I'm from Washington State. The Nooksack Valley and the Wheat lands of
Almira. Some of the family is from Glendive and some from Miles city. I love
the rolling wheat lands.



                          OLD DOG JOE


Sunday morning Mother wrote, just a short tear stained note, 

Joe had gone to sleep under the old Clapps Pear.

Dad checked him and found he had just died.

She said it was best, yet she still cried.

Though his old age pains were more than she could bear.


Dad covered him against the flies and In the evening dried his eyes, 

and went out and dug a hole there for Joe.

Fifteen is as old as a dog should get

but dad hadn't wanted to call the vet

He said he really hated to see that old dog go.


He wiped his forehead with his arm and said with that dog around 

the farm, he felt the boy wasn't really gone away.

When he saw the dog, he thought of the boy.

It was his hope and it gave him joy,

to think I'd come home and run the farm some day.


Dad never seemed to mind the toil, he loved the smell of fresh turned soil, 

He claimed he could hear the wheat grow in the spring, 

It's sad I couldn't share his dream, but the seat of a plow behind a big
draft team

Was not a thought that made my young heart sing.

A boy must grow into a man and live his own dreams if he can, 

When he sets his goals he really should aim high.

Still when I close my eyes I'll always see, Joe and me running free, 

in those wheat fields stretching outward to the sky