
So, today in English II class, we read an autobiographical essay that used a lot of really great imagery to tell a very simple but meaningful story. For homework I asked the kids to write a descriptive paragraph about their own childhood memory. I promised to complete the assignment as well, but I wanted to post it. So here it is:
Every Sunday after church, my family and I would climb into the Jeep and drive the thirty incredibly hilly and winding miles to Grandma and Grandpa Lester's house. It was summertime that I remember most. Grandma's garden was green with tomato vines, cabbage, peppers, and carrot tops. Between the rows of green, the soil was moist and cool between my toes as I stepped carefully so that I did not crush an earthworm or fall on the melons. I was making my way towards the onions. The green tops were crisp in my hand as I tugged them out of the earth, dirt clinging to the white bulbs. Grandma would have a bag ready to hold my reapings. And Dad would complain all the way home about the earthy, pungant smell of the onions as I munched hungrily at my summertime harvest.

