A Poem of a Typical Day Volunteering in West Virginia

Pre sunrise. Some surprise. I and Cath made wide-eyed by a rooster going “beepity beep.” Dawn broke; all woke, bacon fried and eggs yoked, with Coop and Mariann “ill” at ease. Cooper rallied and rolled down the road, armed to paint, while Mariann tried but took to bed, feeling faint.

While Carol and Wendy got agilely bendy, scraping tile and making mud all day. And Artie Mullins can really cool, is what we all say.

The young’uns not painting read to students waiting till all the classes met finally. Warm fuzzies, pup huggies, thirsty lunch crowd chuggies, a watermelon given us free. Nurse Rona cooked chicken noodle soupy for our ailing patient, which chased away her croupy.
Though faced with tiles and tons of cans, tired of muscles and sore of hands, we sorters and roofers and workers are all grand. And Artie Mullins works really hard, we all understand.
Arts craftily sorted, pantry build out is aborted till the morrow, but have no worry, you. There’s always more than plenty of chores for us—the twenty—trying to live this week by “Umbuntu.” As we rally to view the New River Gorge, then head back once more to our home, we can’t help but wonder and sit back and ponder—come back again? We’ll have to wait and see.
But Artie Mullins is one fantastic host, we can all agree.
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