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My wife and I have lived in a small valley between Stony Run and
Kempton, Pa for over two decades. In the 1960 - 1980's it was owned by Harry
Matthews and his family, who planted and ran a large orchard.
The poem below is about this valley we live in and a tribute to
the man who started the orchards that surround us.
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Matthews' Orchard
by Lincoln Fajardo
Harry Matthews owned this valley
From that hill where the Red Church sits
Down to where the creeks come together -
All four hundred acres.
Now, it's subdivided into seven.
Harry flew jumbo jets for a living -
Yet he'd spend hours in his Ultra-Light,
Swooping down on orchard and barn,
Rattling slate roof and pegged rafters,
Flushing the pigeons from their lofts.
When he wasn't flying,
Harry cleared the brush
And dug into this thirsty shale
First with shovel, then mattock and finally back hoe.
And he planted and planted -
Sour cherries on this ridge,
Peaches and nectarines in that hollow
And sweet apples by the creek.
You should have seen the car loads of folks
Traipsing these hills, baskets in hand,
Come to pick their own fruit and enjoy the view.
But Harry was usually not the one
To collect the nickels and the smiles.
Only from the air, I guess,
Could he see it all at once -
The saplings swaying in the wind
And growing in the rain
Till the day when their limbs
Heavy with fruit touched the ground.
Harry's dead. His children scattered.
Yet each Spring his trees greet the blue skies
With white clouds of blossomed arms
And come Fall
They bring to the Earth
The golden and russet fruits of his dreams.
Click here to view portfolio.
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