Post 4

Julia
Mr. H Salsich
8 November 2009

Every journey has a noble beginning and a rewarding end, but there is always something in between. When I think of all of my childhood memories, the location that I see the most is High Lonesome Farm. I see the first times I craned my neck to look up at the horses, who glanced back with pure affection in their eyes. This was the beginning. I see the days I walked the wise, old paths with dogs, cats, horses, and people, all best of friends connected in a way that words could never explain. It seemed as though we did not choose the path ourselves, but the path chose our direction, often leading us to marvelous adventures. These adventures were a middle point, no experience could compare to the pure joy of the days at the barn.

Then came the falling action to awaken me from this fairy tale. The death of John, who owned the barn with his wife Karen, should not have been a surprise to me. His awful case of Pneumonia had weakened him, and old age creeped upon him. His fatal condition had occored to me, but did not seem realistic. The day he died, a part of me died too.

So, on a rainy Tuesday, I hauled open the huge barn doors, and stepped inside the old, old barn. That was the last time I ever did. Somehow, John's death had forced Karen to give up the farm; the dusty riding ring, the ranch house, the barns, and even the wooded trails. Everything flew by, the agreement the barn would be kept as a historical monument, then the violation of the agreement. I once saw the immense dumpsters full of the splintering yellow wood and debris that were once a loved place, with a newly paved parking lot and heavy construction equiptment. I never dared muster the bravery to glimpse back, closing my eyes as tightly as possible when in the area.

I have always thought of that rainy Tuesday as the end of the story. Now, I do not. No matter what anyone takes from the land where the barn stood proudly, the soil that was once pawed by horses, scratched by chickens, trampled by sheep, and knelt in by the little girl who explored every inch of the ancient land will still sit. In many years, I may find enough courage to revisit the soil. Maybe even the woods are still there. I may take a right at the fork in the trail past the farthest pasture and kneel by the old oak tree to check for the red mushrooms, which every five-year-old girl knows are planted by mushroom fairies.

The one place I would want to come back to would be the place where I walk my dog, Maisy, every day. The Pawcatuck River flows very close to where I live, and there is a path close to my house that leads down to the banks of the river. I take Maisy down to the water and we sit on the rocks together and watch the families of geese paddle past. It is a very peaceful place, and I know that I will always want to come back to visit my little private beach.

The one place I would want to visit many years in the future is where the place I live now. I would come back to Weekapaug because it contains many memories of my life and years of my family history. As well as that there are some great beaches here that I would come to anytime of year.

One place I would have to revisit is the Stonington Borough (right at the Pavilion on the water). In the summer my friends and I would jump off the docks and swim to the boats. We would have a blast running from the end of a long dock that is near by as fast as we can and ten jump in the water. Making obstacles, such as putting benches in right at the end of the dock so we would have to jump over them, swimming out to the boats and hanging on them, and just pushing each other into the water. I know that if I visited the pavilion a ton of memories would just rush into my head as fast as the cold water would rush into my veins as I hit the water.

One special place I would love to return to when I am older is my New Hampshire house. This house holds so many memories. Memories that can never be replaced. Now that the house is old and rotting we have to sell it. Although recently we haven't made many visits to out New Hampshire house I am going to miss it incredebly. When I am older I hope that my brothers and I have the chance to buy back the house.

When I think of a special place I had, I think of the small cave that is by the cove at my house. I always thought that is was so cool that nature had made itself a fort. My friends and I would go down and play by the cove, and have so much fun. I have not been down to the fort in awhile but I will never forget how awesome it was.

TOPIC #3

In the essays by by John Jay Chapman and James Baldwin, both writers tell of things they wish had never happened -- the lynching in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, and Baldwin's estrangement from his father. For your third class forum entry, tell us about something in your personal life that you wish had never happened.

Responses are below.