Holy Night on The Ponderosa    I once lived in the country with the wild turkey and prancing white-tail deer.   I was a city girl that grew an “Annie Oakley” heart.   My dad called me Annie Oakley, because I was a pretty good shot with a “dangerous” BB gun.   I once roamed the oaks of the backwoods on my zippy red moped along with my little brother (who thought he was older) on his go-kart.   I was free to run and stroll our pristine 3 acres, or as we called our land, “The Ponderosa.” My family and I referenced “Little House on the Prairie”.   Love was evident, grained into the wooden porch that wrapped around our country home.   My dad was head of the household, the spiritual leader. He took his “royal role” seriously.   He led with grace and dignity.   He had a compassionate and sweet heart.   I’d be skipping by and he’d say, “Brandy, have I told you I loved you today?”   I’d quietly respond, “No, dad, you haven’t.” He’d grin and genuinely answer, “Well, I

Country Bound I travel down a mellow, yellow sunflower road upon miniscule “wishing” pebbles.   A monument stands tall amiss sprightly wildflowers.   Rustic, red barn, tell me your wisdom, tell me your stories.   A split rail fence is my guide, built by thick, rough hands.   It dances to a patterned rhythm around a charming, pastel blue farmhouse.   I am country bound, my soul to be found. I pass by a field flowing with radiant corn.   Stalks stand tall, presiding over misty pastures.   Golden wheat is nuzzled with sunny rays.   It waltzes with the wind and tangos with blades of grass.   Hearts of farmers beat in rolling hills, growing “love soy seeds”. An apple pie sits on a crackled window sill cooling for attention.   Cinnamon swirls through a two-story house.   Maple beans, sweet greens, and cornbread overflow the Amish-built table.   Greens pop into savoring mouths.   Sugary beans candy-coat the taste buds.   Crumbs of cake-like cornbread seek shelter in a