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Write with Me; Assignment Two

Life on the farm has virtually come to a standstill with the bitter cold temperatures (30 below this morning without the windchill) but we are all well, dogs, horses, Mountain Man.

I’ve been enjoying my short story class. The professor is great as well as the participants. We have a group that spans various ages, interests, careers and all of it makes for an interesting time. I’m learning both from the class, the assigned readings and the practice of writing. I urge those of you who have an interest in online education to check out Stanford University’s Online Writer’s Studio.

Because you are such a talented group (and also at Cindy’s request), I decided to go ahead and post my next assignment and my submission. I’d love it if you would also share your writings, either by posting them in the comments section or emailing them to me at RedPineMountain at Gmail dot.com. If you email them to me, I’ll post them to the blog.

The task is to write a one page essay on a place you know very well. I chose to write about the way home but others in the class took different approaches so there is no right or wrong way of doing this. My biggest challenge was to keep it to one page. I had to widen margins but I did it.

My Way Home

At the end of a small town is a hidden turn; off to the right tucked into a bend in the road. Take that turn and leave the pavement for a gravel road. On either side of the road are heavy groves of trees leaning over so far they make a canopy of darkness as the hill climbs. There’s a big pothole there too and no way to avoid it on this small, one lane road.

After another 200 feet, the road levels off. On the right, is an old farmhouse in disrepair. There’s a driveway curving past the dilapidated house and a big barn in even worse shape.

Past the farmhouse, fields stretch unbroken on either side. Turkeys run across the road as do deer and the occasional escaped cow. Horseback riders share this narrow road with cars. There’s no way to proceed quickly. After another half mile, on the right, is a large pond. Trees of all hues hang over the pond and their colors are reflected in the steely water.

Travel another mile and there is a small rise. A valley opens up below with fields as far as the eye can see. On the right hand side is an old farmhouse lovingly repaired and a huge red barn that bears a proud sign of 1810. Near the house are thick apple orchards.

Another 50 feet, off to the right is an old cemetery. The graves are no longer upright but are bent by the winds that have battered them throughout the century. Flowers rest on some of the graves.

Travel another 20 feet and there is an old school house, still standing, just a tiny wooden building. There’s a steep hill, straight down. Thick trees on either side turn the road dark.

Now, four dirt roads meet. Straight ahead is another steep hill with trees once again touching over the road.

At the top of the hill, there are more fields below on either side of the road; hay fields actually.

There’s a brook here too winding across the road. The only way across is over an old rickety bridge that looks as though it might not hold the weight of a car.

Once over the bridge, the road splits in two directions; one way heads straight into more forests and one climbs the side of an equally forested mountain.

Head up the mountain for another mile through thick trees. There’s more deer and tracks of a moose crossing the small dirt road to get to the stream on the right hand side.

A barn emerges from the trees; an old barn, but still standing. Just a quarter of a mile now and there is a driveway to your right. And what about straight ahead? There is no straight ahead. The road has ended at the base of the mountain I call home.