an online journal of student writing
Minnesota, My Home
By Elias Carlson
is the place
I call home,
The place in
which I live
free and happy. The Summer comes
bright and beautiful as if to say, slow down
and everything will be alright. Childrenís laughter
echoes through the streets of town while they run and play.
In the country cattle beller in the distance, the sound filling me with joy.
The rattle of the hay-bine and swather are music to my ears, and the smell of hay
makes me reflect on the good times Iíve had here on this old farm. The river runs by the hay
field taking its time, not having a care in the world, which way the next bend will take it. The
old saw-mill yard stands barren ever since it was shut down years ago. The shed sags
and groans tired from being used, and the wind blows all season long,
Gradually at first, slowly but surely. Autumn awakens and the days
Start to get shorter again, the trees turn their colors, a wondrous
sight really. The contrast between the deciduous forest and the
evergreen trees still takes my breath away, though Iíve seen it
almost seventeen times. The river fills up with dead leaves,
making the stream look like an ocean of red, yellow and
green. I take the dog deep into the woods to hunt grouse,
and search for this yearís deer hunting hot spot, the dog
sniffs out a grouse and lets out a yowl sending the bird
into the air, and into my shooting zone. Days full of fun,
until now, Winter rears its ugly head, making the fun
times scarce and bringing in a scornful blizzard, which
rages forever and ever, whiting out the ground, taking
hopes and dreams of the wondrous warm days and
crushing them underneath its giant horrid feet.
The night wind howls constantly, like a ravenous
pack of wolves clawing at the old house threatening
to take it down piece by piece. Then old Minnesota
calms herself down and relaxes while her inhabitants
enjoy a few days of calm warm weather, where
it gets so warm and the sun shines so bright on the
compacted snow, sun burn is inevitable. This awful
season drags on until, finally a new time has come.
Spring is finally here again. It all starts with the geese
coming back, their triumphant call is heard for miles.
Then the tiny tint of green shows up again in the trees and
the grass starts to grow, getting taller and taller until I first cut it,
And at night, the cool breeze blows while I listen to the frogs calling
back and forth to one another, and I sit with the spotlight ready to shine
any deer that come on to the field so I can see how many we have this year.
I will wait patiently for the warm days to come again, and make life good.
Yes, I love this place, and I hope to never leave, as I know it will never leave me.