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From Winter Comes Spring

Spring brings life,

a new beginning

for all.

Life comes out

                                                                                  Out of the darkness and cold.

Warmth brought by the Father Sun

Food and necessities by Mother Earth

                                                              White transforms to green

                                                                        snow

                                                                                slowly

                                                                                        melts

                                                                                                away

Celebration for the spring!

                    The light at the end of the tunnel

                                                           from darkness comes

                                                             warmth

                                                                       serenity

        new life

                                                          new beginning

As it always was

  and shall be.

" Always protect yourself!" My dad says that a lot. I remember the first day I met the man who would become my dad. My older sister wanted to box and had begun lessons at my dad's gym in Winooski. I wanted to try. How hard could it be right? After all I had watch Million Dollar Baby and Rocky.

I am the middle of five children. Seems that I am forgotten sometimes. Not the oldest or loudest and certainly not the baby. I had to learn to defend myself or get pushed around forever.

We drove for two hours and finally got to the gym. My legs and behind ached from the ride. I did not know what to expect. It was a small space in a small town similar to those in the old Rocky movies. Who knew this nothin special place would become my home away from home.

My dad is not a large man and is sensitive and soft spoken, but when he talks to you, you cannot help but listen. He showed me a lesson about people from day one. It is not your size in body that makes you a big person, but what is in your heart.

I looked around the gym and remember how it smelled of sweat and old socks. It was April and warm. The ring was AWESOME. Red, white and blue in color. The bags hung around the room like slabs of meat. So intimidating. They were bigger than me and rock hard. When my dad told me I would learn to hit them I thought, just take me to the hospital. If you make me hit that I will surely break my hand. The other part of me said, hum no more homework. OK works for me.

The first thing we did was jump rope. Pretty easy. I could do that. Now when do I get to hit something? Lesson #1. My dad is full of stories and lessons. "Boxing is not hitting." These are my dad's words. Boxing is thinking. Made no sense at the time. You can think all you want but when someone is trying to knock your block off, its better to hit wouldn't you think?

My dad has a list of what he calls "rounds" on the wall. All of these things need to be done to warm up before training. 30 rounds it said. Ok sure, I will see you in a week. Don't worry I will still be here.

Seriously, boxing is not for whimps. Getting down to business, boxing is a tough sport that requires commitment and determination of mind and body. My mind was there, body, well that was to be seen.

I have jumped rope since I was a kid of four or five. Doubledutch etc. The first round therefore went ok. Interesting. I watched grown men try to jump rope. Not so easy. They made it look hard and painful.

Round after round I did them. Those rounds of preparation on the wall. Dad did them with me. Finally we completed them. Although there were times I wanted to give up, my dad never gave up on me. He always smiled and worked with me over and over again until I got it right. After a few months it became obvious that we got along great. I trained for a long time in that gym, and still do. Daily. Even though my dad is sick right now and not in the gym I still hear his voice. "Hands next to your cheek Al, always protect yourself!" I lost my first boxing match at age 9. I felt bad but my dad did not. He was so proud of me. After all I hit like a girl. That is because I am a girl. A 10 year old girl who trains alongside men and women in the gym. A girl who is now running the family gym for my dad. I lost but with dignity. My loss was not defeat but a learning experience.

Boxing is not about toughness. A true winner is a quiet warrior. After all I am 10 and only weigh 78 pounds. AND I am a girl. Training and commitment is quiet and its pain unseen and unheard. Dad has taught me to train for matches and for life with my own mind and heart. "know your opponent." he would say. " What do you know about that person? What do you know about yourself?" With that determination and victory will come. My Dad knows something about being a silent warrior and its costs. He did two tours in Iraq for our freedom. He is now fighting a different battle to come home to us. I think that he was telling me all this stuff because he could not always be there to protect me.

My dad has shown me that good things come with time. I guess that means something to him, as it took him a long time for me to warm up to him and let him into my heart. This was the match he had been training for to win. The love of my four sisters and me. In our home, the only steps in the house go up and down the stairs. My Dad is not my dad by blood, but by the love flowing within that blood. My Gram once said that biological kids have to love parents because they were born to them, but the children that choose the parent and visa versa are the most special ones. I am not sure if Dad chose me, or I chose him, but we love each other and he is my biggest fan.

Boxing is a misunderstood sport, rather like me and others who are quiet and small. It is not about how hard you can hit or how mean you can be, but how good of a person you are willing to become. The worst kind of being small is the person of small heart and character. The next time your dad tells you something, even if you hate it, listen. He is preparing you for the biggest match of all time. Your life. My hand is next to my cheek Dad!

                              Excuses,Excuses

                   Drinks- slurping

                  Food- gulping

                   Glasses- smashing

                  videogames-breaking

              I'm sorry I didn't mean to!

Bit of Heaven

By Anthony Spinella

            The warm sun shines down through the parted, puffy clouds. Just like the day before, and the day before that, just the way I like it. I have my slick, black headphones on, music playing, addidas basketball in hand and I’m en route to the sacred town basketball court. It’s smooth, and slightly dusty, green physique is the eighth wonder of the world. The jagged half-circle hoops suspended by thick metal poles combined with the blazing orange double rims bring a sense of calm and serenity to my mind. Tall hedges and spindly bushes encircle most of the embedded court, with Main Street sealing in off. Cars park alongside the grass that surrounds the court for people to enjoy the shops and businesses that accompany the basketball heartland.

            Nearly everyday possible I walk down the embankment the cars sit on top of. During the charring summer, the smell of fresh apples fills the air from the pair of apple trees on the edge of the ratty bush hidden river. These succulent apples also provide an occasional snack along with their intense fragrance. Soon though the stench of dust, dirt, and car exhaust drench the air when apple season has passed, leaving behind their sweet memories and their degrading carcasses. Thankfully the eye bleeding sight of rotten apples smashed on the pavement or splattered on the backboards is rarely evident.

            Only one of the polished twin hoops has a net to its name, the other cursed with the remains of a mangled, threaded mess. Chains used to dangle from the thick double rims, and as time goes on, generations of nets come and go on this hallowed court. Each one laid to rest and another brought in to replace the main component of a swish.

            Cracks and crevices are riddled throughout the court’s green surface, mostly coming from years of snow and ice packed down on it from the brutal fist of a traditional Vermont winter. The encasement of snow usually remains untouched until March, when I get antsy and impatient for it all to melt. I break my back shoveling feet upon feet of snow and layers of compacted ice. Though requires lots of work, almost nothing beats shooting around in thirty-five degree weather in a small shoveled patch barely bigger than the key, except for during a cool summer night. When the snow finally disappears, and the refreshing summer nights roll around, nothing is sweeter than basketball at night. The chilled night air fills me to my soul as the dew settles down on the evening moonlit grass. Only the distanced streetlights and the glassy stars provide light to see the shadowed hole ten feet above the concrete. Only the discreet sound of crickets chirping can be heard as the full harvest moon peaks up from behind the mountain, seemingly willing the ball in the hoop more and more and more. Here, on this court, is where life doesn’t seem so dark and hard. With every dribble I feel more alive and free to do and fulfill anything I set my mind to, whether it’s sinking a three or conquering the world. It is here on this tiny little court in tiny little Chelsea in tiny little Vermont, where I have my tiny little bit of heaven.

sorry...

                “Phew, now that was a great walk!” I said. I walked my dog into the house and I took the leash off of him. But then my dog started barking very loudly towards me. I look to him and I cannot believe what I am hearing. My dog is talking to me! “Hey Fred, I just wanted to say something to you. I know this seems unreal right now but it is real, trust me. I have been seeing you doing some things wrong recently. You have been smoking a lot and not looking after yourself. If you want to live longer than me, then you should try to get better. I know you love me and I love you. I just want you to feel good and I want you to be as healthy as you can be. I really hope you take this to heart and if you care for me, you will.” I cannot believe what just happened. I do not know if it is real or fake. All I know is that I believe that he just talked to me. A dog just talked to me. I love that dog so much. No matter if it was real or fake, I think I might to listen to him. I just want to believe. I want to believe that my dog just talked, but it is just too surrealistic. I just don’t know.

“Today is gonna be the best day ever!” I whisper to myself and shiver.

No, I'm not cold. My skin radiates icy chills and tingling shivers, but I've never been cold. I smile and snap my wintergreen gum. Most people, when they picture me, imagine some of man with a long white beard and smiling eyes. Not me! I don't look a day over one hundred! That's pretty young for a season. Us living forever and all. I was too excited to do much yesterday, so I just sat on the ground and imagined how everything was gonna look. Planning every detail.

Another thing people get wrong is me sleeping all the time. I'm never tired. Anyway, how could I miss Summer? She's my favorite sister! I mean, I love all of them, but Summer's the funnest. Spring is spacy and kinda out of it. And Autumn is a tomboy and bossy as heck. We're all girls; that's the way Mother Nature likes it. She's kind of a feminist. Summer was going to help me today, but she's sick. The cold is really hard on her. I understand. I use SPF 1,000,000 when we hang out.

An acorn lands in my hand and is instantly covered in frost. I let the acorn drop. It's time! It takes all my self-control not to squeal like I'm eleven, but it's hard to remember etiquette at times like these. Breathe in, breathe out. Then take a step.

WHOOOOM. It hits me like a tidal wave. I'll never get used to that feeling. The feeling you get when it's your turn with the eggs. The leaves on the tree next to me swirl like they're being flushed down a toilet bowl then condense into a little ball. I catch it and it becomes a smooth blue egg in my hand. I hear movement to my left and look over to see a Canadian goose, and then I can smell cider and wet leaves and wood smoke.

“Don't you dare lose it,” hisses Autumn right next to my ear in her no-nonsense, grown-up, bossy voice.

“What, you don't trust me?” I smile, then she's gone.

I stand there for a moment, feeling happy.

Then I jump, pushing up hard with knees bent and let out a little cry. Then I'm in the sky and flying fast and strong, my dress flapping around me. I feel more awake up here, aware of every squirrel in every tree blurring past. I fly for awhile, enjoying the wind until I come to a field. This seems like a good place to start. I don't really have a system for this. I just start where I please and helter skelter from there.

I step out at the edge of the clearing, my toes just high enough not to brush the tops of the pine trees below me. I pull out the egg, palm down, careful not to let it drop. Usually when I hold something it becomes cold and covered in frost, but not the egg. It's still warm as if it had been just laid. I feel the warmth of it on my cold hand, then I crush it, my fingers pulling tight around the fragile shell, making a sound like paper crumpling. I let the eggshells drop and listen for the soft thump of them on the grass.

Then it starts. The snow trickling out of my hands, slowly at first: just a few little flakes floating out of my palms. Then faster, pouring fast and thick, and soon the field is white with fresh snow.

Then I begin to fly, my arms outstretched, and bring winter to the rest of the world.

By Eliza Price

5^th grade

Dummerston School

Under The Bed

by:Jordan Perry

One night I went into my room, lied down in my bed and closed my eyes. A minute later I heard a loud noise and took my flash light and looked under my bed. It was brown, big, and starring at me. It was bouncing around everywhere, before it hid in the corner from me. I yelled to my mom and she turned the lights on. PHEW! It was only my puppy hiding under my bed. He was petrified of the lightning and thunder storm. I grabbed him and hugged him and told him it was all right.  

Monkton is a really nice little town because its so small everybody knows each other. If I won the lottery I would spend it on useful stuff life food nd clothes. Not like video games and junk food. No matter how much money I have I will never want my life to change.

This project is about me. I have two cats. My favorite color is navy blue. I love star wars. I live in Vermont. I have only one grandma. i am obsests with making art.