Family Hands
(Mary Chapin Carpenter)

Last Sunday we got in the car and we drove 
To the town you were raised in, your boyhood home 
The trees were just turning, up on the ridge 
And this was your valley when you were a kid 
You showed me the railroad that your daddy worked on 
As we neared the old house where your granny lives on 
She's nearing ninety years now, with her daughters by her side 
Who tend the places in the heart where loneliness can hide

Raised by the women who are stronger than you know 
A patchwork quilt of memory only women could have sewn 
The threads were stitched by family hands, protected from the moth 
By your mother...and her mother, the weavers of your cloth

Your grandmother owned a gun in 1932 
When times were bad just everywhere, you said she used it too 
And the life and times of everyone are traced inside their palms 
Her skin may be so weathered, but her grip is still so strong 
And I see your eyes belong to her and too your mama too 
A slice of Virginia sky, the clearest shade of blue

Raised by the women who are stronger than you know 
A patchwork quilt of memory only women could have sewn 
The threads were stitched by family hands, protected from the moth 
By your mother...and her mother, the weavers of your cloth

And a rich man you might never be, they'd love you just the same 
They've handed down so much to you besides your Christian name 
And the spoken word won't heal you like the laying on of hands 
Belonging to the ones who raised you to a man

Raised by the women who are stronger than you know 
A patchwork quilt of memory only women could have sewn 
The threads were stitched by family hands, protected from the moth 
By your mother...and her mother, the weavers of your cloth