My father once said
“When I look at what’s past,
I find that each decade
Goes by twice as fast.”
I’ve gone through half
Of a century now.
My dad’s words are true.
Yikes — and how!
I’m officially old.
That was proven to me
In a recent letter
From the AARP.
Time races on
Like I less often do,
With knees a bit creaky
And wobbly, too.
So to mark my birthday,
My column this time
Is a 50-year look-back,
Served up in rhyme.
(This is written about me,
But I really couldn’t do
Much that matters
Without all of you.)
My mom and dad
Worked hard and did right:
Gardening, building and
Tucking me in at night.
I became a big brother
My siblings were grand
We explored our world
As a jolly young band.
My earliest days at
Our Salkum farm
Did me much good
And almost no harm.
I roamed the hills,
The woods shaped my mind.
My friends were true-blue,
The neighbors were kind.
Of my Onalaska youth
I could happily tell
About wonderful teachers
And ringing the church bell.
Then we left my homeland;
I missed the L.C.
When we finally moved back
I was truly happy.
I loved the Mint City,
‘Twas paradise to me.
A lifetime later
I still greet it joyfully.
“On Chehalis!” I sang,
“Fight on for our fame.”
In the classroom I excelled.
In sports, I was lame.
As a young volunteer
I met a sweet lass.
We took walks and wrote letters;
She had beauty and class.
Somehow she decided
That I was OK.
We wed in our twenties,
She’s my bride to this day.
God blessed us with children.
A girl and two boys.
I love being a dad with
Its endless new joys.
I needed a job —
The paper took a chance.
From cub reporter,
I managed to advance:
Went on to be editor
And columnist, too.
The day job ended
But the column job grew.
I think often of Gordon
And Russ and such sages
With whom I have shared
These newspaper pages.
I still write (almost) weekly
And it is so grand
To talk to you readers
Across our shared land.
I’ve proposed ideas
With mixed success.
Thanksgiving carols? Maybe.
January lights? Yes!
I wear many hats
In seeking to serve
Alongside good folks
With drive and verve.
I try to help where I can,
Improve what I touch.
Some folks like what I do,
Others... not so much.
I listen to critiques
And those who scoff:
Heeding what’s valid;
The rest just rolls off.
The truth is, I still feel
Like that merry young lad
Bounding ‘round Burnt Ridge,
Beamish and glad.
Now I roam a bit further
From Pe Ell to Packwood,
From Toledo to Tenino,
And each mile is good.
My blessings I count
With grateful prayer.
I whistle and saunter
With hardly a care.
I try to play
A good song or two.
(It’s best to sing them
With someone like you.)
I’ve read good books,
Even written one, too.
Before it’s all over, I’d like
To write one more (or a few).
I devour our history.
I find it so pleasin’.
It’s as vivid as the leaves
In this autumnal season.
Meeting folks from the past
And their old-fashioned ways
Adds depth and meaning
To our present days.
So as I enter my
Second half-century,
I'm endlessly thankful
For what God's done for me.
Times are hard, indeed,
But yet, have you heard?
The days are still good.
Enjoy them. Onward!
Brian Mittge is a community enthusiast who has written for The Chronicle since 2000 as a reporter, editor and columnist. He can be reached at brianmittge@hotmail.com.
