I know your face like the back of my hand. And today, I was told that I only have a month left to see your face.
I think I understand it now. Life is a clock, a clock with a clear beginning, but an uncertain end. The numbers will keep on changing. I think some people do hear the ticking, but most do not.
I am stunned. How is it that life— a painting of colorful beauty and bright love— can end like this? How is it that life can give you something so full, and yet take it all away so painfully?
I feel guilty. Is that normal?
I feel guilty that you’ve only had thirteen years with me. Is that selfish?
I feel guilty that I get to stay here when you’re slowly fading away. Is that what love is?
Is this what life is?
Is it a simple dance, one with missteps and wonderful twirls
Vermont winters are always white. Sometimes there is tons of snow and others only a little. There are always tons of things to do like go sledding, skiing, building a snowman, etc. you're never bored. My favorite thing to do is go sledding. Living on a hill surrounded by fields means there are also big hills to go down. Due to COVID-19 I am at home more but that isn’t a bad thing. I get to spend more time outside with my family. I have plenty of stories about sledding but I want to tell you about this one that happened recently.
I'm scared of thinking that our president might not be able to right wrongs and heal a divided land.
I'm scared for our country, of what some have stood and fought for.
I'm scared that the color of a person's skin can conjure up immense hatred— hatred that should not be there, because we are all the same species. And shouldn't animals of the same species help each other thrive? Want to keep each other alive?
I'm scared because some are scared that love can be different. But that doesn't make it ugly, or untrue. It makes it beautiful in its own way.
I'm scared of the lies that have been thrown around with such carelessness, seeping into the minds of thousands.
I'm scared for immigrants, like my grandparents, traveling to our country in search of promised hope.
To be told you can write anything makes it hard. The freedom gives you too much room. Seems easy, but really, the possibilities become overwhelming. I am not a writer. I write because that is what I am told to do. I am good at writing, but I don’t enjoy it. I write to impress, to satisfy, and out of necessity. I understand its importance, but I lean towards math and science. I would rather be given a math problem and be told to solve for x. I like to have a definitive answer, I like right and wrong; black and white. The problem with writing is that there is no end, there is no clear stopping point. When the math equation has been solved and the science experiment has been run, I know that I have done what was expected. I know that I have fully achieved the goal, I can feel accomplished. Sure, I can test for more trials or check my answer, but there is still a clear end. Writing, on the other hand, never stops, the endlessness of it is daunting.
My legs were starving to get out of my bindings on the last chair up the mountain. We had a huge day, starting on the first chair at 9am and now it's 3:45, quarter till closing.
“We gotta do something easy man, My legs are killing me” I groaned. As much as I love snowboarding, when I'm done, I'm done.
“No way! You know how much powder is still in those woods? We aren't coming back this season, we gotta take one more tree run, c’mon Scot.” Matt begged me, and eventually I obliged. As we hopped off the chairlift I could see the lift operator packing up for the end of day. I strapped as fast as I could while Matt complained we gotta go or the sweepers are gonna be right on our asses and not let us ski in the trees. We sped down the still fresh corduroy from the groomers and hopped into the woods when we came upon the entrance.
February vacation was next week and everyone was excited. During the morning meeting, everyone took turns saying what they were doing. Rebecca was going to visit her cousin in New Mexico. Bobby was going to Paris. Betty was going to Louisiana. John, Sally, and the teacher were going to Iowa. Sam was headed north to Canada. Ana, Tammy, Tessa, and Matthew were going to Florida.
When it was Amy’s turn, she told everyone that she was staying in Vermont. Amy then explained that her February vacation consisted of helping around the farm like she always did and helping to get ready for the sugaring season. Her family had a sugar house in the woods surrounded by maple trees, perfect for making syrup. Every February vacation they would prepare for the upcoming season by making sure everything was hooked up, ready for the sap. Once they got that ready, it was time to start drilling holes into the trees. After explaining all of this, their morning meeting continued as planned.
Whats the most fun thing about growing up? I think its getting closer to my hope of future. I mean growing up is kind of scary, yeah, but its more exciting. I want to say that you really start growing up at 15. You get your permit which gives you another responsibility. Once you turn 16 you get your license where you get an even bigger responsibility of being able to drive by yourself. Finally you turn 18. The biggest part of growing up really. Graduating high school, going to college, this being the year you really look at your future. Growing up is something that some are afraid to do, but others, like myself, arent.
I cant wait to grow up. I cant wait to have my own car to take care of, a job, bigger responsibilities, and more freedom. I think every teenagers wish is to be able to choose how they live their life, and only have their parents to be by their side supporting them and helping them when necessary. Its me, I am every teenager.
One morning I woke up feeling like I wanted to shoot a buck, so I decided to go hunting in Ohio. I got dressed in nice warm clothes. I was wearing all camo. I got to the truck. It will be a long ride since I am in VT. I went to my friend, Aiden’s house which was a few blocks away because he was going to Ohio with me. I came into the house and yelled, “Get up, we are going to Ohio!” He got dressed in all camo and we packed our bags and got into the truck. We owned a little cabin in the woods that we drove to.
When we were going up the driveway we saw a little ‘brown elk and its mother walking around. “Home sweet home.” I said. We unloaded everything and went upstairs and put down some old mats. We put our sleeping bags down and went to sleep on the mats. I woke up to hearing a loud noise that morning. It sounded like a snowmobile. I saw Aiden on his snowmobile and it was dragging a big elk. It looked like a fourteen pointer. We cut the meat and put it away.
