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| After
I asked the students in a literature survey class I was teaching to write a comparison
of a few of their childhood experiences that compare or contrast with Wordsworth’s
experiences as described in Book First of The Prelude, I began to reflect on a
few of my own contacts with the natural world. I realized that there were significant
differences between the experiences Wordsworth had as a nine-year-old and my own
experiences outdoors. |
As
a boy, Wordsworth often wandered alone in the sparsely populated Lake District
of England. Though during the summer I turned nine, I roamed about the sparsely
populated area around Saltillo,
where I grew up, I hardly ever went alone. My brother, who was three years younger,
was almost always with me on these jaunts. Often we two joined three of the Baze
children, whose family lived on the farm adjacent to our family farm.
Chloe
Baze was my age, and her brother and sister were my brother’s age. As a group,
we would leave our houses early on summer mornings, exploring the post oak woods
near our houses . We lived at a time when consumers dumped their cans and bottles
in ditches along the country roads. One fascination for us was searching for unusual
medicine bottles or snuff bottles. | |
Sometimes we walked
on the dusty roads only long enough to find a stream to follow into the woods.
Usually barefoot, we risked injury to our feet when we waded in murky creeks.
Wordsworth dipped into clear mountain streams. We never explored the area after
sundown, though Wordsworth tells of several excursions into the darkness.
At the age of nine Wordsworth wandered over the Lake District area at night, occasionally
taking a bird a hunter had trapped in a cage. He must have felt guilty after having
done the deed because he tells of hearing “Low breathings coming after. . .” and
“. . steps almost as silent as the turf they trod” as he ran through the darkness.
At
least once my group committed a deed that gives a twinge to my conscience even
now. Early one morning standing outside the front yard of the McGills, a family
living near us, we decided to open the gate and go inside the yard. Clara McGill
took pride in the flowers she grew; that morning many were in full bloom: poppies,
zinnias, daisies, petunias, flox and other varieties. Each of us began to pick
a few blossoms. Then we all ran away as fast as we could, slamming the gate behind
us. We left simultaneously, as blackbirds fly in a flock when they are frightened.
I cannot remember feeling the presence of a force chasing us as Wordsworth felt
after having taken the bird from the trap. But today I feel a twinge of guilt
because of our taking the flowers.
The summer heat in Texas
discouraged us from traveling as far as Wordsworth often went, and parental restraint
kept us from exploring at night.
© Robert
G. Cowser
"They
shoe horses, don't they?"
Guest Column, January 6, 2011
More
Columns by Robert G. Cowser |
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