Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Writing about your own personal geography
Choose a spot that brings back a rush of sensory details—sights, sounds, smells, textures, and tastes. It doesn’t need to be an enormous natural wonder like the Grand Canyon. Try describing a private spot—a certain tree in your backyard, a basketball court, a relative’s dining room, the corner of a city lot, the interior of a closet, or a window seat that catches sunlight. As you think about the specifics of this place—its details and sensations—you’ll probably remember a dominant impression, a cluster of images, or a person connected to the place. These are all part of your internal landscape. Write a few short descriptive paragraphs using as many details as you can to paint a vivid impression of this landscape.
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Although I am from Santa Barbara, my family has spent a lot of time on the South Shore of Kauai. So much so that we even lived there for a “long vacation” during my preschool years. We go back once or twice a year, stay at the same place, and just relax in our second home. We stay in the same two condos every visit, which are situated facing the ocean out the back door. All the condos are clustered around each other—little white structures that, instead of walls, have floor to ceiling slatted blinds in order to ventilate the structure. There is a large lawn that overlooks the main ocean. During these vacations, since it’s a very small and familiar town to us, the same town that we lived in for a year, we do nothing but enjoy the ocean, each other’s company, and relaxing.
ReplyDeleteOn a normal day, I will wake up early, both because I have gone to be early the night before and because of the lack of walls makes sound travel every easy. After waking, I usually walk out the back door, onto the stepping-stones that lead to the main beach area and rolling lawn, and just sit on the lawn for an extended period of time. When sitting on the ground, there are knee-high shrubs that line the lawn so you can’t see the full beach. Instead, if you look towards your right, you will be able to see one of the many coves will lava rocks and palm trees and a beautiful serene beach. After beginning each day like this, I also end my days this way. After a family dinner, we all go out on the lawn (my 21 year old brother, 8 year old brother, and 5 year old sister) and we finish our day running around, playing games, and enjoying the view.
Every year we go back to this same spot, and for about two weeks, we do the same thing every day. Although it is highly familiar and lacking any new excitement, it still is a treasured memory and something I look forward to every year. Each year I’ve gone back, I am able to sit in the same spot, on the stubbly short grass, and see that in that one spot, not much has changed.
In my backyard in Texas, I had a swimming pool. Next to it, there was a gazebo which had vines growing all over it. Surrounding the pool were all sorts of plants that bloomed almost year-round. There were sunflowers that were twice as tall as I was at the time, a watermelon patch, Okra plants, and all sorts of herbs imaginable. The pool was surrounded by a sheetrock path that made it look very outdoorsy and mountainous for being in a major suburb of Houston. Some of the plants around the pool bloomed pink, while others were purple. My cat loved to sit under our hibiscus. In the pool, we had a plastic blue and white cleaning machine that swam around and made a constant humming noise. My sister and I aptly named him Zoomer. At the bottom of the deep end of the pool was a dark blue tile turtle named Mo. My sister and I would try and hold our breaths as long as possible so we could swim down and touch Mo. At the edge of the yard was a tall red brick fence, which always seemed to be 10 feet tall, although, I’m sure if I returned today, I’d be surprised to see that it wasn’t nearly as tall as I thought it was. I was always worried my cat was going to jump the fence and run away, but he never did. We also had a little cemetery for our old pets in the corner of the yard. Next to it was a small tool shed that looked like a doll house for people the size of 6 year olds. It was packed with tools, but I always secretly hoped my dad would clean it out so that I could go play inside it. He never did. My backyard was a comforting place where the whole family went to have fun year-round.
ReplyDeleteI've lived in the same house my whole life and when I was young my dad built a back deck. Our sunroom opens out onto the deck and the deck is elevated about 1 and a half feet above the ground. I think the happiest moments of my life have taken place on that deck. Amidst the beams of sunshine that spray through the tree leaves as they sway in the wind and the brilliant smell of summer I'm untouchable, elevated to a superhuman condition. Eyes closed or open, it doesn't matter because the power of that place cannot be seen by the naked eye. Somehow sitting there exposed to the elements, the heat, the wind, the rain, the snow, always clears my mind. Everything around the deck is alive. The trees, the grass, the rabbits, the birds, even the weeds struggling to grow through the concrete cannot be denied life. And the deck empowers me to not be denied by life. Everything else in life seems silly when I'm sitting out on the deck. Stress, strain, pain, all just a waste of true beauty of life. Sitting on the deck, seeing the beauty of life makes me recognize the beauty in me. I always get up from a creaky rocking chair with my feet firmly planted on the mildly warped cherry stained wood with confidence. I can always return to this place, no matter what.
ReplyDeleteMy dad lives in the Ken-Caryl Valley, located off C-470 in Littleton, Colorado. "The Valley," as the community is affectionately called, is known for its nice houses with well-groomed lawns and also for the beautiful red rock formations that are integrated within. The best part of the Valley though, in my opinion, is the Manor House. Located on the northern end of the Ken-Caryl Valley, the Manor House sits majestically atop a hill with the Rocky Mountain Foothills as its backdrop. The white exterior of the mansion contrasts beautifully with the big, Colorado blue sky, the red rocks, and the green, green grass. It serves to be an old-world reminder of classic architecture in the modern suburban community in which it is located. The craftsmanship is impeccable. There are archways and grand columns and spirals designs. The Manor House is all about the details.
ReplyDeleteMy father grew up on the shore of Two Inlets Lake in a small town in northern Minnesota. Together, my whole family frequents the lake with a reunion every year during the 4th of July week. A very vivid image I have from one of these weeks growing up is one where I was sitting by myself at the bonfire pit bordering the shore of the lake. The sun was just setting and everything seemed at peace in the world. The colors of the sky during the sunset were vibrant mixes of purples, yellows, pinks and oranges. The sun, itself, was perfect mirror in the lake on the horizon. I remember sitting there noticing for the first time how gigantic the pine trees that had been there longer than any of my family actually were. On one side of me was the bright stunning sunset and on the other was the immense dark forest of pine trees that seemed to go on forever. The mosquito-filled air did not seem as pestering as it normally did and the lakefront was surprisingly calm and appeared as smooth as glass. Everything was calm. Not even the reeds and weeds in the shallower parts of the lake were moving in the wind. The smell of campfire is constantly in the air it seems, but that evening it was especially noticeable. It was one of the few times I have ever felt content in the world. My grandfather who built the original house on the property had just passed away the year prior, and for the first time out of all of my visits to the lake, I finally realized why he had named the property there on the lake, “Heart’s Desire.”
ReplyDeleteBack home, in Athens, GA, there is a local coffee shop in 5 points called Jittery Joe’s. While much of the college population and tourists may hit up a Starbucks or one of the other cafes downtown, Native Athenians know to go to Jitt’s.
ReplyDeleteThe coffee at Jitt’s is the best in town. It is roasted in Athens and is incredibly fresh. Usually, just a simple medium roast satisfies me, but sometimes, if I really feel like splurging, I spring for the decadent turtle mocha. The people who work at Jitt’s are coffee-loving and fun, and I have gotten to know most of the regular staffers well.
Jitt’s is small; it’s one room, approximately matching the size of a formal living room. Each of the pieces of furniture is unique. Some of the tables are huge, big enough for a student or two to spread out books and study for hours. Some of the tables have surfaces no larger than dinner plates, lending themselves to intimate conversations. And in one corner of the room, there are two plush, comfortable armchairs which I love to curl up in with a book and a cup of Joe when it is raining outside. The lighting in Jitt’s is dim, but not dark. Lamps with green shades are strategically placed within the shop, so as to provide sufficient light to those who need it while also creating a calm, mellow atmosphere for those who don’t. While most people who frequent Jitt’s go there to study or to meet friends, the owner keeps a wide selection of books on the walls in case someone just feels like hanging out and reading.
When the weather is nice, I love to sit at one of the outside tables. These tables have no inherent appeal—they are concrete slabs bolted to the ground. However, what I love about sitting there is that inevitably, I will meet at least two or three people walking by that I know. We chat for a while and then return to what we were doing before.
I love Jitt’s because it’s home for me—it’s my own, personal space which ironically, I can share with the rest of Athens. Every time I walk in, I feel a sense of community and bliss.
While I live in a city at home, my family has a farm in a very rural area of Iowa. This farm is, and has always been, a very important place in my life for the past five years. Just outside of Maquoketa, IA, sits a pond, a river, a barn and 265 acres of pure freedom. Fresh air is somewhat of a delicacy to many city-dwellers, but it is very much a part of my daily life. The winding gravel road that leads to the front gate and cattle guard has been travelled so many times that the sound of rocks clanking against the track body, and the incessant rumble under tire has become almost more normal than the paved highway. When I first step out of the car, I feel the intensely warm sun beating down upon me and the cool breeze rushing to the rescue. The distinctive scent of two-stroke motorcycle fuel seems to linger in the air and the sounds of barking dogs and grazing cattle are a stark reminder that I have returned home.
ReplyDeleteBelow my house, there is a field. I’ve been able to see it ever since I can remember--peeking out from the dense forest in which my house is engulfed.
ReplyDeleteBack in the day, when life seemed simpler, my brother, who is four years older than me, would take me on adventures of our property. Our lot is not huge--probably only three acres at the most, but to a six year-old, it was like an entire world. A world filled with towering trees, thick underbrush, and wildlife. Whenever we went exploring we never followed a trail. If anything, it would be a thin line of mud where deer feet had crushed down the weeds. I doubt, at the time, that I ever truly knew where I was, but my brother never led me astray. Some of our favorite spots, to which we returned again and again, were the “Secret Swing” and the “Secret Stream.” Both were invisible from the outdoor areas normally trafficked by my family, so they were perfect escapes from our childhood troubles. I don’t remember how many times we traipsed through the wilderness, playing games of “lost hikers” or explorers, but what I do know, is that we stopped going. The two of us got older and life got busier, and for one reason or another, I, at least, ceased to acknowledge the magical setting in which I lived.
Then, last summer, I decided to take another adventure. In reality, I was planning a party and I wanted to know if our field was level enough to get a good game of ultimate frisbee going. Needless to say, I took a plunge into my past and opened my eyes to that which I had ignored for over ten years. What I saw, heard, and felt took my breath away.
I started with our swing. It was still there. The wooden seat was warped, the ropes looked less like woven fibers than moss-covered vines, and weeds four feet tall hindered my approach, but it was still there.
Next, I made my way down a grassy slope where the bright sunlight, scattered brokenly over the green, shone through the branches and maple leaves above me. It was not long before I heard the soft gurgling of shallow water moving over rocks. I peered of the edge of the slope and some twenty feet below me was our stream.
When I emerged from tree cover, I gazed in wonder at the massive golden field, no, meadow, that stretched out endlessly in front of me. Not that I could have cared at this point, but it was not level enough for frisbee, for the decline continued in humps almost like terraces until the grass disappeared beneath a wall of pines at the bottom of the hill.
So I could keep the sound of the water with me for as long as possible, I walked along the eastern perimeter in the shade. As I reached the lowest edge and turned left to continue my meandering, I found myself quietly singing songs from Disney’s “Pocahontas” film. As utterly cliche as that sounds, there are no other songs that could have fit the setting more perfectly.
Some half hour later, I had come full circle, but instead of going back up to the house, I sat down in the grass and gazed. Out at the plants and the trees and the distant, snaking rivers and the blue sky above my head. As a single tear slipped down my face, I realized I had never felt more at peace.
After the crazy rush of the school season was finished, after being sequestered inside each day from 8-4, the beginning of the summer finally arrived and, although the "back to life" feeling touched every aspect of my life, in no spot was it more real than in the gazebo of my grandparents' backyard.
ReplyDeleteAbout 50 yards from the backdoor, the brick of the porch continued onto a path that meandered to the left, past the birdhouse on the left and an apple tree which reached over the path to a white gazebo with a wooden table in the center. Whenever I found myself there, it would inevitabely be late-afternoon--the quitessential time of tea-time--and I would sit down behind the table on an immense padded swing. The sun sifted through the branches of an apple tree across the yard and would filter onto the table, mixing in with the floral table cloth. The smell of the honeysuckle growing on the lattice behind the swing wafted through to whoever happened to take a moment to enjoy the day.
"Think of a spectacular sunset; one setting over a jagged ridge of black mountains, with a blanket of clouds floating high above the distant peaks. At first the direct sun’s intense light is too much to look into, but as the orb sinks below the far cliffs, the light slowly eases. The golden aura of the aspens around you fades to dark shades of purple, the distant clouds are now a deep orange, variegated with pink and purple. A wind stirs the aspen leaves creating the sound of a rushing stream. The sun has fallen further now, painting the clouds a deep red, the far off mountains are rimmed with fire: the last vestiges of the life-giving sun retreating below the edge of the earth. Now in the shadow of the mountains, the hilly country before you is bathed in purple, a stark contrast to the now auburn clouds above. The beautiful sunset is soon over, but from the blue gray sky appears one by one, an almost infinite sea of stars, stretching out past the realms of our imagination."
ReplyDeleteI took this description from a bit of writing that I did for my FSEM. This scene that I have described here is a mental image that I have from one of many sunsets that I have seen from this hill at the outdoor education center where I attended as a kid, and now work.
Every Sunday night, we take all the kids up this hill, where, at the top, there is a large meadow, facing west. The land drops off towards South Park, giving us a spectacular view of the Tarryall mountains, the collegiate peaks, and our immediate surroundings. We sing songs, read quotes, and talk about our lives while watching the sun set. For the kids, we do it to instill a sense of wonder in them, trying to build in them a lasting love for the mystery of nature.
Personally, I have been up this hill probably around 40 times, and have seen as many sunsets from up there. I have a very strong connection with the place, which follows from my use of it. This last summer, my grandpa died unexpectedly, we had been given a projection that he would live until around christmas, and so at his birthday party, I chose to let my cousins spend most of the time with him, because I figured that I could spend more time with him after my job was over. I was wrong, and he died a week later.
After hearing the news, there was not a lot of time to be upset, I didn’t want to drag down the atmosphere around me, and so put his death out of my mind. Two days after I found out, we all went up this hill for our Sunday activity. I brought my phone because I knew that I would get service up there, and so could call home for the first time. I stayed long after everybody else had left, and as the stars were coming out, called my mom to talk to her about what had happened and would happen. I stayed up there for about an hour and a half, just me and the stars, figuring out what had happened and what it meant to me.
Ever since then, I have felt a stronger connection with the place, and even now, think of it as a place where I can find comfort.