“What’s your address?” the receptionist asks me.
“I live on Dead End Road.”
She looks up at me, incredulous laughter hidden behind pursed lips. “Dead End Road?”
“Yup,” I nod and smile. I get this reaction every time. Yes, it’s a dead end. No, it is not the sight of some horror story. No, we are not lunatics or murderers. At most, the neighbors are nosy, silent until they have something to report to the police, which really turns out to be nothing at all anyway.
When you drive past my road, you will glance at the sign, point it out, and say, “Dead End Road! That’s creepy.” You’ll shiver a little as you go along your merry way. You will have no idea that it was once called Old Mountain Road. You’ll never see that, along this road that goes on for a little over a mile, the land has grown into us, tree roots curling around our homes so that we are comfortable in the heart of the forest.
Maybe you don’t know this, but snow falling makes a sound. I’m pretty sure this is true in more places than my home, but I only learned it here, on Dead End Road (which you will drive by on your way to somewhere else). The sound is silence. Isn’t that a sound? The snow says, “Hush.” Then, it frosts our trees. Lace flirts as it swirls about us, whispering that we should stay inside for awhile and keep warm and cozy in the absence of noise.
You might not know that, when you first turn onto my road in the fall, it is honey glazed. The tangled bushes that reach for the shoulder of the road are golden. They bring their own sunlight. When you pass on by in the summer, you’ll also never notice the way clusters of raspberries peak through brambles and blush happily. Oh, and they are so tangy and juicy and sweet! When we were children, we picked handfuls and covered them in sugar and ate them until our fingers were stained and sticky. You won’t roll your window down and drift by as honeysuckles shyly wave at you. Their scent is heavenly, you know (You probably do, actually). It’s milky and gentle and it gets caught in a breeze so that it carries all the way to the dead end of our road, where the forest meets up with my backyard.
You’ll be surprised to find that Dead End Road has weaved its way into our lives, vines curling here and there when we didn’t notice. It is a comfort and terribly annoying all at the same time. Have you ever driven along a road encrusted with ice that sparkles like diamonds? Plows don’t make it back here too often. Dead End Road is an afterthought, but a lovely one. Have you ever spent days without electricity because a tree battered and played by the wind has fallen on your power lines?
But our forest makes up for this. My backyard throws a party every fall. It sings in the wind and glows emerald in the spring. It kindly holds onto remnants of our childhood play and offers them back to me when I least expect it. I’m telling you: The next time you drive past Dead End Road, don’t laugh. It’s not really a dead end at all.
"You might not know that, when you first turn onto my road in the fall, it is honey glazed." I loved that description. I initially pictured something super sweet and sticky, but in the context I settled on a sort of glowing amber. What a privilege to be able to have grown up in the woods. My aunt and uncle used to live in a small town just outside of Seattle and they had the woods for a backyard as well. Deer would come and eat their flowers and garden, so my aunt quit planting things and just let the natural ferns take over. I also liked how you have the forest growing into you as people.
ReplyDeleteI'm intrigued by the use of the second person here. It's tricky to pull off and you've used it with strong effect here. Almost reminiscent of Berry's poem, but here the result is an invitation, a beckoning for us to share in this place with you.
ReplyDeleteAimee, this really celebrates your place! I love the imagery of the honey glazed turn in the road. The lines about how your backyard sings, and glows, and offers back your childhood memories...wonderful! Those images could even be expanded more, if you want to write a longer piece...
ReplyDelete"the land has grown into us, tree roots curling around our homes so that we are comfortable in the heart of the forest." Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteAnd I LOVE your descriptions of the snow (lace, flirting, "hush," the silent sound) and the bushes in the summer (having their own sunshine). You've really "captured" your place . . . or, rather, you've unleashed it. Very well done; you've showcased your place and your talent as a writer. Very reminiscent of "The Flatness."
Thank you all! I'm so glad this came across so well. I really just love home. That's the simple version. :-)
ReplyDelete"You’ll never see that, along this road that goes on for a little over a mile, the land has grown into us, tree roots curling around our homes so that we are comfortable in the heart of the forest."
ReplyDeleteYou've affirmed the commonplace, with rich attention to detail, and reminded us of our interconnectedness. The relationship we have to Nature is what I find most important in this piece. There is a lot of thoughtful work here. Again, I appreciate your attention to detail. Your tone, too, is accessible.