Outside the grass smells sweet and the dew reflects the sun brightly into my eyes. I can hear the distant purring of a John Deere tractor tilling a nearby field; preparing to plant. Around the house, I see various farm animals anxious for feeding time. The pigs squeal louder in anticipation as I draw closer to them. This is where I wish I could be at every moment of every day; roaming the land with my snoopy chocolate Labrador pup nipping at my heels. This is where I was raised and this is my home. I explored every square foot of this land. I memorized every tree, every sound, and even which rocks to, and not to step on when crossing the stream behind my house. This little piece of land that my family and I worked on, cultivated, and had made our home has a greater influence on me than any other place in the world.
The land was uneven, and barren when I first saw it. We moved our home onto the dehydrated dirt that the bulldozer exposed, and set up a water well, power-lines and our future. Gravel was set down for the driveway, and a shiny black mailbox attached to a flowerbed was placed at the end of it, although no one ever took the time to plant flowers in it. My father and I built a porch for the front, and back door. We made our home everything we had wanted it to be, and our home was the land.
The road in front of the house was always quiet, except for the occasionally big rig that roared through. One could spend the whole day outside and not have to see a single person. It's quiet, but yet so full of noise. The trees rustle all around with the occasional cluck, or groan from the farm animals who believed that they did not get enough to eat. The sound of wood splitting fades in the background, which lets me know it is time to go the stack the logs onto the tractor trailer. It was simple; I worked hard, played harder, and lived right. There was always something to do, and although it kept us busy, it was also relaxing.
Looking out the living room window from inside my small mobile home, I felt like I could see forever. The fields and woods extended further than I could see. In the distance, I could see tractors working the fields back and forth, and acres of land beginning and disappearing over each hill or slope.
Every day, I sat on my front porch and waited for the school bus to come into view over the hill, then I would slowly begin walking down my rocky driveway with the gravel crackling under my dirty rubber boots. This is how I spent my morning; breathing in the fresh crisp air, then leaving my home of serenity to go to spend my day in a chaotic classroom, day- dreaming about home. Although I knew that when I got home I would have to trade my school clothes for a work clothes; baseball cap and gloves. It is knowing that I will soon be back home that got me through the day.
When I got home from school I would devour my snack, and when I would finish, it was time to work. Some days the lawn needed to be mowed, which meant I had to prepare with a dose of Benadryl so I could prevent the blockage that would form in my nose later. Another task to do is to tend to the garden; whether it be plowing, planting, weed-pulling, or even picking. The crops we always planted were corn, potatoes, and string beans, and if I begged my dad enough he would allow me to plant peas (my favorite).
I never turned down the chance to help my father around the house because the work was too hard, or because I was "too tired" as many kids nowadays use as an excuse. The land was my home, and if I wanted to stay there, I would have to work for it. This way of thinking has made me the worker I am today. I worked at various places all my life, both outside in the sometimes harsh weather and even inside, in a stuffy kitchen. I never complained about the work, because like my dad used to say, "It has to be done, so someone has to do it.”
Growing up on that piece of land taught me that if you’re struggling with a task, simply find another way to complete it. This is what made me love the land the most. It has taught me that there is more than one way to complete a single task and that the world does not revolve around me; I have to work to accomplish what I want. There is not only one way to live life. Some people face their transcendences by powering through difficult situations, while others may take a more leisure way, and work around them. The land taught me to take action, and face my struggles head on.
"Flat Mountain" is the most misleading nickname my home could possibly have. The roads have one too many turns and bumps. The hills are high, and the swamps seem to sink deeper into the valleys with each visit. It is on "Flat Mountain", that my little home is located; sitting pretty on deep into the hills. Occasionally I visit to take in the familiar sounds, smells, and air. I roam into the woods to see how my old forts made up of sticks and rocks are holding up, but what I do mostly on my visits, is remember. All the memories that were made on this piece of land is what has influenced every ounce of who I am.
