Small Square Area example essay topic

I Loved It, Without Knowing I Loved It Being raised as "Poor White Trash" in the swamps of Florida does little to help one appreciate his or her surroundings. That sort of person does not go hunting and fishing for sport, but for survival. Take that same Poor White Trash, put him in a military uniform, and send him to an extremely arid, desolate place. The perspective he has will change dramatically about where he was raised. He will then take notice of how the swamp is full of life.

He will then know that he loves it. He will call it beautiful. The three-bedroom wooden house I lived in as a child was just barley big enough for 6 people to live in. In fact, my first bed was the third drawer of my sister's dresser.

The house itself is not what I want to discuss, but its surroundings. It was surrounded by a beautiful swampland. Because of being raised in it, I never appreciated it. The two-lane road that connected this land to "civilization" was the only escape route. Even that was always covered with the swamp's canopy that seemed to flow throughout the area. Leaving this area, one's eyes would be inundated with the bright sunlight that would hurt and scorn.

Facing the small, white, wooden house from the road, one can easily see that those who live there know nothing but the simple life. A small, oyster shell driveway is to the right of the half-acre of cleared land. A deep ditch separates the land from the road with an old culvert pipe used to bridge the gap for an old, green Ford pickup to bridge the way. A small, white mailbox waits by the road to catch a glimpse of what the world outside this haven has to offer.

What surrounds this small piece of ground is a thickly wooded area, called a swamp. It is almost as though God himself just cut a small square area out of it for this home. You could almost say it disrupted the swamp itself. When walking out to the swamp for hunting, my brothers and I would travel to the east. The rich beautiful green foliage would encompass us as we moved into it. We could not be seen after ten feet of travel from the outer bounds of the yard.

Our eyes scanned the area as we walked. We would take notice of large live oak trees with Spanish moss hanging from them. Here and there would be a few pine trees. Many ferns would be about our feet with little vines amongst them.

Sometimes the vines would trip us, if we weren't watching. This alerted us to straighten up, and not get relaxed. If a vine got us, so could a snake. Life was all around.

Circling to our right, we would walk so that we would come back to our land from the south. This took us through a lot of ankle deep standing water; prime hog hunting area. According to what time of year it was, we would not wear shoes. Boots full of water make too much noise.

Also, it is a lot easier to feel your way through the swamp with bare feet to keep from falling into holes. For fishing purposes, we would leave the land going north. It had the same thick foliage as the rest of the area, just more pine trees. If you were a woodsman, you would know this leads to some body of water. It led to our creek. A small beaten down trail was our path to the creek.

It waiver left and right to avoid certain obstacles. Obstacles, like fallen down trees, that could have snakes hiding around them. There were many of those, yet the canopy continued above as though a tree was never missing. We knew we were getting close to the creek in the spring, because we could smell the orange blossoms that would send their perfume aloft through the air.

There was an orange grove to the north side of the creek. It too, seemed as though it was invading my swamp. In the late summer we could smell the guava trees that were along the creek. Their ripe fruits would put out a scent so bad that a cat would die trying to bury all the fruits, should it enter the area. In spite of their scent, they taste pretty good. At night the swamp would be full of sounds that let us know that the swamp was still out there for us.

The whippoorwill birds would sing their songs at night, almost cooing us to sleep. The owl would screech to let us know that it was on the prowl to help rid us of any rodents in the area. The katydids and crickets would call to one another letting us know that romance was in the air. I can still remember the sound of the panthers when they would come around, too. They would scream in a way that sounded like a woman or baby screaming. Yes, it was scary when they came around, but it was quite unique when I could hear one of their tails tapping the roof over my head as I lay in bed.

That was my life. I was raised in it. I thought everyone lived like that. Sometimes, I reflect back, and wish it were that simple again. I go back to that area every once in a while. It hurts to see what has happened there with the growth of the world creeping ever so closely.

The swamp is still there, beckoning me to come play; come live. I still go out there to forage for food. Not that I am poor, now, but because I know there are things in there that will help me live better. I know it is there should the world go away, should money become worthless.

Not too many people can say that for themselves. That is why I loved it, even before I knew I loved it.