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Impact of environment on child development
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I grew up in a one stoplight town, named Quincy. I still remember the jokes about not blinking or you would miss it. My parents got a loan for a simple country home about eight miles east of town. Our house sat on four flat acres of land with an alfalfa field to the back of the property. To the north, the irrigation ditch supplied the essential water for farmers and dairies to succeed amongst the dust bowl. Our neighbor lived in a converted long tin potato shed. At the front of our property, the paved road ran about a mile before it turned into a bumpy gravel road. As a kid, I thought I had it all, growing up in the country. The dark, burnt red house with wood siding and white trim sat in the middle of a large green yard. My brothers and I spent many hours outside. We fed and played with our pets and various farm animals that lived in the scattered outbuildings. An old refrigerator turned on its side, with the ends cut off, had been turned into a rabbit hutch. As I turned the handle to open the oversized chicken coop, the hens clucked and jumped off the roost. In the frantic exit ou...
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
Small towns, quaint and charming, ideally picturesque for a small family to grow up in with a white picket fence paired up with the mother, father and the 2.5 children. What happens when that serene local town, exuberantly bustling with business, progressively loses the aspects that kept it alive? The youth, boisterous and effervescent, grew up surrounded by the local businesses, schools and practices, but as the years wear on, living in that small town years down the road slowly grew to be less appealing. In The Heartland and the Rural Youth Exodus by Patrick J. Carr and Maria Kefalas equally argue that “small towns play an unwitting part in their own decline (Carr and Kefalas 33) when they forget to remember the “untapped resource of the
As night struck I collapsed in my bed exhausted from the day, I felt like I’ve never done that much labor since we first came to Salem. I woke up early afternoon only to see a letter that my dad wrote stating he was going on a hunting trip. Every wednesday I take care of the chickens along with my sister Tara, our chicken coop is a couple of feet from our house and is home to about 12 chickens that are always rowdy.
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
live in a small town in the middle of nowhere. My essay is going to be
In the late 20s, life was good down here in the south. The grass was long, tall, and healthy, the wind would graze over the grass like a nice comb over haircut. The crops were plentiful and could be seen for miles. Life was good, we had everything we had ever needed down here on the farm. In the summer, we would have hay bale making contests on our farm. We had a farm of about 27 acres, we grew primarily soybeans and wheat. However, life would change for the worst come the 30s.
It was a village on a hill, all joyous and fun where there was a meadow full of blossomed flowers. The folks there walked with humble smiles and greeted everyone they passed. The smell of baked bread and ginger took over the market. At the playing grounds the children ran around, flipped and did tricks. Mama would sing and Alice would hum. Papa went to work but was always home just in time to grab John for dinner. But Alice’s friend by the port soon fell ill, almost like weeds of a garden that takes over, all around her went unwell. Grave yards soon became over populated and overwhelmed with corpse.
Thomas lived with his family in a two story house in Windy Hill. He had a little brother names Frankie and a dog named Max. One autumn morning, Thomas jumped out of bed and stared out the window at the quiet cobblestone streets below. Leaves the colors of a brilliant sunset glided and danced along the streets edge, playing a rustling tune. Thomas smiled, he couldn’t wait to see the vending trucks pulling up outside, and the town folks hurrying about as they prepared the streets for the Festival Of Ghouls.
Marie’s grandparent’s had an old farm house, which was one of many homes in which she lived, that she remembers most. The house was huge, she learned to walk, climb stairs, and find hiding places in it. The house had a wide wrap around porch with several wide sets of stairs both in front and in back. She remembers sitting on the steps and playing with one of the cats, with which there was a lot of cats living on the farm...
Long, wide roads, small houses, steel fences, tall palm trees, a black Toyota parked at a yellow colored house, an abandon house, which looked like it was hunted, the front door was open and you can see from afar that inside there is nothing but darkness. The house was surrounded by trees and it was secluded from all the other houses around it. These were my view as I walked into an unfamiliar building called Thomas Jefferson Middle School. As I opened the blue wooden door and walked in the building, a tremendous chill came over me, which I have never felt before. The building was very cold; I started shivering as I was walking in. It was old and was not well cared for. The colors of the walls were faded and the elevators made the sound of
Dead and fearing animals around the house are interrupted by the house’s
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
The rusted red barn is old, and needs a new paint job. The rusted red color is mimicked my the cilo, a long slender tube that mocked the barn from up above. To the right of the silo and the barn, lay the white house I grew up in. It was exactly how I remembered it. The white paint on the smooth siding was chipped and uneven, and a black front door with squeaky hinges was set into old walls.
Sitting in the back seat between two towering piles of clothes and snacks we drive up the abandoned streets of Adell. I see vast open fields of corn and dense wooded forest filled with life, along with the occasional, towering grain house. We pull into a dry, dusty, driveway of rock and thriving, overgrown weeds. We come up to an aged log cabin with a massive crab apple tree with its sharp thorns like claws. The ancient weeping willow provides, with is huge sagging arms, shade from the intense rays of the sun. Near the back of the house there is a rotten, wobbly dock slowly rotting in the dark blue, cool water. Near that we store our old rusted canoes, to which the desperate frogs hop for shelter. When I venture out to the water I feel the thick gooey mud squish through my toes and the fish mindlessly try to escape but instead swim into my legs. On the lively river banks I see great blue herring and there attempt to catch a fish for their dinner. They gracefully fly with their beautiful wings arching in the sun to silvery points.
Imagine having to choose to reside in one place for the rest of your life. Which would you opt for? Some people would argue that the hyperactive lifestyle that a big city has to offer has more benefits than living in the country. However, others would contend that the calm and peaceful environment of the countryside is much more rewarding. Several people move from the city to a farm to get away from the hustle and bustle. Likewise, some farmers have traded in their tractors and animals to live a fast paced city life. Of course, not all large cities are the same nor are all of the places in the country identical. Realizing this, ten years ago, I decided to hang up the city life in Indiana to pursue a more laid back approach to life in rural Tennessee. Certainly, city life and life in the country have their benefits, but they also have distinguishable differences.