Where am I? Part 2: The Creek

There are a number of images that come to my mind when I think of my childhood home. My grandmother has a large back yard that is mostly comprised of lawn but also has a wooded area. When I was a child, my great-grandmother kept a large garden in the partial shade of the tree line. I have memories of watching her tend the garden. The neatness of the rows she made by digging with a hoe fascinated me. I was also particularly drawn to the scents of tomatoes, pepper, and watermelon that you can only experience from witnessing them ripen. She also grew collards, yellow squash, eggplant and okra. My most vibrant visual memories of the yard include swarms of fireflies and the shimmer of sunlight on the tree leaves blowing in the wind. The taste of fruit and nectar from blackberry and honeysuckle bushes growing along the fence also made lasting impressions. These are all topics that I aim to develop into work. 

Nevertheless, the work that I’ve completed so far has focused on one image, the creek that flows through the very rear of the yard. Beyond the fence, there are dozens of very tall trees, a small hill that seemed like a mountain to me as a child, and a creek at the base of a deep ravine. It seemed to me, at the time, to be as close to wilderness as one could get. Thinking back on it now, my grandfather always kept it raked and free of leaves, so it was actually just as well kept as the lawn. He used to dump the lawnmower clippings in the ravine filling the air with the intoxicating scent of  freshly mown grass. I’ve recently read that the smell of cut grass is actually a distress signal released by the plant. I find the my sensory experience of the smell compared to what it actually signifies, an interesting contradiction. 

I’ve always had a dualistic relationship with that the area beyond the fence, a mix of fear and curiosity. I played in the shade of the trees often but I never once ventured down into the ravine for fear of snakes or not being able to climb back out. I thought it was incredibly beautiful, but ever distant. When my grandfather passed away, the area beyond the fence became over grown and almost inaccessible. To me that landscape has become a physical symbol of a significant loss. The loss of a central figure in my life and the connection to the landscape that person gave me access to.