CAROLINA OUTSIDE WRITING CONTEST AWARD WINNING ESSAY
With my eyes closed I see the lake as I last knew it: It�s not so big, only a couple of miles long and about a quarter mile, or so, across. The homes at the lake�s edge were well protected by thick hardwood forests and their long driveways hid them from the road. I still recall the Y -camp where, when little, I spent a week of fun and adventure with all my friends in the woods and on that lake in the warm summer sun. We learned various skills and practiced many of them �til they became second nature: The abilities of fishing, then preparing and cooking the day�s catch. First aid and basic medical skills. As well as treating and bandaging wounds, etc. (Because you never know when such abilities may come in handy.) Setting your own tent, the proper fire site(s) and other safety considerations with the open flames. Even swimming different strokes and great distances. Amongst many others...
As I feel this breeze on my face I think of those adventures my friends and I shared while camping along the lake shore or deeper in the forest. When young we always set our camp site and placed our tents just beyond the glow of the lights of our homes to insure our privacy and increase the appearance of the rugged wilderness. However, as we grew older our camping experiences took us further and further from home. We sat beside the fire �til late in the night, as we stared at the stars above and shared memories of our previous camping adventures or, always popular-- We�d recollect those camp fire tales we learned at Y camp as boys!
We�d tell and retell the stories, spinning the yarns of those fabled creatures of the forest, then the folklore and myths of the wilderness which we were surrounded by. �Til finally, as the fire burnt down and the glow of our lanterns softened, we always concluded each night with those popular legends of the mystical monsters of our lake and the adjoining one. Each of us would "Ooh!" and "Ahh!" as the details of the wondrous tales were rehashed and clarified until tingling shivers ran up and down our spines. Then teenagers but gradually becoming adults we aren�t frightened by those stories of folklore from our youths but there always seems to be something within us that wants them to be true.
Oh, if I could only go back there. To that place I�d rather be. That place where I learned so much of myself and Mother Nature. Even learning something new about my trusted friends... Hopefully I can get there soon. But now: My thoughts are shaken and my eyes open in surprise. "Jeff! Come on," Brad calls to me. "Could ya grab that tent?" Next, "Bring your bedroll and let�s go!" Jon yells from the SUV parked in my driveway. "We gotta get going, if ya wanna beat traffic," he advises me, while hopping into the truck loaded with all the gear for our yearly camping excursion.
Lessons of Youth and Nature~
By Jeffrey Alan Boop
"With my first Zebco rod and reel, a stringer and a small can of worms from the brush pile, I spent many days traipsing this shoreline to catch any fish that would bite! Most often by noon, I had a stringer of sizable blue gill, maybe a bass (when lucky), or perhaps a perch or two. Only on occasion would I take the effort to clean and filet them... most often, I simply let them swim free. Realizing that-- "I'll probably see ya tomorrow!" I'd smile and wave as they swam away.
Soon after came my first bow and arrow! Just as I had wandered the lakes edge: I now spent hours hunting!"
I notice the temperature first as I step from the back door. Although, the cool air is not quite "fresh"... Several breaths are necessary before my lungs are even filled with enough oxygen! After closing the heavy glass door behind myself, I move toward the center of the patio... It's not large. Somewhat small, actually, but still comfortable. I hear the usual road noise before I even notice the cries and laughter of children playing rambunctiously a couple doors down.
Our yard is only 1500 square feet, a little more than a quarter -acre. Small, although still comfortable in these developing suburbs. My home as well as the homes beside and behind me stand high and flat, as if walls. Or perhaps, the barred doors of a jail cell!
Our plot, just as our neighbor's, is scattered with various small trees and bushes. Flowers line the gardens along the back of each home. Although, unlike the others, at least the outside of our yard is lined with evergreens. They were planted as we moved in. Trimmed properly each year as well. We're "filling" them in. I'm certain they'll look very nice... in another twelve years! Yet, the walls of my cell still loom higher than these trees while the muffled sounds of traffic continue to dwell beneath.
As I step from the patio into the lawn, the lush, green grass swells about my loafers. I notice its pleasant texture as I walk into the yard, before the breeze catches my hair. This small gust tousles my hair loosely about my face as I notice the deep rumble of a motor crossing a nearby intersection.
To clear those free strands from my eyes, I turn westward and raise my chin. I instantly feel how the life -giving rays of sunlight fill me with energy! Their touch both warms and soothes me. My eyes gradually close while I face skyward, savoring this favorable caress. The sound of road traffic grows still softer as I'm tranquilized by the amiable rays. My ears are soon filled with the delicate songs whispered by this breeze too, as its warmth lifts me higher. It carries me away. The wind has lifted me higher than those homes about me, then away. Far, far away. Not only by miles but through time itself! One after another, I see each of the houses in which I've lived. Some newer, others older. Some smaller, or larger. Etc.... Even the few that were more residential than the previous or the next.
Yet, it isn't until I hear this breeze in the branches before I feel them stroke my pant legs and brush the sleeves of my jacket. My eyes open in mild surprise as the wind sets me softly onto a jumbled mess of leaves which cover this hillside. The hill is filled with numerous tall oaks, maple, some elm, and a few evergreen. It is scattered with many underlying bushes, too. The fertile soil beneath is well blanketed by dried leaves. The leaves, although still loose-- they appear to be stitched together by the occasional sprigs of tall, rough grass. The hill rises high to my right, to the north. The trees become thinner though as I look southward across the lake.
A smug grin spreads my lips and I nod. I breath easier and deeper than ever. The fresh oxygen fills my lungs completely too... Before serenity overcomes me as I realize that the cool breeze has carried me home! Not to the city I was born. Nor to any of the towns which I�ve lived before... The power of the flowing breeze has brought me back to the lake on which I grew up!
Tucked in the hardwoods about the lake, our homes rose. Our driveways were many feet through the forest to the hill overlooking the lakes edge. From the top, we had a wonderful perspective over much of the water!
Moving here from a suburb of Philadelphia, PA, at 8 years of age-- I was awed by these thick forests and the ample farmland beyond... Especially by this beautiful lake right behind us!
I ran and played vigorously all about this hillside and many others like it overlooking the water! I found trails to wander in the forests and deer paths to follow. Or, I began carving my own routes... and adventures! I roamed for hours through these woods. One path would lead me to another, which guided me to the next, and so on...
I might step around a curve in the path to see a doe and/ or fawn on the far side of a hill! They would turn to look up in surprise. Not necessarily in fear, merely as if they were disturbed... Disturbed that I was in their domain, uninvited! They'd watch me for several moments before dipping their heads back to the stream for another sip or to the grass for one more nibble.
Or perhaps, on other occasions, I might come from the bushes nearly on top of the unsuspecting animals! They'd jump to their feet in shock as I' d stop dead in my tracks! We'd stare, nearly eye to eye (neither of us able to breath!) before they' d race on with bounding strides! I only stood there, frozen in shock! Most often... I think I was more frightened than they were!
Later, with a Daisy bb gun in hand, I roamed these woods merely taking pot shots at any unsuspecting squirrel or daring chipmunk! Maybe a foolhardy bird or two, as well! Most often though, my only targets were those which I'd scratched on the bark of an old tree. Practicing my marksmanship: I would step back about ten feet before taking a couple of shots. Then an additional ten feet and a few more bb's were fired off. Another ten feet, a few more shots, and so on...
As I grew up, the sports I followed in these woods, the fields beyond, and on this lake varied with my age: With a pair of cross country skis on my feet by age eleven, I wandered farther and farther from home. I crossed those fields and traveled miles into new and "unexplored" forests! Sometimes, I'd follow the paths left by the deer for hours. Perhaps I' d ski along a tree line, an old fence, maybe an interesting hillside or, I'd just go in whichever direction my skis might be turned! I often got myself lost for hours! Lost in the respect that-- I never knew where I was or where it was that I might end up... Still realizing, of course, that if I went straight in any one direction long enough, I' d eventually come to a cross road which would lead me home again. Hour upon hour I roamed through these snow covered forests! I' d side -step up and down the steepest hillsides or remove my skis to jump one of those old fences... but onward I went! Following the paths which I'd cut the days or weeks previous, I' d go on and on. Slowly, I learned the nicest paths to travel and the best points to rest.
On one adventure, or endeavor, I was fortunate enough to locate an old, dried lake! After investigation I learned that this small, man -made lake was left dry after its dam broke. (Apparently in 1972, when that gate went, its flow flooded all of the lake on which I lived!) The property, owned by an older gentleman, was never developed and his lake never refilled. Fortunate for me! It was beautiful.
His old truck path took me to a small clearing which overlooked the entire bed. (Approx. 3 to 4 hundred feet in length.) I' d made that, one of, my regular resting grounds. Only a mile or two from home, it was a perfect point to stop and catch my breath. I would take the time to relieve my breathing, stretch my legs, or simply bask in the beauty of Mother Nature. With skis off, I could step about the trees to possibly see a different path which I might follow this day or the next. I would stretch my legs against a tree and... if I waited long enough it was more than likely that I' d spot a deer of two! It became regular that a small group would slowly ramble down the hill across the lake -bed from me. At it's edge they'd pause. Cautiously, they'd look one direction then slowly turn to stare the other way. After waiting a moment or two the deer would carefully stroll to the lake bed's center. Rather leisurely, one then the next, would dip their heads to the small creek which still ran there.
I'd quietly watch as the deer moved naturally and made those more regular motions. I simply kept my peace. I'd leave them alone, if they'd leave me alone... After all, it was more their world out there, than it was mine.
Not nearly as gentle or benign as the sport of cross country skiing though... My first motor bike came when I was about thirteen, or so. An old Suzuki which I followed my friends around on. Each of them were years older and much more experienced than I, so I grudgingly accepted to "eat their dirt"... Still, we had lots of fun! Those paths and trails, which I had learned years earlier with bow and arrow or bb gun in hand (excluding that old lake bed!) were now the racing grounds for a bunch of crazed teenagers! Within a year or so I was onto another machine... a little bit larger and made by Kawasaki.
We marked trails and formed tracks in the woods or across the fields. Some paths were simply playful or leisurely to travel. Although others were set aside for serious biking! Around and around we raced!
In and out of the trees. Up and down the hills. And, bumps and bruises notwithstanding, we kept going til the tanks were dry!
Around and around these trees, forests, fields, and this lake-- I grew up surrounded by such freedom and beauty!
Snowmobiles were next on the adventure list: My first, an Evinrude. Bought the old girl cheap and fixed her up into a real beauty queen! Rode her to pieces though... Replaced her a year or so later with one, powerful John Deere -Liquifire!
Intermixed with those land endeavors though, were many escapades on the lake, both summer and winter! Ice fishing, skating, hockey, or... that wide expanse of the frozen lake made a nice running sight to check the top speed of our sleds!
Come summer temperatures our boats were set to dock. Water skiing, sail boats, sail boards, and jet skis were always on the fun, to -do, list! Or even, when time, finances, or friends were on short supply... we called it "disking":
After cutting a three and a half to four foot diameter circle out of moderately thick piece of plywood... you have enough surface area to bring it to plain even with a small fishing boat! Twelve to fifteen horses was all it took for us! And, because you're not traveling at a significant rate of speed, a third person or viewer isn't all that necessary. An added bonus as well, with our little boats, a six gallon tank seemed to last forever!
As I step through these leaves and look into the trees or when I turn to stare across this lake, those memories come to me so clearly! Between these branches I touch-- I can still feel that rod in my hand, or that bow, even that bb gun. When I turn my mind in one direction, the leafs become thinner and I see those skis on my feet gliding across the snow. Looking in the other direction, I can even hear that little motor bike whining out its shrill song! Or, listen to the deeper tone of those powerful snowmobiles and our ski boats when I peer across the water.
I see all of the adventures of my youth and so many of the lessons which I learned along the way: The basic skills talent abilities of (simple) fishing and the patience often required. Then the ability to clean, prepare, and cook the day's catch. Rules of marksmanship and general gun safety as well as a particular respect for the creatures of the forest. The skills of cross country skiing and the endurance often required. The talents of motor bike riding. Then the repair, service, and support of those machines. The general maintenance of 2 cycle, then 4 cycle, engines. Boaters safety. Water-skiing and sailing skills, etc. Including the sometimes grueling abilities and/ or strengths which those sports require! But above all else-- An utmost appreciation of the beauty and innocence of Mother Nature. That beauty as seen in the water, on the water, deep in the forests or simply across the fields.
Until: As the cool wind tousles my hair I turn into the sun. I take a deep and easy breath. It fills my lungs. I even notice the faint, nearly sweetened, scent of leaves burning in the distance before this breeze lifts me from the ground. The breeze carries me away once more. This trip however, is not nearly as long...
Along with this wind swept travel though, I see all of the developing communities which I've loathed. I see the bland suburbs that sadden me, and these ugly strip malls which infuriate me! Our societies have overburdened the land. We are removing its beauty and dismissing all we can learn from it.
I also fall more suddenly from this breeze as a young mother shouts to her children rough -housing in the yard.
Opening my eyes, the other houses have moved a step closer. I seat myself as my breaths become short and shallow once more. And... that particular scent of burning leaves has quickly been replaced by the harsh odor of motor exhaust. I next hear the usual road noise beyond... just as this cage door closes!
"Damn..." I say softly to myself, slowly shaking my head. "Still stuck in suburbia!"
By~ Jeffrey Alan Boop
@ December 10th, 2003
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~ Jeffrey Allen
Boop
was born in Chicago, Ill, began his public schooling in Philadelphia, PA.,
then moved to W Michigan when he was eight, where he was fortunate enough to
have lived the largest portion of his life. After graduating high- school,
he moved again with his parents. Unfortunately his education was brought to an abrupt halt due to complications of injuries he suffered as a youth. Now, he allows his mind to rise and his spirits soar on the keyboard before himself.
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