Strafford, New Hampshire
Est 1820
Founded.
200 years ago by new citizens,
centuries ago by the first people,
10,000 years ago by ice giants
placing a boulder here, a boulder there.
Unknowing architects of new, old place.
The town
the people
the glacial erratics.
All here because of motion.
Motion like that of seed pods floating on the wind,
of calloused feet on bare soil,
of the blur of hummingbird wings,
of the legs of turtles scraping the soil to bury new life,
of rickety masts on the ocean,
of one-way airplanes from another coast,
of snow piled by small hands,
of boots on woodland trails,
All here.
All surrounding the lake’s reflection like a heart on fire.
From the smallest stone,
to the mountains.
We have come from somewhere.
We stay because something grounds us —
the nesting grounds on the islands,
the dwellings carved into the forest,
the chance for acceptance, the chance to grow old,
the peace from the smell of burning wood,
the old roots gripping shallow soil,
the new roots made with pushes up the hill,
the nooks on the hill where the glacier set us down.
The land holds us all.
