Michigan BRANCH COUNTY
Is all that it takes to come.
In a few days, our little log cot we'd reared 'Neath the rustling leaves of a forest wild,
And in front of the cabin, a spot we cleared
Where the orb of day peeped in and smiled.
Not long ere the neighbors began to come in, Though they lived a good distance away;
Three miles was the nearest cabin to us,
Yet better neighbors than next door to-day.
For flounces, kid gloves, silk dresses and lace, With bonnets, spring, summer and fall,
Weren't all required in them days you know, For a friendly visit or call.
And how I remember those letters
That came but a few times a year.
For they charged a good bit to bring them then, From York State, away out here.
But how we used to read them,
Over and over again, For we knew every word was written
By a mother's trembling pen.
Yes, our cot was rough and rude without,
But inside, as cozy and neat As any palace that now stands
On either side of our street.
On poles, hung rings of pumpkin and squash, From fireplace swung blackened crane,
While over head, the old bark roof Set music to falling rain.
The skins of wood chuck, coon and mink Were nailed to the southern gable,
While a few steps away was the great well sweep, And beyond, the oxen's stable.
I know it was lonely, there all alone
During much of that first year; And how oft I saw roll down your cheek,
A pearly thought of th' past, in a tear.
But the past was kind o' covered up, And the present and future began
When our first baby came to greet us, Him that we called little Dan.
BRANCH COUNTY MICHIGAN
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