I've ever had in my life. I've thought about it many times. We kept the peach orchards and farm and rented out the house. Years later, one who had lived there told me the same thing--best water ever. An ancestor of mine way back when, from MA said to his mother after moving to Boston, "I wish I had a drink out of that old bucket from our well where we lived." His mother said, "Why don't you write a poem about it!" He wrote the words to what was to become one of the most popular songs of their time--translated into many languages, even Japanese...
"The Old Oaken Bucket." The well is still there in Scituate, MA. We aren't the only ones who have appreciated the well "back home." Nice memories. Thank you.
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