Writing prompt
Attempting to break a creative drought by writing to a prompt -
Describe your yard as a child - did you help with the yard work? What are your memories?
Typical of me, I take the topic and go off at an angle (behind the cut, if I remember how)
Memories of my yard as a child begin where the lawn meets the untamed portion of the property. In the front yard, there was a strip of untamed "woods" between the lawn and the street. It was no more than nine feet wide and a jumble of trees and rocks, with only a little brush, but it was fertile ground for my imagination. What happened there was 'real', as real as anything I read in a book. I stayed away from the front yard for a while when I was convinced that there was a snake lounging across one of the rocks. It turned out to be the gray root of a birch tree, but looking out the front window of my parents' house, it could have been a snake. Really! Not far from that offending root was a perfect cluster of twisted birch trees. One seemed to have curves and arm rests, asking to be used as a throne. One twisted into a chaise where a queen might recline the day away. The third tree in the cluster was arched and thick, so I could sit astride it as a horse. These trees existed within a 'room' which had a grand staircase of three rocks curving down into another part of the 'woods' as well as a doorway between two trees. Passing down into this lower area, you could be sent to work in the 'mines'. A pile of rocks had been dumped there from the contstruction of the house, and they were rich with mica. I could spend my day peeling off shiny, translucent layers, amassing my fortune, and then return to the throne room to rest.
The 'woods' behind the house were divided into different zones as well. An old rock wall, more a pile than a wall, ran down the center. To the right side, the ground was almost always muddy. I carefully picked my way to the rock in the center of it with a long stick in my hand. From there, I could 'fish' for leaves. Sometimes I would find the right shape of branches, turning them into tiny primitive shelters. Laying the stick walls along their length could take a day, and then another day or two of playing inside them, eventually turning into kindling wood for the stove. There was a board on the ground, beneath which my father buried a rabbit we found dead in the yard. I always tread carefully around there, never daring to look beneath. The large rocks each had their own personality and left a permanent mark on me - there is a dent in my shin from when my younger brother chased me into the woods and I ran into one of them. I think it was the 'baby bear' rock.
The landscape of my parents' yard has changed in the past 30 years. My royal trees are gone, though the snake remains. They added fill to the back yard, making their grassy area more level and a dangerous descent into my old paths in the woods. I'm not sure my children even explore the 'woods' when they visit. If only they knew the treasures that they held...
Describe your yard as a child - did you help with the yard work? What are your memories?
Typical of me, I take the topic and go off at an angle (behind the cut, if I remember how)
Memories of my yard as a child begin where the lawn meets the untamed portion of the property. In the front yard, there was a strip of untamed "woods" between the lawn and the street. It was no more than nine feet wide and a jumble of trees and rocks, with only a little brush, but it was fertile ground for my imagination. What happened there was 'real', as real as anything I read in a book. I stayed away from the front yard for a while when I was convinced that there was a snake lounging across one of the rocks. It turned out to be the gray root of a birch tree, but looking out the front window of my parents' house, it could have been a snake. Really! Not far from that offending root was a perfect cluster of twisted birch trees. One seemed to have curves and arm rests, asking to be used as a throne. One twisted into a chaise where a queen might recline the day away. The third tree in the cluster was arched and thick, so I could sit astride it as a horse. These trees existed within a 'room' which had a grand staircase of three rocks curving down into another part of the 'woods' as well as a doorway between two trees. Passing down into this lower area, you could be sent to work in the 'mines'. A pile of rocks had been dumped there from the contstruction of the house, and they were rich with mica. I could spend my day peeling off shiny, translucent layers, amassing my fortune, and then return to the throne room to rest.
The 'woods' behind the house were divided into different zones as well. An old rock wall, more a pile than a wall, ran down the center. To the right side, the ground was almost always muddy. I carefully picked my way to the rock in the center of it with a long stick in my hand. From there, I could 'fish' for leaves. Sometimes I would find the right shape of branches, turning them into tiny primitive shelters. Laying the stick walls along their length could take a day, and then another day or two of playing inside them, eventually turning into kindling wood for the stove. There was a board on the ground, beneath which my father buried a rabbit we found dead in the yard. I always tread carefully around there, never daring to look beneath. The large rocks each had their own personality and left a permanent mark on me - there is a dent in my shin from when my younger brother chased me into the woods and I ran into one of them. I think it was the 'baby bear' rock.
The landscape of my parents' yard has changed in the past 30 years. My royal trees are gone, though the snake remains. They added fill to the back yard, making their grassy area more level and a dangerous descent into my old paths in the woods. I'm not sure my children even explore the 'woods' when they visit. If only they knew the treasures that they held...