Behind on My Writing Class Homework

I’m back in school taking my General Education classes and the only writing class that didn’t conflict with my boat classes was online. I am finding the discipline of keeping up with an online class to be harder than I had hoped.

So… I only JUST NOW posted my rough draft for my essay that was due YESTERDAY.  I decided to share it here with you guys as well. Any feedback is welcomed and appreciated.



.     I am back in the place I began, a place I forgot in the midst of living a regular day to day existence in the heat of an Arizona desert city.  It is an odd sensation to almost remember – to only have a hint of the things that used to be concrete. The clues are all around me. The trees and the fern plants carpeting the woods are familiar.  There is a specific blend of the smells of moss and pine that only seems to be here in this area of the country.  No other is quite the same.  I know this place.  I’ve been here before.

.     Life began for me in Grants Pass and continued at the hippy commune near Wolf Creek that my parents called home.  My subconscious is filled with the dreams of thick green close around and the sound far off in the distance of logging commerce.  I am made of these things. My soul is the subtle sun through nearly constant clouds. These clouds are blankets and comfort and sameness in the face of counter culture. My hands are small ponds feeding the creeks and streams of my fingers. My arms are the rivers, shoulders are hills and mountains.  My breath is Northwestern wind and rain.

.   I only know what I was told about the commune where I spent my infancy. Heard the names for years of my “uncles” and “aunts” and all my mother’s “cousins” that were present at my birth. I am only distant acquaintances with the man who drove my mother to the hospital well before the times now of cell phone access anywhere/anytime to reach a father-to-be.  These are things that if my mind holds them, they are locked in a deep sub-basement of my brain and I can’t reach them now. Even so, I know that the time of many together as one did exist.

.     Then after a time it was just us. It was just this little family of three in the large expanse of wilderness only somewhat interrupted by a small town.  We were fed by our chickens and pigs and kept company by cats and dogs.  The truth of life was simple. Everything belonged. There was no one to tell us anything different or to say we were wrong to even exist. This is where the first perfection of my life stayed. The moments here when life was innocence shaped me into the being the world knows today.  Over the decades the thoughts fade, but the idea stays tucked in the corners.  This miniature farm is where my consciousness begins.  I carry disjointed memory of parts and pieces of the place, and today it seems important to try to remember.

.     I was small.  That is what I remember most – the smallness.  I saw the bottom of tables and chairs and fit in sinks and baskets.  My stature is what made the world so big and wonderful.  Every space was a castle and a fortress.  I walked at the knees of my mother feeding the ducks and chickens who are nearly as big as I was, I being so tiny.  My mother was the biggest part of my world. That woman was who was always there all day, every day.  She was the one who woke me for breakfast in the morning and who tucked me in at night.  Mother let me help pick the peas from the garden.  I would eat them right away.  One day my mother even made a magical wall.

.     I know that the days were mostly gray. I guess that is why the sun seems to shine so brightly in my thoughts of that time.  One of the sunny days when the grass was green, my mother was out hanging the laundry when I came to her with the bubble mix that someone had gifted me with (most likely sent by mail from my grandmother).  She took me to the clearing in between the house and the drive and showed me how to blow bubbles with the wand.  My toddler breath couldn’t quite get the hang of it so she kept showing me. The wind was blowing the bubbles behind us and when I turned around the air was filled with a thick wall of shining iridescence undulating in the soft late spring breeze.  The sunlight danced off the thick flock of spheres like someone had thrown a handful of crystals or diamonds into the air.

.     I remember the laughter and the amazement in that instant.  It was the main ingredient of my small reality.  I’m trying to find a way to explain what this joy was. What words other than safety and contentment could describe it?  That was my world.  A place devoid of sadness and filled instead only with curiosity and discovery.  Perhaps it is sentimental rose-colored glasses of recollection that has me see that time so positively, but I would like to think that my perception is accurate.  I like to think that childhood really can be a sweet and unhindered place.  I’m glad that I have that for my beginning.