By Virginia Carrell Prowell It’s the first day of Summer, and as I look out my window, I see lovely flowers covering my deck and a varied species of birds flutter and…
Category: Virginia Carrell Prowell
POETRY: Mother Nature
EDITOR’S NOTE: If you are a regular Pioneer reader, you’ll likely remember our prolific Pioneer poet at 98 years young, Virginia Carrell Prowell. For decades she wrote a poem a month (or…
POEM: FICKLE FEBRUARY
– Virginia Carrell Prowell (02/24/2022) On Groundhogs Day, you made a promise of nice weather. The sun shined brightly and warmed the ground. Buds on bushes and trees could be found. Green…
POETRY: CLOUDS
— Virginia Carrell Prowell (10/16/21) On a partly cloudy day My mind drifts to the sky Images of countless figures Begin to appear before my eyes. A pack of dogs chasing a…
POETRY: A NEW DOOR
By Virginia Carrell Prowell (9-11-2021) The doors of the past are now closed September is welcoming you to a beautiful new season. Labor Day came marching in, honoring all the hardworking men…
POETRY: THE STEP CHILD – Introducing the Calendar Family
EDITOR’S NOTE: Here’s Pioneer poet Virginia Carrell Prowell’s months-of-the-year calendar review. By Virginia Carrell Prowell Each of them is renowned for a special day. Except for one who was neglected this way….
POETRY: A DAY OF INDEPENDENCE; Videos from Clovers Day & Garibaldi Porch Parade
EDITOR’S NOTE: It was an event-filled weekend – here’s video from Clovers Day and the Garibaldi Porch Parade by Don Backman, accompanied by a poem from our favorite Pioneer poet, Virginia Carrell…
POETRY: May Day
A Poem By Virginia Carrell Prowell (4/30/2021) Photos by Don Backman There was a time, a long time ago, When young children danced around the May Pole. Holding long colorful ribbons attached…
POETRY: RESTORATION
– Virginia Carrell Prowell (3-30-2021) (PHOTOS BY Don Backman) The signs of Winter are disappearing and being replaced with a renewed application. Barren branches of the Alder and Oak, the Red Maple,…
POEM: THE SILENT TRUMPETERS
My sweet neighbor, Rosy Pyle brought me a beautiful vase full of lovely daffodils on my birthday. For some unknown reason this little poem began forming in my noggin in the middle…
