Open Fields
When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet, there is still one place I can count on to bring me back to that state of mind, my grandparents' house.
There is something to be said about lying on one's back in an open field hour upon hour, staring up at a vast, blue sky. With no one around and not another house for miles, it is a great place to be alone, to listen. In the country, I can pick up all the wonderful sounds of nature commonly lost amidst the bustle of the city. The wind speaks as it blows across the land, whistling through the trees. Crickets rub their wings in song for anyone to hear. An unseen friend scurries beneath the fallen leaves, as an owl above questions who is there.
Heading back towards the house, I soak in all the beauty of the surrounding landscape. There are towering groves of trees, creek beds lined with wildflowers emitting delightful fragrances, and sunsets that astound. Still, I walk cautiously. For all of nature’s beauty, trouble can still take form out here, whether it is running into a slithering snake or stumbling across a prickly thistle. Looking further into the distance, I spot the horses gracefully galloping along, their sleek manes dancing across their powerful bodies. As I pass the pond, I skip a stone across the water and I think about all the "real" stories the pond could tell of the ones that got away.
Along side its banks I hear a familiar sound, as the bullfrogs' bellows lead the way for nightfall. The night will bring the cool country air, and with it the thick aroma of the wood-burning stoves. On some evenings, if I am lucky enough, some warm apple-butter jam may even be waiting for me back at the house.
Now that I am older, I look for changes. I have grown to expect them. My grandparents will soon be gone, but the memories of the land they live on and I grew up on will always be with me.
The speaker in “Five A.M.” looks to nature as a source of beauty during his early morning walk, and after clearing his mind and processing his thoughts along the journey, he begins his return home feeling as though he is ready to begin the “uphill curve” (ln. 14) in order to process his daily struggles. However, while the speaker in “Five Flights Up,” shares the same struggles as her fellow speaker, she does little to involve herself in nature other than to observe it from the safety of her place of residence. Although suffering as a result of her struggles, the speaker does little to want to help herself out of her situation, instead choosing to believe that she cannot hardly bare recovery or to lift the shroud of night that has fallen over her. Both speakers face a journey ahead of them whether it be “the uphill curve where a thicket spills with birds every spring” (ln. 14-15) or the five flights of stares ahead of them, yet it is in their attitude where these two individuals differ. Through the appreciation of his early morning surroundings, the speaker in “Five A.M.” finds solitude and self-fulfillment, whereas the speaker in “Five Flights Up” has still failed to realize her own role in that of her recovery from this dark time in her life and how nature can serve a beneficial role in relieving her of her
Looking at our society and my busy life filled with tests, deadlines, work schedules, and demands for my time coming at me from every direction, I almost with I could go back to that place where time and concerns for the outside world were of little or no consequence. How I love to remember, to relive the memories of my adolescence. My world was perfect then.
Thomas stared down at his stomach. It roared as loud as a lion, after three days of unsuccessful hunting. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the smell of eggs and bacon drifting up to his nostrils from the kitchen, or the thought of the mouthwatering caramel apples and hot apple dumplings that would be sold at the festival. Regardless, he was hungry, and knew that he would be the first one at the kitchen table when h...
“My nearest neighbor is a mile distant, and no house is visible from any place but the hill-tops within half a mile of my own. I have my horizon bounded by woods all to myself; a distant view of the railroad where it touches the pond on the one hand, and of the fence which skirts the woodland road on the other. But for the most part it is as solitary where I live as on the prairies. It is as much Asia or Africa as New England.”
At other times, nature can be a source of solace for those who have suffered. Following the death of Gladys and Kate, Grainier looks to the horizon to seek comfort from his crushing loss. “All his life Robert Grainier would remember vividly the burned valley at sundown, the most dream-like business he’d ever witnessed waking – the brilliant pastels of the last light overhead, some clouds...
When I found myself on my Feet, I looked about me, and must confess I never beheld a more entertaining Prospect. The Country round appeared like a continued Garden, and the inclosed Fields, which were generally Forty Foot square, resembled so many Beds of flowers. These Fields were intermingled with Woods of half a Stang, and the tallest Trees, as I could judge, appeared to be seven Foot high. I viewed the Town on my left Hand, which looked like the painted Scene of a City in a Theatre.
In his book, Nature, Ralph Waldo Emerson writes, “In the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages” (1). Emerson was an avid nature lover who lived, for most of his life, in beautiful wilderness. Many of Emerson’s works vividly document his magnificent, breath-taking experiences. This book leaves the reader desiring the feel of nature that Emerson felt and yearning for nature’s peaceful effect on one’s life.
“I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, penetrating the dark, soft light illuminates the mist rising up from the ground, forming an eerie, almost surreal landscape. The ground sparkles, wet with dew, and while walking from the truck to the barn, my riding boots soak it in. The crickets still chirp, only slower now. They know that daytime fast approaches. Sounds, the soft rustling of hooves, a snort, and from far down the aisle a sharp whinny that begs for breakfast, inform me that the crickets are not the only ones preparing for the day.
Being invited to a friend’s house the other day, I began to get excited about the journey through the woods to their cabin. The cabin, nestled back in the woods overlooking a pond, is something that you would dream about. There is a winding trail that takes you back in the woods were their cabin sits. The cabin sits on top of a mountain raised up above everything, as if it was sitting on the clouds.
A red brick house on top of a small hill is where my memories reside. A slightly curved gravel road led to the front of the house. Eight or nine rose brown apple trees randomly covered the plush green lawn. Down the small hill, muddy brown water trickled down a ditch with cattails surrounding it. One enormous willow tree sat in the background, to the right of the house, to complete the picture. It almost seemed like a picture from a postcard. But when you're a kid none of this really matters. All that really matters to you is to have as much fun as possible. My memories don't come just from this beautiful picture but from the little things making it.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green it is always so green here at my house. Here where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks. I know in my soul why I choose to be here every day. Pocketed in all the nooks and crannies of these valleys and hills are stately homes, rich with architecture resplendent. Diversity is the palate here; ...
When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet there is still one place I can count on to take me back to that state of mind, my grandparent’s house and the land I love so much.