Why “Auker” (Aww-ker)?

Auker and Bonniebelle in the snow

I come from one of those
great
little
Maine towns
you might read about
but
might not want to live in
unless
unless you were a local
then you might not want to leave.

And if you do leave?

You
might
spend a lifetime
wondering how to go
back.

A town filled with “characters”.
A few hippies from outta state,
but most
fathers, grandfathers,
great-grandfathers,
mothers, grandmothers,
great-grandmothers,
all grew up
within ten or twenty
maybe
thirty miles of each other.

Both groups
the hippies
the locals
unbeknownst to them
(perhaps)
shared a common philosophy

be yourself

They made
no apologies
no pretense
made
no bones
about who
or what they were.

Auker was my Dad’s friend,
a drinking/fishing buddy.

Auker’s family had the farm
out on the left
before the head of the pond
back on the dirt road
before the brook.

My Dad and Auker could have
kept a blog of their adventures.
Should have.

I don’t remember Auker.
Couldn’t tell you if he was short,
rough,
smooth,
lanky,
pudgy.

I know Auker from Dad’s stories.

My husband,
a Massachusetts boy;
my father called him, “boy”
(“Boy, come hold these legs while I skin him out.”);
for the first ten years of our marriage.

My husband,
a Massachusetts boy
who loves stories
and history and
names and adventure.

My husband named the new bull.
Not another Huckleberry.
A real name.

Auker

A simple word
that makes me smile and
shake my head
at the same time.

That Maine hellion
down here
on my little farm.
Oh, man….

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