From city to country, a quick change indeed.

                                                                        The excitement boils inside me…Grandma’s

                                                                        No other life breathes out here,

                                                                                    Just my family and me.

                                                                        The woods so jammed-packed frame the road

                                                                        The mailbox in sight, the old rusted flag hanging

                                                                                    Lifelessly, the sign’s welcoming words.

                                                                        The cottage style single story home

                                                                                     Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen and living

                                                                        So active and not ready to leave here, Gram runs

                                                                                    With legs of 86 but muscles of 21.

                                                                        With the sun up at twelve, there’s still time to explore.

                                                                        We begin through the pasture that no longer exists.

                                                                        We enter the rubble free-standing from the ground.

                                                                        The first stop’s the same           to the vines

                                                                        They drape there calling out our names -

                                                                                      We just can’t resist.

                                                                        We swing, we soar, we slip, we splat, we’re soaked!

                                                                        We follow the creek, its twisting and turning ways

                                                                                      She’s so low and thirsty for water

                                                                        Deeper in are the tracks of deer but bigger -

                                                                                      The tracks of the locomotive.

                                                                       The hill is mountainous, made of gravel to

                                                                                      Stumble our steps.

                                                                       Clear air and sweet smells greet us at the top.

                                                                       The journey is over, nowhere more to go.

                                                                       Thorns and fallen logs are our newly

                                                                                      Encountered enemy.

                                                                       Done a thousand times, but each time is new -

                                                                                      New discoveries, new smells and views.

                                                                       Darkness is closing in, and fear lies atop our shoulders.

                                                                       A smell so native lingers in our nostrils – Gram’s cooking.

                                                                                      What? Not sure, but we’re soon to find.

                                                                       The race about to begin back through the non-existing,

                                                                                      And into the house.

                                                                       Boys racing, girls helping the ones left behind.

                                                                       Later that night Gram plays for us.

                                                                       She plays her piano, violin, banjo,

                                                                                       Accordion, and harmonica.

                                                                       In the morning we all leave,

                                                                                       Bags in hand and cars all packed.

                                                                       Our treasure was found; we each took our part

                                                                       The part we will always remember and smile upon:

                                                                       The part with family and friends,

                                                                                       With nature and the wild, with

                                                                                       God.

Emily Unzicker is an eleventh-grade student at Central High School in St. Joseph, Mo.