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non-fiction contest entry18 total reviews
Comment from poetbear
This is lovely.
It got to me as an animal lover that can't have a pet because my hubby is very allergic to dander.
I do alot of charity work and I think yoour work could help them raise funds and get your work out there.
You are very talented.
reply by the author on 13-Jan-2012
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This is lovely.
It got to me as an animal lover that can't have a pet because my hubby is very allergic to dander.
I do alot of charity work and I think yoour work could help them raise funds and get your work out there.
You are very talented.
Comment Written 13-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 13-Jan-2012
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sign me up, I'd be delighted to contribute through any marginal talent.
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Contact your local animal organizations. Marginal, no way!
Comment from size17
This a very nice sentimental and reflective piece. Hard to read this and not think of Thoreau or Emerson.
Classic theme of learning to appreciate the natural world.
Love how you convey a sense of closeness to nature in the opening paragraphs.
The shortness of "we killed them." gives a great jarring and brutal dose of reality.
I hear, but I don't understand. - Beautiful
Great prose, I really enjoyed it.
reply by the author on 12-Jan-2012
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This a very nice sentimental and reflective piece. Hard to read this and not think of Thoreau or Emerson.
Classic theme of learning to appreciate the natural world.
Love how you convey a sense of closeness to nature in the opening paragraphs.
The shortness of "we killed them." gives a great jarring and brutal dose of reality.
I hear, but I don't understand. - Beautiful
Great prose, I really enjoyed it.
Comment Written 12-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 12-Jan-2012
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I feel Emerson and Thoreau raging from their tombs, but I thank you for such a heartwarming response.
Comment from Judian James
I was with you the entire piece. "We continued our pretentious squatting on a piece of property we thought belonged to us." startling and sincere after your paragraph about the killing.
I gasped and cried with you as your husband died. I too sat with you on the Oak stump. Your final paragraph was stunningly poignant Ingrid. Beautifully written and conveyed flawlessly. A few tiny typos: "mine alone when I slipped .behind the cedars." A rebel period that does not belogn before "behind" Then,"a piece of my husbands's" has an extra "s" in the most outstanding line of the piece.
Bravo Ingrid. Thank you for sharing this. Oh, also, "path wasn't sacred, but part of a snowmobile trail in the winter, but for me it was a refuge" I'd tweak and lose one of the "but"s!! SUPERB!
reply by the author on 09-Jan-2012
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I was with you the entire piece. "We continued our pretentious squatting on a piece of property we thought belonged to us." startling and sincere after your paragraph about the killing.
I gasped and cried with you as your husband died. I too sat with you on the Oak stump. Your final paragraph was stunningly poignant Ingrid. Beautifully written and conveyed flawlessly. A few tiny typos: "mine alone when I slipped .behind the cedars." A rebel period that does not belogn before "behind" Then,"a piece of my husbands's" has an extra "s" in the most outstanding line of the piece.
Bravo Ingrid. Thank you for sharing this. Oh, also, "path wasn't sacred, but part of a snowmobile trail in the winter, but for me it was a refuge" I'd tweak and lose one of the "but"s!! SUPERB!
Comment Written 09-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 09-Jan-2012
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I've made the corrections....I thought that rogue period was a piece of dirt on my screen....sigh. Yes, this write when it started to pour out of me flowed like a familiar stream. Thanks for the generous star rating. Hugs, ingrid
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A moving, marvelous piece of writing, I!
Comment from Sasha
I found myself holding my breath while reading this. Your ability to combine life with nature continues to impress and amaze me. This is a very sad, yet strangely uplifting story. Beautifully written and touched my heart reminding me of how precious life really is. This is a superb entry for this contest and I sincerely (really sincerely) wish you all the best.
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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I found myself holding my breath while reading this. Your ability to combine life with nature continues to impress and amaze me. This is a very sad, yet strangely uplifting story. Beautifully written and touched my heart reminding me of how precious life really is. This is a superb entry for this contest and I sincerely (really sincerely) wish you all the best.
Comment Written 08-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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I like this one too and it flowed in the writing. Thank you.
Comment from Cumbrianlass
This is a very moving write, Ingrid. Somehow, you soften the harshness contained within. Very nice - brought a lump to my throat.
Av. :o)
they are not indigenous to (t)his part of the country.
but not once, not one of my precious boys, touched the earth and felt her sigh. - suggest: but not once did one of my precious boys touch the earth and feel her sigh.
Occasionally, the truth of our northern address imposed on our social plans. We had an infestation of mice, then bats and porcupines, who found the resin treatment on the pine exterior tasty. We killed them .The mice were eradicated with traps, laced with peanut butter that snapped and broke their necks. The bats were forced out of the attic with carbon monoxide, a hose attached to the back of a Ford pick-up. The porcupines took a bullet, a merciful death from a 22 calibre rifle. - Found this paragraph very hard to stomach - but then that only shows how well you presented it!
We continued our pretentious squatting on a piece of property we thought belonged to us. - Great line.
The cottage evolved. It was no longer a shelter, it became a palace. Every attempt to tame the encroaching wilderness was thwarted and we took it personally. The rabbits that destroyed my garden were deemed to be pests. The garter snake that had taken refuge beneath the boat house was an ugly threat. I wanted them dead and gone.
And, one night, in the early morning, my husband woke up, instructed me how to call for an ambulance and then died in my arms. - wow - this kicked me in the gut.
I watched sunsets from the dock, alone.
My loneliness and loss intimidated our friends and they respected my suffering by leaving me alone.
It was during this isolation that I surrendered to the world I tried to dominate. - These three lines really sum up the loss. Well written.
perhaps travelled by many, but mine and mine alone when I slipped ()behind the cedars.
Just before the trail ends, there's a spot, a copse of balsam trees, their fragile branches dance in the wind and whisper to travellers. I hear, but I don't understand. - What a lovely image this presents.
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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This is a very moving write, Ingrid. Somehow, you soften the harshness contained within. Very nice - brought a lump to my throat.
Av. :o)
they are not indigenous to (t)his part of the country.
but not once, not one of my precious boys, touched the earth and felt her sigh. - suggest: but not once did one of my precious boys touch the earth and feel her sigh.
Occasionally, the truth of our northern address imposed on our social plans. We had an infestation of mice, then bats and porcupines, who found the resin treatment on the pine exterior tasty. We killed them .The mice were eradicated with traps, laced with peanut butter that snapped and broke their necks. The bats were forced out of the attic with carbon monoxide, a hose attached to the back of a Ford pick-up. The porcupines took a bullet, a merciful death from a 22 calibre rifle. - Found this paragraph very hard to stomach - but then that only shows how well you presented it!
We continued our pretentious squatting on a piece of property we thought belonged to us. - Great line.
The cottage evolved. It was no longer a shelter, it became a palace. Every attempt to tame the encroaching wilderness was thwarted and we took it personally. The rabbits that destroyed my garden were deemed to be pests. The garter snake that had taken refuge beneath the boat house was an ugly threat. I wanted them dead and gone.
And, one night, in the early morning, my husband woke up, instructed me how to call for an ambulance and then died in my arms. - wow - this kicked me in the gut.
I watched sunsets from the dock, alone.
My loneliness and loss intimidated our friends and they respected my suffering by leaving me alone.
It was during this isolation that I surrendered to the world I tried to dominate. - These three lines really sum up the loss. Well written.
perhaps travelled by many, but mine and mine alone when I slipped ()behind the cedars.
Just before the trail ends, there's a spot, a copse of balsam trees, their fragile branches dance in the wind and whisper to travellers. I hear, but I don't understand. - What a lovely image this presents.
Comment Written 08-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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You know how ocassionally you sit down to write and it just flows across the page? In one moment you are sitting in front of a blank screen and then what seems like moments later you're hitting the save button. This was that kind of story. Enjoy the beautifule sunshine. ingrid
Comment from viaux
I took my middle grandson--age 11--to Australia this past summer. Your story added another dimmension to our trip, a part that we didn't see. We weren't there long enough to get to know anyone; the only local we spent a bit of time with, yodelled in the elevator of our hotel and scared the others away.
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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I took my middle grandson--age 11--to Australia this past summer. Your story added another dimmension to our trip, a part that we didn't see. We weren't there long enough to get to know anyone; the only local we spent a bit of time with, yodelled in the elevator of our hotel and scared the others away.
Comment Written 08-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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But you know, of course that you will never forget the yodeller, long after the great restaurants or tours have faded into memory. It was a gift to your grandson, a bookmark to remember a special trip with his grandparents. Thanks for such a generous rating.
Comment from Randy H
A truly heartfelt story. We all could benefit by stepping back from our lives and letting nature teach us a bit of patience and humility. Keep following that trail, cherish the memories that each stroll conjures, and embrace the untold possibilities of the future.
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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A truly heartfelt story. We all could benefit by stepping back from our lives and letting nature teach us a bit of patience and humility. Keep following that trail, cherish the memories that each stroll conjures, and embrace the untold possibilities of the future.
Comment Written 08-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 08-Jan-2012
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Thank you Randy. A very generous bouquest of stars that are greatly apprecisted. ingrid
Comment from Carrie Smith
Ingrid, this is simply beautiful. Merging yourself in the wonders of nature as you try to find answers-sometime clear and other times puzzling. The loss of a husband is devastating, but how lucky it was that you had nature to travel among as you sought acceptance and peace. Love, Susan
reply by the author on 07-Jan-2012
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Ingrid, this is simply beautiful. Merging yourself in the wonders of nature as you try to find answers-sometime clear and other times puzzling. The loss of a husband is devastating, but how lucky it was that you had nature to travel among as you sought acceptance and peace. Love, Susan
Comment Written 07-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 07-Jan-2012
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Susan, that's very true. When you walk in the bush, you become acutrly aware of the fact that the creatures around you are fighting for survival and they still find time to sing. Thank you for a very generous review.
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Ingrid, such details as you walked that path and your thoughts as you traveled were superbly written. xxSusan
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Hugs!
:) :)!
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This was a great piece, my friend. lol
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Ingrid, this was one fine piece of writing! lol
Comment from KiwiGal
Again, you merge human and Nature's existence in a beautiful and hauntingly sad way. No word is wasted.
I feel your struggle; when one lose's one's only child, those with children feel they should stay away in case their overt love just rubs the loss in. So I fled to another country where I was known pre-child, and it's easier to be just me. I also have no landmarks with desolate memories. You're braver than I, to live with them.
reply by the author on 07-Jan-2012
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Again, you merge human and Nature's existence in a beautiful and hauntingly sad way. No word is wasted.
I feel your struggle; when one lose's one's only child, those with children feel they should stay away in case their overt love just rubs the loss in. So I fled to another country where I was known pre-child, and it's easier to be just me. I also have no landmarks with desolate memories. You're braver than I, to live with them.
Comment Written 07-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 07-Jan-2012
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It was my husband, not my son. had it been I don't know how I would have survived. You are the brave one.
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Yep, I know it was your hubby - I was talking about myself, on behalf of all mothers who lose their children.
It's not a question of being brave; it's the thought that something's unfinished in my life for me still to be here, but it also allows me to choose every day whether I want to be here, and be happy about it .. or not. No point in hanging around unhappy, though. I have my moments; Xmas, B-Day and D-Day are pretty difficult. I pretend she's back home with no phone range.....
Comment from Chrisfiore
Hello SE, Very touching and moving piece, I like this side of you. I tell myself that I will die long before my BB does, and each day I try to tell her how much she means to me. I hope the memories of your husband are filled with his assurances of love and devotion to you. An excellent post. ;) Chrisfiore
reply by the author on 07-Jan-2012
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Hello SE, Very touching and moving piece, I like this side of you. I tell myself that I will die long before my BB does, and each day I try to tell her how much she means to me. I hope the memories of your husband are filled with his assurances of love and devotion to you. An excellent post. ;) Chrisfiore
Comment Written 07-Jan-2012
reply by the author on 07-Jan-2012
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Or some other epitaphs.....not everyone inderstands the finite period of devotion, nor do they ever admit to a life after 'them.' Good for you Chris.
