I am from clothespins, from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride. I am from the dirt under the back porch. (Black, glistening, it tasted like beets.) I am from the forsythia bush the Dutch elm whose long-gone limbs I remember as if they were my own. I'm from fudge and eyeglasses, from Imogene and Alafair. I'm from the know-it-alls and the pass-it-ons, from Perk up! and Pipe down! I'm from He restoreth my soul with a cottonball lamb and ten verses I can say myself. I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch, fried corn and strong coffee. From the finger my grandfather lost to the auger, the eye my father shut to keep his sight. Under my bed was a dress box spilling old pictures, a sift of lost faces to drift beneath my dreams. I am from those moments-- snapped before I budded -- leaf-fall from the family tree. - Poem by George Ella Lyon Boyd's Station held a photo essay competition where we were given from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. to interpret the poem "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon. This was my interpretation. "I Believe" I believe in thirty minutes there and thirty minutes back I believe in windy roads I believe the water tells us which way to go I believe in the old white oaks who hide the stop-signs I believe in the fog to make your dreams vivid I believe in the Devil’s Backbone I believe in the long row to hoe I believe in the mimosa trees for a lick of paradise I believe in all of the good ol’ dogs I believe in the conflicted cat who makes a better dog I believe in the 89-year-old gardener I believe in finding the honey hole and never telling a soul.