Tote the water, tote the milk,
tote the slop to the hogs,
tote those berries or cherries just picked.
Seems we toted a lot in buckets,
yeah back in the country, no indoor plumbing.


Two-and-a-half gallon buckets,
galvanized steel with sturdy bails.
Two for carrying water, two for milking,
old ones used for other jobs,
they were a staple in every home.


Saw an old rusted bucket laying in the weeds,
tipped sideways half-filled with dirt.
Could not see the bottom.
For five or ten years it had been there,
by a fence post, between two properties.


Each time I passed it was nostalgic,
I remembered all that toting.
It became part of the landscape,
something just taken for granted,
until one day it was not there?


Funny the things one remembers,
all the memories that come forth.
My brother and I toting one bucket,
Mrs. Markham using her yoke.
It was normal for country folk.


Where did that old bucket go?
Was it just a random clean-up?
Did someone complain?
Heck, it did not hold water
to breed skeeters!


By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)










I Wonder Sometimes

Hollyhocks (several authors)

All Will Play

Dog Days of August

A Perfect Day's End

Haiku: Pelicans (several authors)






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