Penguin Eggs Hatch Memories

       We were desperately searching for penguin eggs. They were hidden all along the dirt trail to the beach and we needed to find them before they hatched. It was an urgent mission. Ella and I trudged up and down the lane searching the base of every nearby tree and gathered the hard round treasures until our seven-year old arms could carry no more. We placed the eggs on the soft beach and glanced outward to my lake: Higgins Lake. The sunset was as beautiful as ever with clouds prancing along the skyline and the sun slowly diminishing beneath the deep blue water. The water where we had spent the day swimming and playing with assorted water toys melodiously rose onto the beach and knocked away the sandcastles of the day.  As soon as darkness filled the sky, it would be time to play capture the flag with the other neighbor kids. But in the meantime, we waited and waited for the eggs to hatch. They never did.
  When darkness was among us, capture the flag began by picking teams and defining boundaries. I was young, so naturally not a hot commodity for a captain to choose, but I was faster than most, so it paid my dues. The two teams set off, promising not to look at where the other team was hiding their flag. As soon as the flags were hidden, under a canoe, rock, windowpane, or wherever, we began. The big kids took off sprinting in search of the paper-towel flag. I was hesitant and too afraid of the dark and of being tagged in the other team’s boundaries to be sent to “jail,” so I stayed on my team’s side to guard our flag in safe territory. Someone would eventually uncover and come running back with the other team’s flag to ensure a victory as he or she crossed the boundary line back into his or her home territory.
  Exhausted and cold after playing several games, I headed to the bonfire on the beach with a few of the neighbor kids my age. My parents were already sitting there on a wooden bench facing the dark chilly water and gossiping with our adult neighbors. I helped myself to a gushy and warm peanut butter cup s’more and snuggled in next to my parents. I usually managed to sneak a second s’more before they could notice.

I stared up into the sky while the adults talked and noticed the thousands of stars that shone above my head. The longer I stared, the more shooting stars I would see. However, I didn’t need to make any wishes, I was right where I wanted to be and with the people I wanted to be with. Higgins Lake was and still is, my home away from home where I feel at peace.
As time has passed, it has been harder to make it up north to the lake than it used to be. My mom and I would spend weeks at the cottage over the summer without a thought about returning home. Now, I am lucky to make it to the cottage a few weekends a summer.
     It is also not the same lake that it used to be and I have become slightly afraid of it. Higgins Lake has always been crystal clear. I could swim in two hundred feet deep water and still see my toes dancing under the water’s surface below me. Unfortunately, the lake’s beauty has become a part of its downfall. The astonishingly clear water attracts a type of duck that causes what locals call “Swimmer’s Itch.” Swimmers come out of the lake clawing and scratching at their legs and arms with no relief for a few days. All it took was for me to get it once, and I have hardly entered the water since. The lake has also been infested with Zebra Mussels. The mussels attach themselves to rocks and can easily cut the bottom of a swimmer’s foot with their sharp edges.
      I miss the old Higgins Lake. It will forever be my lake and second home, but I crave the days where I could freely swim through the serene water and not have a worry in the world. I miss the nights of searching for penguin eggs, even if they just turned out to be rocks, and playing capture the flag with neighborhood friends. Yet, I look forward to a future at Higgins Lake. Every summer I have wonderful new experiences that continuously shape me into who I am and who I am becoming. There is no place I would rather be.

Timeless Travels

My eyes have never seen as much beauty as they did during my two weeks in Italy. Day after day, a new sight would engage me and then inevitably, my camera lens as well. A land so full of history, Italy amazed me every step of the way with its gorgeous natural features and ancient ruins and architecture that the civilization has managed to keep alive.

The Colosseum is one of these ruins. During my  tour through the Colosseum, I can’t honestly say that I learned much. The tour guide spoke such a thick Italian accent that her English translated a bit incoherently. However, I did not need to hear what she was saying in order to feel the ancient culture and gaze at the beautiful architecture of what used to be, and still is, a huge symbol of Rome.   

Every other aspect of Italy was breathtaking. The waterways sparkled like glitter, and the views from the hills were a dream that I never wanted to wake from.

I visited Venice towards the conclusion of my trip. I think it would actually surprise you more if I said that I didn’t take a gondola ride.  After all, a gondola ride is the one Venetian tourist trap everyone falls into willingly.  

Ready for Venetian tourist trap, my friends and I gathered around the dock, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our gondola and singing tour guide. When a lengthy brown gondola floated up next to us, we stepped in carefully one by one. Unfortunately, I was the last one to get on the boat, and this left me with the lone seat in the back, which happened to be three or four feet away from where the rest of my friends were sitting. I quickly became the designated photographer for the rest of the group, getting a picture of all of my friends having fun together on a gondola in Venice, but unable to take a picture where I could be part of the memory.

I’m not going to lie; I was a little bitter. Yet, how bitter could I actually be while I was gliding through the waterways in Venice? They proved to be as wonderful as I had imagined that they would be. The sun glimmered on the river canal reflecting the views of the surrounding homes and stores. My head bobbed from left to right to catch every inch of unique exquisiteness.

Every building was a different shade of beige, pink, yellow, or blue and never

lacked personality. The windowsills were filled with colorful blooming flowers. As I observed the sights around me, we would pass under a small bridge connecting two sides of the river, with tourists waving from above. I was also surprised by the gondolier’s precision in leading the boat in the right direction. The river was occasionally pretty narrow, leaving little room for error, especially
when we would pass by other gondolas or boats. and he could sing at the same time! If I had been in his place, there is no doubt we would have ended up sinking after crashing into the side of someone’s home. I never wanted the ride to end.

            Yet, as all great things do, it did end--a half hour earlier than scheduled and paid for as we later learned! I suppose we were all so immersed in the elegance of the ride that we completely lost track of time.

            My trip to Italy also came to an end much too soon, but it will never be forgotten. I am determined to revisit before my life ends. After all, I did throw change into the magical Trevi Fountain and whoever does so is destined to return.  

The Sand Dooms

What goes down must come up… right? I’m afraid I must have forgotten this common phrase during the course of my visit to the Sleeping Bear Dunes.

Standing atop the enormous sand dune, I could see for miles. The water never seemed to end, as it only stopped at the sight of the horizon somewhere beyond my view. Lake Michigan faded into an abyss after transforming from a light blue and green color into a deep dark blue. I could only begin to imagine all of the life that was going on below, far beneath the lake’s surface. There could be mysterious forms of life that no one may ever discover. I like it that way, because when humans discover something, we often forget that it had a life of its own prior to its unearthing, and we make it into what we want.

I felt ready to descend the dune with my shorts fastened tight, bathing suit top secured, and barefoot toes prepared to wiggle and dig in for the descent down the hill. Slowly, I braved the slippery sand but soon found that I was flying down the mountain. I stopped leaping through the sand every so often, just to make sure I still could and I quickly reached the bottom of the dune, panting and full of excitement from the exhilarating trip down the tower of sand. I submerged my feet into the rewarding chill of Lake Michigan's water at the dune’s base, as it was a sizzling sunny day, and I was sweating like a man wearing leather pants.

After splashing in the rippling waves, basking in the sunlight, and making footprints in the soft beach sand, I turned around to face the giant mass before me. There is no downplaying its height and slope which seemed to descend at a seventy-degree angle towards the cloudless sky. The people at the top now looked like tiny little ants on a giant anthill. I definitely underestimated the effort that it would take to get back up.

Knowing the great effort it would take, I took the dune one footstep at a time. Slowly each "footstep" became one push forward with my feet and a grab in the hot sand with my hands, inching my way up on hands and knees. I remember thinking that they must call it Bear Dunes because everyone is crawling on their hands and knees by the time they reach the top.

Despite being on my hands and knees, I knew I could do it. I had no choice really: my car was parked at the top, so I would, at some point, have to make it up the entire dune. Trucking on at the best pace that I could manage, I felt as if I were a fearless warrior on a mission through the desert. Towards the top of the dune, the angle of elevation became easier to manage, and I gratefully realized that I was almost there.

Finally, I made it to the top, where other tourists lazily lingered looking down at the descent before them rather than attempting the challenge. I sat in the sand among them, catching my breath, enjoying my accomplishment, and acknowledging the dune I had just clambered. I had a whole new appreciation for the gorgeous view before me, and the incredible piece of earth that allowed me to experience such a wonderful adventure. 

Who I Am Is Where I Am From

            I am from a devoted mother, a mother who extensively worries, but only because she cares more than anyone I have ever known. Always looking out for my best interest, she supports me through thick and thin.

            I am from a tireless father, a father who works twelve-hour days to be able to give his girls all that he never had. His gracious heart never fails to spoil, and he does everything he can to keep me smiling, even if just with cheesy jokes.

            I am from a motivated older sister, a sister who has shown me what it takes to be the best. Her dedication, athletically and academically, teaches me daily to never give up on my goals.

            I am from an aged, chubby cat, a cat whose piercing cry rudely awakes me from my slumber, just in time to feed her diet food. She embodies my memories of a joyful childhood, watching her wildly chase laser lights and coddling her after endless pouncing. 

            I am from the smell of Red Robin takeout, a familiar smell that lingers throughout my house as the absence of one parent for a business trip leads to the idleness of the other. Family dinners together are hard to come by but make us appreciate the times that we do share a table.

            I am from nightly ice cream trips. A favorite dessert and pastime, TCBY, Dairy Queen, or Coldstones filled the final hunger inside my belly before bedtime. Ice cream trips became such a regular occurrence that at the age of seven almost every TCBY employee had my order memorized.

            I am from studying and homework until my brain won’t let any more information in. A dreaded part of striving to be my best academically, I have never enjoyed it for obvious reasons. Yet, I have always done every last bit of my homework, because of the high expectations I set for myself.

            I am from the splash of the pool, a rush of cool, refreshing water that laps over my body and leaves me breathless after flinging myself through the air. From fearfully sliding down the slippery slide to playing “Mermaids” with my friends, my backyard pool has always provided a summertime delight.

            I am from countless soccer practices and games, a sport I have loved and played since I was four. Punishment sprints and a few depressing losses are nothing compared to the remarkable friendships that I have made and the skills that I have gained on and off the field.

            I am from crossing finish lines, a time when I can barely stand but hold myself up with the pride of a great accomplishment. Running is torture to others but a fulfilling experience I have always known and will not soon forget to do and appreciate.

            I am from a group of friends that I have had since elementary school, a friendship that is changing as we move on in our lives but one that I don’t intend to give up on. These girls have known me my whole life and accept and support me for who I am and who I have been.
            I am from Livonia, Michigan, a place where I am lucky to be loved and lucky to be alive. It isn’t home because of scenic landmarks or a roof above my head but because of the people and experiences that will forever be a part of who I am and where I am from.

Eyes Open Wide

My name was Madison for the first two days of my life until my sister, who was seven at the time, asked my parents if she could hold her newborn sister, “medicine.” It was then decided that Madison was too hard for her to pronounce. Therefore, my name is now Taylor, and I warmly welcome you to my blog.

This blog is an assignment for my Literature and the Environment class this semester, but I am excited to explore the world of blogging. Seventh grade and the start of five-paragraph essay writing basically buried the creative and imaginative side of my writing, so I am hoping to steadily dig it back up through the process of blogging. As much as I am eager, I am also hesitant because I am most often a listener and prefer to keep my ideas and thoughts to myself. Therefore, I do not have much experience sharing my writing pieces with peers, let alone the whole blogging world. Yet, here I begin this process, and I promise to do my very best to entertain you readers with my stories, observations, and charming personality.

            On a more personal level, there is, after all, a reason that I am in this class in the first place. I am currently in my junior year at Grand Valley State University. I study from morning until night in order to become an Elementary Education teacher within the next few years. If all goes as planned, I will graduate with a teaching degree with an emphasis in English. I have a passion for reading and writing, and have had since the earliest days that I can remember. I hope to inspire students of all ages and plant a seed in their life that will grow into a passion for reading and writing just like mine. However, I have learned that, in order to write and read passionately, one must live a passionate and observant life so that there is an invitation to write and a motivation to read. To do so, I aspire to open my eyes wide and to share my observations with others here on this blog. Lately, I have been attempting to put these words into action. I walk with my head up and away from electronic devices so I can pay attention to the world around me, with no earphones in so I can hear the beautiful noises that surround me, until I embarrassingly trip on a sidewalk crack and nearly fall to the ground.

            Despite minor falls, my greatest hope throughout my blogging experience is that I will be able to reflect upon aspects of life, nature, and the environment and encourage my readers to do the same. There are so many intriguing and magnificent places and objects that we often just don’t make the time to celebrate or wonder about. Often, I think we all rush through life’s daily chores, getting one more check mark on our to-do lists, and forget that we only have one life to live. Do we want to spend it just mindlessly accomplishing tasks, or observing the world around us in appreciation and taking in every single aspect of the day as if it were our last?