The Yard that Grew Me: A Memoir

This past year in school, my final project for my Woman's Writings class was to write a memoir. We were able to cover any event, any time, in any way we wanted. The goal of the assignment was to learn how to categorize memories, and organize them in a way that can be read and understood by anyone, even if they had never met you, or knew anything about your situation. I thought I would share a portion of my paper with you. I received an A+ on this paper, which definitely encouraged me to want to continue reliving not only my past memories, but also the ones of those before me, who play a large part in who I am, and where I have come from. Hope you enjoy.

     The weeping willow tree which once used to be the best tree in the yard is now just a stack of wood on the side of the toolshed. It’s so strange to think that something so big and special and important looking is now nothing more than a stack of wood. The tree, though, is only one of the dozens of things that have changed in the backyard over the past fifteen years. I watch old home movie that either I or one of my family members filmed outside when we were either playing as little kids, or a little older and making movies, and I find it isn’t the people in the videos that I’m focused on; it’s the setting behind us.

     I’m sure when the video was filmed, it wasn’t our thought that in a year or so that place which we always saw as normal would be completely different. How was I supposed to know that my favorite climbing tree was going to get struck by lightning and have to be cut down? I didn’t realize that the patch of tulips that grew annually by the back fence would one year just stop growing completely. I didn’t know, and because of that, it didn’t seem important that I remember.

   I think that’s the way it is with a lot of things – people get too caught up in the future and forget to take a closer look at the present, because tomorrow, the present is going to be the past, and that chance that was once had is now gone. As I think back on my childhood, I do feel a strong sense of nostalgia which makes me a little sad; yet at the same time, I am thankful that I was blessed with memories worth remembering.

   S. Road seems to be one of the roads in Monroe that separates the business of the city and the quietness of the country. When I look out my bedroom window, I can see a horse pasture. Behind my house there is nothing but miles of field. Beyond the fields is Munson Park, though it isn’t visible behind the thick treetops that make up the Munson woods.

    During the spring and fall months, it is not uncommon to see the bright lights of the combine tractor making its way through the darkness in the fields where headlights are not usually seen. When I was little, I used to wonder what would happen if the combine tractor accidently found its way into our backyard, crushing the wood fence my dad made and knocking over a tree or two in the process. I’m still waiting for this to happen.

    The history behind the property my house sits on could be a story of its own. Back in the twenties it was nothing but trees and a small shed that sat toward the center of the property, which held the entrance to an underground room. It is there where bootlegging went on during the Prohibition. Though it is rare now, it used to be very common to find pieces of glass bottles around the property. During the forties, the property was used as a hangout place for teenagers. My grandfather remembers going to parties that took place there before he went to Europe to fight in World War II. When the war ended, he came back home to Monroe and purchased the property, along with several other plots of land in Monroe.

    My dad has told me stories of growing up on the property. Though he didn’t live there as a child, the land was used as a family garden. Dad recalls spending many summers taking care of the land, and harvesting fruits and vegetables in the late summer months. When my dad graduated from High School, his father let him purchase the piece of property from him for only one dollar. Within ten years, a house would be built on the land that would be the beginning to family memories, both good and bad.

   Because of my surroundings, it would be assumed that S. Road would be a rather quiet place; that a walk down to the Library a tenth of a mile down the road would be simple and enjoyable. I wish that were the case, but ever since I’ve lived here, (which has been nearly twenty years) the cars that travel down S. Road don’t understand the idea of slow and steady. Even now, my mom is hesitant when I ask to walk down to the library during the summer. She is still afraid I am going to get hit by a reckless driver on that three minute walk. I’m not surprised by this, though; although her life before me and my brothers was dauntless, she has always been extremely protective when it came to our safety. The idea of riding a bike without a helmet would never get by her. Yet even with all this protection she has bestowed upon us, we all still ended up hurt or injured in some way or another.

   My biggest injury was back in first grade when my clumsy feet tripped over each other and I ended up with a broken arm. The rest of that year I was referred to as “Niagara” by my teacher. It wasn’t until several years later when I finally understood what she had meant.

   Collin, who is the second oldest, and directly under me was never one for outdoor activities. But the occasional time he would decide to play a game of catch or go swimming with us, (which was not often) he would always seem to end up inside early due to an “injury.” This could range from a number of things from hurting his wrist from “throwing the ball too hard,” to getting upset when the excited dog would accidently scratch him. In my opinion, he was not outside long enough in his lifetime to experience one injury, let along one every time he stepped outside. I love my brother, but do not expect to get a good response from him if he is experiencing something hard, uncomfortable, dirty, or gross,

   Cameron, who is the second youngest, probably would have been born outside if he could have planned it. Ever since he was little he has loved the outdoors. Even now he is working at a farm 12 months a year cutting and bundling wood. The majority of the money he made from this job went to buy hunting supplies. His first time out hunting, he came back with a deer which he gutted and skinned himself after reading a hunting magazine to learn how to do it.

   Cameron is naturally also the toughest of us kids. He has experienced his share of cuts and bee stings, and always seems to handle them as if nothing happened; by taking care of it and then getting back to business. But one year, Cameron was faced with something he couldn’t just ignore. He has this skin condition that causes large bumps on his face, arms, and back whenever he gets too cold. This happens whenever he goes swimming, or outside during the winter. Back then, we didn’t know he had this condition. So when we were playing outside one day, I noticed his face was not only swollen, but also bright red. I remember running in to tell dad that something was wrong with Cameron. He went to the ER that night and had several tests done to find out about the skin condition. He has since grown out of the majority of it, though welts will still be visible on his arms and back if he gets extremely cold.

   Thankfully, none of the injuries were ever life threatening, though at the time they may have seemed like it. We did some pretty stupid stuff that as I look back, it was a surprise we didn’t get more hurt. One of these examples involves my dad’s favorite part of the yard, his hammock.

For the longest time, we weren’t allowed to go near the hammock. We didn’t understand why until we used it one day knowing full well we weren’t supposed to and ended up cracking it in half. Needless to say, dad was not very happy about that.

   But later as we became more responsible, dad would give us the opportunity to use it when he was outside watching us.

   We used to play a game called “finishing net in the storm.” This was something we made up on our own, where basically one person would sit in the hammock. They would have to hold on as tightly as they could while the other person would rock it back and forth very violently. Eventually, the net would turn upside down. The goal was for the “fish” in the “net” to keep holding on.

   This was not as easy task, mind you, and the majority of the time after we first started, one of us would end up face down in the grass underneath it. But we quickly got the hang of it, and were able to stay holding on to the hammock without falling off.

   Evan, my youngest brother who was probably five at the time, would watch us play this game and want to play as well. We told him the rules, and figured he would understand like the rest of us. But the first time we swung the hammock over, he went flying out, not realizing he was supposed to hold on. He hit his mouth on a tree root, and his front two teeth were damaged. They turned an interesting gray color. When they fell out several years later, the adult teeth that followed were crooked and discolored. This was due to our belief that he was old enough to know better.

   But just because some painful things may have happened doesn’t mean there weren’t any fun events either. In fact, the majority of my memories involve the good. My brothers and I were able to become more than just siblings and better friends.