Oneonta Hills

Dad was a ham radio hobbyist
earning his first license at 14.
It was a happy time for me

when Dad drove up
the winding dirt road
into the Oneonta Hills

in his ’51 Ford V8
where he did his radio checks
from the setup in the car:

“Calling CQ, calling CQ.
This is W6ECM calling CQ.”
Two or three hams, always men,

responded each time and Dad
and these voices in the night
compared notes about their gear.

Dad asked where they were calling from,
making notes in his log,
and there would be a sharing

of new technical developments.
All the technical stuff
was over my head,

but I was blown away
by my Dad’s radio voice,
so smooth and loud and confident

unlike his voice at home
or in public settings.
This was the love of his life