Analysis Of The Gurdon Light

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

As you walk down the streets of Arcadia, Nebraska, you look from side to side and see nothing more than a quiet little town. What you probably aren’t aware of is the history behind this “little town”. Arcadia is built off of determination, character, and distinctiveness. As you make your way down Main Street, you start to grasp a glimpse of the past. Arcadia, Nebraska is a village with quite a story to tell. Not many people know how Arcadia was founded or even how it came to be. Arcadia has dealt with struggles and overcome tragedies, whereas most towns simply would have died away. In addition to the charm of Arcadia’s perseverance, there are also many fun

Arriving in the overgrown drive way trees start to crowd your vision, in the middle of all the trees I see an old beach house; that has stayed the same over the 18 years I have been going up there. Grandma is waiting outside on the front porch we all run up to give her a hug, then we go and start unpacking for a week’s worth of relaxing. First thing we do when were done unpacking is go to the old but new play structure. We sit on the swings and look out towards the big blue Michigan Lake. White caps cover most of the water along with passing boats, and some kayakers. Right over the horizon I can see the lights from the town, reaching into the sky. The sun is starting to set; the sky is painted with pink, orange, and yellow.

Residents of Girdwood enjoy a strong sense of commmunity and the pride that comes with being a part of a town full of extroidnary and resourceful citizens. The few who call

My first memory that I have of Hotchkiss was the day that I was enrolled in kindergarden. It was the first time that I had seen the town since we had moved here from Texas. To a kid who had never seen anything other than endless acres of shrubs and mesquite trees, the towering mountains and greenery blew me away. For months I would spend all of my time after school exploring where I lived and biking around town with my friends. As the years have gone by this tiny town has still kept that certain magic that enthralled me as a kid, if only in a more reminiscent way rather than just pure wonder. However, the most important part of Hotchkiss to me is the effect that it had on who I am. From the day that I became a part of this lovely town, I have learned three major values that have played a key role in the decisions I’ve made. These values were hard work, community, and pride.

The town was fairly small for a while, but exploded in population when someone apparently found a 10 pound gold nugget in the mountainside. The town went from 40 to 500 people. Large mining companies paid people for their land, causing them to forget why they originally lived here for. Not only did these companies come and tirelessly excavate the mountains for gold, but they excavated The Northern Town’s reason of existence. The forty of us that originally lived in this Northern Town were here because we liked the town and wanted to life a calm life. After the nugget was found, others came for money and power instead.

I have spent much of my childhood growing up in a small town in the Lowcountry region of South Carolina. This town, Garnett, is the physical embodiment of the phrase “the country.” Winding, unpaved dirt roads carved deep into the earth as if they were forged at the beginning of Earth’s creation. There are lush forests with towering pine trees and spruce trees, riddling the ground beneath them with pinecones and pine needles. The only buildings there is a post office, a mini mart, and an AME church. Every fall crisped evening, towards Thanksgiving, ended with wild turkeys weaving through traffic in the hopes of reaching the safety of the forests before the hunters’ dogs catch wind of their scent.

Cheeses were famous won many prizes. Small town. 100 kids at school. Flourishing community and therefore belonging to community. 1950 became a ghost town. Rather sentimental, gaiter feels bad that the community has diminished. The juxtaposition between the two paragraphs of the heyday compared to the ghost town of 10 houses and convenience store. Camp swelled in gold rush. When they weren’t working, little to do. Movies on sat night and occasional dances hosted. Immigrants didn’t like the eucalyptus.

I have lived in New Harmony, Indiana since I turned three. New Harmony easily remains one of the smallest towns in the state. Although New Harmony became my hometown, I was born in Indianapolis; it is scary to wonder about who I would be if I had grown up in the largest city in the state rather than here. “Here” being a town with a population of around 800 and one K-12 school with an enrollment of less than 200. This is the atmosphere that I grew up in. By the time I made it through 1st Grade, I was attending all of the basketball games, rooting for the Rappites and belting out the school song. I became New Harmony Rappite down to my bones.

When it comes to small towns people who haven’t lived in one tend to think that they are boring or bland. However a chat with some of the people who have always lived in a town of less than four-hundred people for their entire lives really paints a new picture. Donnie Moyer has lived outside of Terril, Iowa his entire life on a farm working for his father until his passing in which he took control of the property. When we discussed “How has the town change since you’ve lived here?” he responded with “It hasn’t change at all it's still the same place I grew up in.” Some see this as being bland but in today's age with all the technological change it is refreshing to see some are happy with their roots. Going on from that I asked him about his

The beauty of not belonging and seclusion from Cane Creek Park create a feeling of wonder and amazement, that makes a person long to go back time after time. The willow trees stand gracefully, and elegantly as they dance around the park and convey positive vibes. There is a dock that contains many mysteries and many unanswered questions. The swing that stands distant from the rest is worn and waits for the next child to find it and to find comfort in it. There is also the rippling water and the curiosities that behold the tree that has been there for ages. It’s beauty is conveyed by the piercing warm sun. This park creates a safe place for those whose mind may be depressed or maybe just lonely, and it comforts those with the allurement of

As I paid my visits to Elkton, a new town revealed itself. Elkton was dying. The sign on the hardware store had fallen on one side, the movie store had bankrupted and closed, and the tiny library was a pathetic joke. I never went back to the thrift store, I had thrown away my stuffed animals long ago, and the place stank of cheap cigarettes. Worst of all, the little house I had once lived in was dead and vacant. Weeds almost swallowed the "For Sale" sign at the road, and a green film grew over the siding. To me, Elkton reeked of decay and hopelessness. I hated the

As I sit here, on the hood of my car looking out into the vast field I think to myself, why this place? Out of all the places that mean so much to me, why does this place stand out the most? Everyone has that one spot that is special to him or her for various reasons whether it be a memory, experience, how it makes them feel, etc. For me, my favorite place encompasses all my senses bringing them to an all time high filling me with an overwhelming indescribable feeling. It’s my sanctuary, a safe place, but above all a place to clear my mind and getaway from reality. There aren’t enough captivating words to describe the beauty of this place. In the winter, the vast field covered in a blanket of untouched glimmering snow surrounded by bare

As I drive up the hill, passing the mailbox and the meticulously groomed lawn, I find myself taking on a transformation. I breathe a sigh of relief and feel the tension drain from my body in anticipation of seeing "my place." As I turn the corner I see it, to anyone else it just looks like a simple field. But to me, it is my sanctuary that I can escape from the hectic world. This is where I can relax and feel like I’m a kid again. In my field, for a short while time stops, and I don’t have to worry what needs done next. This place also holds many wonderful memories as well as making new ones each year.

The appearance of a stranger in a settled small Kansas town, while unsettling to some, can be a rewarding experience, as long as there is a mutual desire to communicate. The course readings accurately depicted and reflected the stranger from various perspectives. Consequently, in order for the small town to thrive, there is a necessity for the appearance of strangers. Out of town travelers contribute to the local economy that provides income for local businesses. These types of strangers are transient and seldom worried the town’s folk. In contrast to the transient stranger, small Kansas towns scrutinized any stranger who desired to not be an outsider and take up residency. Beloit, a small Kansas town located in North-Central Kansas, had a population that ranged between four thousand to five thousand town folk. Anytime a stranger or strangers appeared, the talk of the town was all about who they were, where they had come from, do we like them, and which church are they attending church services. Each situation was a little bit different, which made the process that much more interesting. But in the end, each stranger or group of strangers became a pillar of the community that Beloit proudly bragged to relatives in other small Kansas towns.