Every autumn we revel in the beauty
of the fall colors. The mixture of candy apple reds, eggplant purples, oranges
varying from burnt to blooming, and vibrant yellows are a result of chemical
processes that take place in a tree as the seasons change from summer to
winter. Powerful green chlorophyll’s are hard at work developing themselves in
the tree’s leaves during spring and summer months producing as much food as
possible with the sunlight they have, but when fall and winter come they quit
due to the air’s temperature shift. With a job well done by the chlorophyll,
the leaves serve no purpose for the trees anymore and are shed from their
place, blanketing our fading lawns with a crunchy, crispy, and colorful
topping.
My mom, a born-nature lover, is a
huge fan of the beautiful autumn season. It was obvious by the décor she
littered around our house during these months as I grew up. You could find fake
leafy arrangements, pumpkin sculptures made of Styrofoam, and dancing Halloween
figurines in every corner of our home. I can still hear her shrieks of
excitement when the leaves of our big brown oak which covered our whole front
yard in a shadow, hinted any sign of color-change. As soon as the giant oak
showered enough leaves, she was the first outside with a rake scraping them
into massive a pile in the center of our yard. Knowing this only meant one
thing; my sisters and I suited up for an evening of fun.
“KOW-A-BUNGAHHHH” We shrieked with
excitement as we leapt off our front steps into the huge pile of nature. We
rifled through the pile, grabbing massive clumps, sending them through the air
at one another. We dove, jumped, slid, and hurdled through it until all the
leaves took their places, back to being scattered in every corner of our yard.
My mom never once complained or scolded us for doing so. In fact, every time
she would re-rake them into a huge pile knowing it would serve as our
playground for the following day. She watched us play from the porch with a
smile.
I’ve asked her since then why she
never made us rake the yard ourselves, as I would have been annoyed if I were
her. She always smiles back at me with the same smile she wore as she watched
as play and responds with some quirky comment about the beauty of nature.
Ohio University is a school known for its
beauty. Our rolling hills, brick roads, and luscious state parks were and an
important part of why I became a student here, and I have often find myself
shrieking with excitement at the beautiful sites I’ve found on our campus. As I
dig out my scarves, sweaters, and leathery boots my anxiousness for fall beauty
is unbearable. I find myself craving a giant leaf pile to hide from my midterm
exams in, and I find that there is only one person I can blame my love for this
nature on.
(As I read through Annie Dillard's Essay,
Seeing, I picked up on her ability to provide observation into her essay. She
describes her "sights" in nature, and has a slight scientific like
"rant" tone in her voice. I tried to capture these elements through
my piece.)
You know, I like some of the stuff you're doing with sound--alliteration at the end of the first paragraph. And I like how your mother comes into this--not a black hole, your mom! I see some of the Dillard exuberance.
ReplyDeleteIt seems like this essay could gain if you switch the happiness-sadness recipe a little. Right now, this is all joy, all fun. But autumn is a time of transformation, a precursor to winter. April is the cruelest moth, said Eliot, and that's because it convinces us that things are going to live again; but October has to be one of the crueler ones, too, as we get that last little bit of sun and enjoy the beauty before the "bare ruined choirs."
Now, I don't want you to get all dark. But even memory has a certain quality of melancholy. "I used to do this and it was so great" actually means "I miss this a little bit at least." So, how about going to 90-10 on the happiness-melancholy equation?
And I want to see more of your mom. This could be Kristen-and-Mom thinking about nature and autumn and changes and aging. Get in her head. More "fading lawns"! More "Fall beauty is unbearable." I want a 2am reader to cherish your work as well as a morning reader.
I might start on the second paragraph. And as with the essay about your boyfriend, infuse each sentence with specificity. My brain starts singing wonderful tunes when you're about to tell me the quirky things your mom put out in autumn. But then those things are only nondescript Halloween decorations. Which ones? A weird bat? A funny Satan? Tissue paper ghosts? That's a moment for possible funniness and definite individuality.
Liking this as a start.
DW