Age And Big With Child

“On the outskirts of town, within the verge of the peninsula, but not in close vicinity to any other habitation, there was a small thatched cottage. It had been built by an earlier settler, and abandoned because the soil about it was too sterile for cultivation, while its comparative remoteness put it out of the sphere of that social activity which already marked the habits of the emigrants. It stood on the shore, looking across a basin of the sea at the forest-covered hills toward the west.”

This poem brought me back to my home town and the wonders and beauty that it brings around winter time, and made me nostalgic with memories of past winters with my family and slightly saddened for those who have never seen the magical ability snow has. This poem reminded me that there are people who live in states where their change in seasons is not as noticeable, as the ones that I grew up with and have come to miss. Similar to many of the romantics, natures true beauty can transform the mundane into a work of art that would never have existed

"She did not take the broad, beaten road which led to the far-off plantation at Valmonde. She walked across a deserted field, where the stubble bruised her tender feet, so delicately shod, and tore her thin gown to shreds. She disappeared among the reeds and willows that grew thick along the banks of the deep, sluggish

The author says he sleeps on a cot and had to use a stool to keep his legs form going through it. He draws up a picture of Henry’s home. The illustration shows that Henry was very luxurious. Henry made his living through the hauling and selling of wood, tanning deer, and growing vegetables and fruits, Viele says. Henry had managed the mosquitoes and lived a very successful life.

In fitful sleep, she dreamt dreams of Indians, palmettos, cotton, tobacco, rice, indigo, and eagles flying through the skies calling to her, telling her to take this trail or that, and her reaching up, trying to catch them before they flew away. The next morning, she helped Nancy build a fire under the big, black iron pot out back of the cabin and then fill it with water so they could wash clothes. About an hour later, as they hung the first of the wash on the line, they heard a rider coming up the back trail; the trail that led down to Fort Charlotte.

I made my way to my aunt’s house. Her home smelled of fresh cut pine, and she offered me a cup of coffee with a cinnamon stick in it. I accepted, and we went to the kitchen table and discussed our week. As she talked, I looked out her kitchen table. A small oak grew in the front yard. Snow capped the birdfeeder beside her bird bath.

One of the worst hardships faced by not only women, but all homesteaders was winter. Winters were hard in the West and challenged farmers; crops were frozen and cattle herds were decimated. Homesteaders tried their best to prepare for the harsh winter but like Bess Cobb, many were afraid it would “be [there] before [they were] ready for it.” Even though there was preparation, there was still the fear that it wasn’t enough and that half of what the women planned to do did not get done. The cold that “crept in through the thin walls,”

3. At the cabin, Jerry found a cubbyhole beside the fireplace and put kindling and “medium” wood for sudden weather, and steadied a stone that was loose in the the sidewalk to the cabin for the narrator.

As my breath fills the open-air with a cool and foggy mist, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't gone on this trip. As I look down all I see is clothes covered in dirt and I wonder when the last time That Susan had got a chance to wash This Set of clothes when I look around i see some familiar faces and some I can't make out. These mountains have taken us days to climb. Most say that we are almost to the top but I fear that we still have very far to go. A fresh layer of snow lays atop the wagons, Susan is laying down bundled in a thin blanket inside the wagon, Father is getting old, And i'm starting to think that he might not ever see california. If he doesn't make it it would be just me and Susan, I don't think that i'll have time

     Ada Monroe was the pampered daughter of a Charleston minister, Monroe. Sheltered by her father, who came to Cold Mountain to minister to the “heathen’s,” she is unprepared for his death. Like any lowland lady, she reads well, play the piano, and can plan parties. She knows not to plant, or sow, or reap. She comes very close to starving on her lovely mountain farm before Ruby comes walking up her lane. Ada’s savior is a scrawny mountain girl with will and work ethic for them both. She came to work the land with Ada, saying. “…if I’m to help you here, it’s with both us knowing that everybody empties their own night jar (68).” Ruby forces Ada off the porch rocker and into the fields. Through days of weeding,

“Small town big heart,” they say locked away behind their cold immaculate castle gates that rest on the remains of the previous farmland and plains. The collective heart beats but only at a convenient time suiting parties involved. “A place where everyone matters,” they utter as their motto in indistinguishable monotone voices. The people are too wrapped up in their everyday lives to ever be concerned about their neighbor, they look through life with gilded glasses. It’s as if a fog had descended slowly creeping into their view distorting what they once held most dear.

As Bill took his first step in the woods, he takes a deep breath soaking in the scent of oak and fresh ash. “far removed from the seats of strife”, not having a warm bed or hot meals even a full night rest. Knowing he had one abventure ahead for Bill and Kats. Both having to hike 16 miles everyday over rocks,trees, crossing ice cold rivers, and hearding the rain outside of thier tend and the roaring of the bears at night.

However, Charity soon discovers that her grandfather is on a mission to get her married off and settled somewhere because of his advanced age. Sensing that his time is near, he doesn’t want to die and leave her alone and desolate.

The poem begins with the poet noticing the beauty around her, the fall colors as the sun sets “Their leaves and fruits seemed painted, but was true, / Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hue;” (5-6). The poet immediately relates the effects of nature’s beauty to her own spiritual beliefs. She wonders that if nature here on Earth is so magnificent, then Heaven must be more wonderful than ever imagined. She then views a stately oak tree and

It took very long, but by sunset, she recognized her farm and her fields. But it had been destroyed. The fields looked as if they had erupted, and her animals were missing. But her house was the saddest . . . it was gone. All her belongings were scattered everywhere.