Author: aholder

I think that the chapter “Meadowlarks” is important to the overall vision of the book because it connects a lot of different events together and continues to show off William’s softer side. She is excavating at the Anasazi State Park and making tangible discoveries alongside introspective discoveries. Also in this chapter, she is told that her mother has had a relapse of cancer and the chapter is about her trying to get home to her mother using whatever method of transportation she can find.

I think that the Meadowlark bird connects well with Williams because the meadowlark is both a cheery colour of yellow and a dark black. I think this represents her quite well because at times she is soft and happy (such as when she talks about loving others and her body being a vessel of love) and then other parts of her are dark and stormy and snappy. She has a soft side and a stormy side, just like the colours of a meadowlark. The meadowlark can also be a symbol of her family because they are a close family and love each other and are happy (yellow), but this relapse of cancer has created a dark spot in their family (black).

Although I’ve never seen one in person, I’ve always liked meadowlarks for their name. They are fascinating little birds. They come in two varieties: the Easter Meadowlark, and the Western Meadowlark. These two types often get confused for each other but are very different in the type of song that they sing. Meadowlarks are omnivores, and their main predators include skunks, foxes, hawks, coyotes, raccoons, and domestic cats and dogs. Meadowlarks lay eggs that are brown with purple splotches. I think this is fascinating because the Meadowlark seems to be a bird that has a lot of dualities which gives them more complexity than is typically assigned to birds. In this way, I think that Williams is very much like a Meadowlark.

The first thing that stood out to me upon our arrival to David Kline’s farm was the flock of guinea fowl roaming around the yard, cackling offendedly at the vans. As David Kline took us throughout the barn to the upper level and talked to us about the architecture of the old barn, all I could hear were random outcries from the guinea fowl, but I couldn’t actually see them (which was probably for the best because I find guinea fowl quite hilarious and if I were able to see them, I’m sure I would’ve not been able to focus on anything Mr. Kline was saying). When we stepped out of the barn and headed over to look at the corn silo-proving my previous statement to be true-it was all I could do to keep from laughing at these silly birds. They were all standing around casually eating things from off the ground, their heads bent and their bodies looking like claymated grey blobs. At times, one would shoot its head into the air, cluck angrily, and then take off running, its body bouncing along comically atop its skinny legs. All the rest would follow, so the entire flock moved as a singular unit with a singular goal that none of them was quite fully aware of I’m sure. In a way, these series of actions reminded me of a group of people who will also do whatever their social group does, just to be a part of the group.

I’m sure to the guinea fowl, we seemed like a pretty strange group ourselves in our jackets and scarves and hats.

I survey the landscape around me. I am sitting on a rock on top of a grassy hill overlooking a serene lake and a hilly pasture across the lake. To the left of me, there is a little bridge that crosses over the lake and connects the side where I’m sitting to the pasture. Here and there, little ducks bob on the water, occasionally dunking their heads underneath the water and splashing about. Another few ducks stand on the shore closest to me, drying off and scavenging for food from the little children playing in the grass. Turtles bask on rocks surfacing above the water. Across the lake, a herd of cows graze peacefully. They look like undefined dark blobs, but there is a certain gentleness about them that even distance can not hide. Along with the cows sits a pavilion that looks like a tiny dollhouse. Lush green trees line the hills of the pasture, and every now and then a breeze makes them dance around. To the right of me, on the side that I am on, there is a couple sitting on a swinging bench who are also surveying the beauty of the lake and its inhabitants. Even more to the right, all traces of civilization disappear and all that can be seen on either side is just water and trees. A heron rests in the shallow water. He is watching us as much as we are watching him. As I gaze around, slowly the sun starts to set and the sky erupts into different colours of pink and orange and purple. The still water of the lake imitates the colours of the sky. It almost acts as though a mirror would by reflecting the beauty of the vibrant sky. Lake Varner is truly one of the prettiest places to be seen in Newton County, Georgia.

When I first discovered that a pawpaw is one of Ohio’s two state fruits, my only question was “What on earth is a pawpaw?”.

As I have come to find out, besides being a state fruit of Ohio, the pawpaw is also found in most of the Eastern United States besides New England and Florida. It looks like a tropical plant and provides a delicious fruit. The pawpaw tree grows to be around 25 feet tall and grows best in moist, rich soil. It is a member of the Annona Family and is distantly related to the Magnolia tree and Tuliptree. You can recognize the pawpaw not only by its yellow-brown large lima-bean shaped fruit but also by its dark, shiny, tropical-looking green leaves and purple-red flowers.

Upon inspection around camp (and a helpful tip from Ingrid), I found a pawpaw tree outside the front of Lowry in the little island in between the parking lot and Beall. It is really pretty and it was interesting to able to see one in person.

When I was little, my older brother and I were obsessed with the outdoors. We lived and breathed to be outside doing whatever mischevious deeds we could do without being under the watchful eye of our mother. These mischevious deeds included making potions out of whatever toxic plants and rocks we could find and mixing them together with water in a hole that we dug in the ground. Another activity we entertained ourselves with was selling bags of “fertilizer” (which was really just Georgia Red Clay that we dug out out our backyard) on the side of the road. However, out of all of our doings, our favourite thing to do was to run “Bug Hospitals”. This meant that we would take whatever plastic containers we could sneak out of our kitchen and fill them with bugs that we thought were in danger or hurt. We would them squirrel these bugs away inside our room to take care of them. Out of all of the bees, caterpillars, and scorpions, our favourite bug that we rescued was an earwig whom we later affectionally dubbed Mr. Wiggy. We saved Mr. Wiggy from an ant-bed where he was being eaten alive. We kept Mr. Wiggy in a plastic container for a little over 3 months and fed him healthy diet of Saltine cracker crumbs and water served to him in a bottle cap. We would take him outside and let him crawl around in a sort of pen that we made him and heavily supervised him. We even got to see him moult a couple of times. By this point, our parents had long since discovered our “Bug Hospital” operation and had made us get rid of all of the bugs except for Mr. Wiggy because he was arguably the least reproachful of all of our creepy crawly friends. When he died, we were quite devastated. In order to console us (and also probably to preserve their house from being overrun by termites or whatever else we decided to take care of), our parents opted to get us an actual pet (a guinea pig). To this day, my parents like to blame their fear of another bug menagerie for the plethora of animals that we have. However, now I am absolutely terrified of bugs and cannot for the life of me imagine why I ever felt it was a good idea to allow bugs into my room. But hey, I guess that’s growing up.