W101 – Day 11 – 12 Years Old
Jumping ahead here to be up to date with today’s Writing 101 – Day 11 assignment about being 12 years old. But I still have some fun backlog for you. Including 3 important songs, a story about loss, contrast, and a brevity assignment that revisits my Friday Fictioneers 100 words or less post from a little while ago.
Today’s Prompt: Where did you live when you were 12 years old?
Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences
Twelve years old? Well, when I was 12 I think I still lived in my personal little pony-land in the loft. It was a whole region of make-believe, let me tell you. I could get lost in my mind for hours. That made me easy to entertain, you didn’t have to do anything! There were stalls for horses, barns, houses, and the shelves over by the closet space were a far far travel for my toys. It was a good 10 feet I think.
In real life though I think we were transitioning as a family. We sort of still lived out in the boonies, but it wouldn’t be long before we moved from acres of farm land with a pond near the house to acres of forest with the lake out front. It was a big change, but it wasn’t new. We moved to our summer locale. I welcomed the change of school. I welcomed the change of people. But I knew I was going to miss the magic kingdom in which I spent my early years; the small orchard on the hill, the Chestnut tree, the pond, the frog pond, the waterfall and all our memories of sliding halfway down it. I’d miss the ATV ride around the fields and through the woods to great-grandmother’s house we’d go. (I’d miss her letting me watch Tales from the Crypt.) Soon I would miss my knowledge of the land, this place where the writer started.
- Dynamic Reflections in perspective
But adventure was on the horizon. Change was exciting and intimidating all at once. Our new town was more of a town, even if it was still a small town; there was a downtown. There was a 7-Eleven, Subway, more than one grocery store, coffee shops, little boutiques, even a movie theatre. Heck it had more than one gas station! Maybe I didn’t know the land as well but we had a Gator! I was graduating from ponies to driving a Gator the three-quarters of a mile up then back down the driveway. We won’t get into how I ran it into a tree years later coming down the hill after the 90 degree turn in the driveway. No, no… at least this isn’t news, my dad already knows. 😉
I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Back to 12 years old before the decision to move. Twelve, twelve, twelve yup I still played the flute in that little town with a corner store and eventually a hardware store across from it. My favorite place in this little…village? Town? Any who, my favorite place was the ice cream shop. It was a 50s style ice cream parlor right down to the uniforms. Family-owned I’d see their daughter in passing in school. They were all really nice, very quiet, but fit right into their business. I wonder if it’s still there… They had those big tubs of ice cream stuffed into glass display cabinets, couple dozen flavors I think… ahh Super-man ice cream…
Moving along, the elementary school was here, but the middle and high schools were in the next…village/town over. The names of the two towns were often combine for his reason. I guess they weren’t really much of anything on their own. ; ) If my memory serves me right we lived some 5 miles or so out of town. Every so often my siblings and I would roller blade or bike into town for candy, and of course ice cream. The trickiest part was that huge steep hill on the way home. Do you call them the ‘death wobbles’? We did.
So yeah, when I was 12 I lived in the country but at that age I made it interesting. Did I add that we lived next to a graveyard? Yup, we did. That’s a whole ‘nother story with child-sized ninja suits and karate moves. Before I was born my dad bought this old farm with a silo, and barns. One such building had the most creepy dark musty basement that used to be part of the mill’s operation. My dad cleaned his deer down there sometimes, and set up a workout space above. The silo wasn’t operational anymore, but I found it to be awesome for play and climbing the metal rungs on the side. That was just one part of this little world of wonders though. Around the back of the big hill with the apple trees was a path to the pond. Down by the pond/ where the raspberries grew…back to my home/ I dare not go… at least I didn’t really need to when I was in Wildlife Lover/Mother Nature’s Daughter mode (yeah my self-prescribed nickname included all of that in a sweet abbreviation I will not be sharing here ;). There was an old rusty crane by the pond. I can’t for the life of me remember why my parents left it there, but we kids thought it was awesome. (Parents out there are wincing reading this.) I guess my residence at the fine age of 12 wasn’t just a place where the writer started but also where I learned to talk to myself and the trees, and anything else I thought might listen for that matter. 😀 (At least I admit it.) Don’t get me started again about the frog pond, just click here and read!
- What are you looking at> Find another pond.
There was a tall pine tree that towered up along the back of the house where I buried little bird carcasses that I found around the house. The exterior of the house was made of stone but we had a lot of windows and well, you know what happens with birds and windows right? Yeah, I tried to save them when I could but most the time there was no hope. I would gather them up, say a little prayer, and bury them under the pine tree. Then I’d get out my ‘map’ and mark where I’d buried it. Once a young Red-tailed Hawk ran into the kitchen windows. These windows off the kitchen were built like a solarium and provided the perfect viewing area to look out at the yard and down the hill to the field below. The years my dad grew Sunflowers were the best. I did not expect to find a hawk when I ran outside after hearing the thud. Imagine my surprise when I found it alive! Grabbed up some gloves, little bit of raw hamburger (I thought it might like that, being a bird of prey and all), and picked it up. More than anything I think it was stunned, but not injured. I tossed him up and off my hand a few times, attempting to encourage flight. It flew it bit but never took off. Then on the third try it flew maybe 40 yards or more and disappeared somewhere near the silo.
The stories about where I lived when I was 12 could go on… we buried our dogs when they passed up by the fort in the woods, the pond was covered in lily pads and was fed by a small stream on one end then fell down a waterfall into a pool with crawfish at the other; asparagus grew semi-wild in the firewood pit (not relaly a pit) that was shaped like an upside-down U 50 or so feet off the front deck. The stray cat who claimed us lived under this porch part time, and on it in a box the rest. She would follow us out to the sheep field like a dog. My dad kept Barbado sheep for a bit, that was a trip let me tell you. The field was several acres at least, with hills and flat lands. The sheep kept the weeds trimmed. I tried my hand at being a sheep dog but my friends weren’t always so keen on taking part in this fun game. Hm, oh well… if you ask me it was an awesome activity.
- Fairy Garden at a Greenhouse
Where did I live when I was 12? When I was 12 years old I hung out with my imagination and lived in a kingdom of varying landscapes and ecosystems. It was like my own little Game of Thrones. ; )