|Essay the First
Essay the Second
Essay the Third
Essay the Fourth
In the town of Adrigal in
Ireland there is a house that has long been in the Sullivan Family. I have always heard it
called "The Rock House" but I never knew why it was called that until I saw a
picture of it.
The Rock House is exactly what it is called. It is a house built by my ancestors and is
completley made of rock, except for the thatched roof. It is only one story high, has very
few windows and no landscaping except for the rocky soil and tall straw-like grasses.
My father told me that this house has been in the Sullivan Family for over 100 years
and all of my grandfather's fourteen siblings grew up there.It is the 1st house goin back
taht my family had used. As these Great Aunts and Uncles grew up, and married, some moved
to the United States and some remained in Adrigal. It was the first house that the
Sullivans felt a close bond to in Ireland. Those that came to America would always
talk to their childrean about the Rock House and everyone felt that it was a pieace of
land that belonged to everyone of the Sullivan clan.
One of my grandfather's youngest brothers remained living in the house with his wife and
as many did, he married late and they never had any children. When this Great Uncle died,
the Rock House and land passed to his wife and she continued to live in it. Shortly after
the husband died, she passed away also, and because there were no children the Rock House
and land passed to her family. This was the first time that the occupants, were not
The Sullivan clan, which is my father's generation, was devastated. No one in Ireland had
put the property in a document that would legally keep the Rock House in the Sullivan
Family. The relatives who live in the United States must have assumed everything was taken
care of, or maybe they never even thought of it when the Great Uncle died. I wish
this hadn't happened, because maybe I could pass this house on to my children.
All of my Grandfather's siblings, both here and in Ireland, have passed away, but whenever
any of the Sullivan relations who lived who live in the United States visit Ireland, they
can never return without a visit to Adrigal and the Rock House. My father and I hope to
take a trip to Ireland in the future and he will bring me to see the Rock House when we
visit. My only hope is that we are able to visit inside the house and not just see it from
the outside. I want to go inside and stand where my ancestors once stood.
I think this changing of hand of the Rock House is so devastating to my Boston relatives
because it was part of their history. It gave them something to connect them with
relatives they may have just met, or just heard about, in Ireland. Now it is someone
else's. As Americans we all have to lose something to actually be American whether it is
someone being Hatian, or French, everyones ancestors gave something up so that we could
live in this country with freedom and happiness
Now it does not make a difference too much to me, but I think that when I see it I will
feel differently. Last year one of my cousins went to Ireland and I know they were very
upset after they visited the house. I guess, like me, if you are of Irish descent, you
would want a little but of Ireland to call your own too.
There is this place that no
one goes. I see no one there, ever. I will sometimes that an occasional wallk
through it, but it is scary here and I worry about my safety. It is on a corner at a
street called Morton and Clearwater Drive. There is about an acre worth of land,
good for planting yet good for children to play games. The trees are high with brush
all around, a field of tall grasses with rocks in certain areas. The pavement that has sat
unused for so long is cracked and unfinished.
I slowly walk over to "the woods" and enter. The wind
is at my back and I can feel it in my hair, on my skin, in my heart and deep within my
bones. As the wind whips around to my face it hurts me to smile. It is almost like
cracking ice. The windburn will come. It is around seven o'clock at night,
pitch black, there are no lights here. I imagine it is dark as if I were sealed in a
box. I can not see very far into "the woods" and give it seconds thoughts
about walking farther than the entrance where I now stand. I know I must walk
farther, I must get over fear, I must stand up to it. I walk about eighty-four steps
and take a three-sixty to look around me. Light would cast a giant shadow around me
but there is none. I step forward and strike a bush with my ice cold hands. It
hurts me. I think to myself that I must walk back and go home.
It is day two around three-fifteen between non and the eve. It is a
drizzle of cool rain and windy once again. God has dressed the sky in gray today and
it is only a little warmer. The spirit of nature and "the woods" comes
together. I walk onward and I can see the rocks, I can see the grass, the trees.
I head over to the rocks of "the woods" and I decide to sit down.
The rocks are sharp and are hurtful on my bottom. I can see their deep
crevices with dirt and pebbles sitting inside. The blacks and grays that God has
combined to form this piece of nature is supporting me. I can feel the bumps and the
sharpness in my back as I lay down. My body higs tha rocks with passion for God's
nature, our nature, we must care for it. I stand up and climb on top of the rocks.
I jump off onto the the hard dirt like a child would. I go to the edge of
"the woods" and leave this place, to go home.
Silence is around me. God has covered "the woods" with snow, a soft
blanket of two feet of whitness. For some reason it does not feel like the
thirty-two of a usual winter night. I enter "the woods" and see the rocks
I once sat on as they stick their heads above the snow. I run and fall. It is
a time of peace and serenity at "the woods". No one is out around this
nine o'clock hour at the end of the day. I try to listen to the sounds mother nature
usually makes, a crow making noise, a whistle of the wind but it is stillfully silent.
Then as I stand alone the silence is broken by the sound of a solidary car passing
by. I want to stay here longer by the snow is coming harder now and it is smothering
me to the point I feel a wet burning. It is time for me to turn and walk back
through the snow and go home.
I walk to "the woods" on a beautiful day with the sun up, but it is
freezing. I fall on some ice and break through the crust that has formed. The
sun it straight above me, it feels good warming me, but it is still cold out. As I
walk around "the woods" the snow clings to me. Under the top crust the
snow is soft. It is beautiful art created by God. There is a boundry around
"the woods" that holds in this part of nature in. I have become fond of
"the woods" and want to come here more. I lay down in the field where
there was once grass but now snow. I feel warm as my skin drinks up the rays of the
sun. I lay there for at least a half hour pondering life. I get up from my
time of leisure and walk to the trees barren of their leaves, now a skeleton of nature.
At the trees I kneel down and dig down into the snow and I find the leaves at the
bottom of the snow. They are brown and rotted and alone. They lay silent now,
resting, no wind playing with them and rolling them happily through the filed. Now they
remind me of death and loneliness. This vison in my mind makes me qiver and I walk
away and go home.
The last day as I walk over to "the woods". I am glad but sad at
the same time. I must be leaving this place that I have grown to care about. The birds in
the tree, the winds in the air that made the tress naked and the bumpy rocks that I layed
on, I must leave it all. Nature is good, nature is beautifull, nature is for us to care
for and we must be ones who value this land given us by God. I give "the woods"
one last look and then I turn, I must go home.
Emily Dickinson is best known
for being one of the most brilliant poets of her time. She wrote about many
different themes, such as death, love, and a women's point of view. She was
born on December 10th, 1830, and was a recluse, rarely venturing from
outside of her home in Amherst, Massachusetts. I chose her work "Departed by
the Judgment". I chose this work of hers because it explains one of her very
popular themes, death. Emily Dickinson, I believe was one of the greatest of
the 18th century.
While "Departed to the Judgment" is brief, each individual word is loaded
with allegorical meaning. The "story" switches from the conjuring up images
of a day ending, a storm coming, and an audience leaving. While it is
clearly about death, the poem also relates the cyclical nature of all life.
This and many of her other works were inspired by the many of the poets of
This poem describes how how someone is put to the test of life, and how
death comes about every life. This poem hints to what the poem means more
than most of her poems. She uses lines such as, "Great clouds like ushers
leaning...", meaning death is coming upon us like clouds come everyday.
"Departed to the Judgment" unlike others refers to her reaction against
conformity. She says a lot in a few words in this poem, such as, "A mighty
afternoon...", meaning the end of each day can come a death.
"Departed to the Judgment" has a tremendous about of the useage of the
letter L. In lines such as, "The flesh surrendered, cancelled...", or "Great
clouds life ushers leaning...". I believe that this poem gives the reaction
that Emily has on death. Although it uses one of her more popular and useful
themes, this expresses the most detailed way of speaking in other words
This poem gives me a good feeling of how Dickinson worked, and how she
related a lot of her life, and the lives of many of the people around her,
to her poetry. She is an artist of fame, and intellectual qualities of the
The world renound sport
of golf has been around for centuries. Created by the Scotish in the
fifteenth century. King James wanted to lower this game so that the people
would aware themselves of a sport that would help them in defense, archery.
Most people that I have spoken to thought the sport is boring and pointless,
others say that it iswas made for the man of today.
Golf begins with a different variety of rules, one equipment, legal or not,
the type of balls you use The USGA(United States Golf Assosiation) takes big
role in all these rules to help prevent cheating. The USGA writes, makes
easyily known and keeps control that the rules of golf. They do this not for
just the professionals but the amateurs as well. The USGA performs tests on
golf clubs and the balls being used to make it all offical. Golf as I had
said is a gentlmans sport, played by men with respect, following these rules
are just simple tasks to be used to make golf the right way.
My favorite and probally one of the most famous players of today, Tiger
Woods is as famous as the sport itself. I found an interview discussing the
a win that Tiger had after the famous PGA tour. The interview between him
and commentor Julius Mason. He talks to him about the course and how calmly
Tiger took each tee-off. Also talking about techniques he used and the clubs
he used and how he used them wisely and not so.
There are many different sponsoring companies all over the world that make
golf possible. Famous companies such as Nike, Wilson, or Callaway Clubs.
Famous for all professional golfers. The sport has become one of the most
respected and popular sports in America. I find it to be a respected and
profound sports in the world.
So I ask is golf a proposed solution as an American sport? We use the words
golf and America in the same sentences many a times. Such as the America
Golf Association, or tounaments such as the American Century Golf
Championship having to do with famous American celebrities or sports
athletes. These two words are together for representing the truth behind
what we have made golf around us into. The true American sport for us.