Each summer, King County Parks hires local high schoolers to intern in the Youth Conservation Corps (YCC) program. During summer 2023, the YCC interns were challenged to write about their relationships with nature, land, and the environment in a writing form of their choice.
Through guided activities, the interns explored their personal connection to nature and land with an emphasis on how these relationships change over time or are influenced by life experiences.
These pages contain a playful poem about a Douglas Fir, a love poem from the land itself, a story of an alley filled with childhood imagination, a heartfelt essay about a lost but not forgotten cow field, and so many more descriptive reflections of our deep connections with land and the places we call home.
This is the second entry in a three-part series. Read Part 1 here and Part 3 here.
Interested in learning more about the YCC? Want notifications on when applications are open for the 2024 cohort? Go to kcpyouthcorps.org
Rachel Woolman
The Cow Field
Place is the landmarks that make up an area. Without any defining features a place can be nothing more than a piece of land. land becomes a place when there is character. Whether that character is from the cows grazing on the grass, the swallows flying overhead, or the tall grasses rustling softly in the wind. Place becomes meaningful when memories are shared there. The memories can be of seeing a family of bunnies, a barn cat, or walking with someone special. The footsteps I walk on the landform a place. A place I can call my own, regardless of the actual ownership. A place that feels familiar, welcoming.
A large, grassy field not far from my house is a special place to me. Cows live on the land, and I have either biked or walked there with my family or friends on summer days, and had fun watching the cows and just enjoying spending time in the area of land. I have so many memories in that place which are very important to me.
But, like the people around me, places can change. The once familiar landscape of tall grass and cows, the cheerful chirps of swallows can become foreign. One day, I walked past the cow’s field, and I was very confused at why they weren’t there anymore. Shortly, I found out that the land of the field will be turned into a neighborhood of houses. Even though a development is now there, it will forever be known to me as “the cow field”. The loud sound of construction drowned out any sounds of nature that were once there. Everything once second-nature is changed. All that was left was my memories. The once familiar place became unrecognizable.
Who will remember the cows grazing in the field now? Who will remember my feelings of biking up to the fence to greet them? Who will remember when there are houses built on the land that brought me peace and solace? Surely the people living on the new development won’t. And just like that, a place can be forgotten. Across our lands, greenspace can so easily be destroyed and changed.
While people can forget, the land doesn’t forget. The land stays constant even when the place doesn’t. The land holds the footsteps, holds the laughter, the carefreeness, and the sounds. It can’t forget, it never will.
I want to be like the land. The memories have shaped me the same way. Even when I change or leave this place, the place has left its impact on me. The place lives on through the photos taken, the stories told, and the sights and sounds. These are the things that can be told to others to preserve the special memories, the ones i never want to forget. We should all strive to be like the land, ever flowing with stories to keep them alive. To spread the joy and inspiration found in the natural places around us. I won’t forget. You won’t forget… will you?
Anusha Manoj
This story is more about people rather than place, because without the people, I would have never appreciated the place as much as I do now.
The place is The Alley, capital T, capital A, because I believe that it’s the only Alley in the world worth remembering. I mean I know I’m biased, but still. The Alley is a road in between two rows of houses covered with a fantastic chalk mural drawn by 7-year-olds. On any given day, you’ll see a crowd of children huddling around a really cool bubble machine, or sword fighting with badminton rackets, or trying to get back tennis balls from neighbors’ backyards. Behind the second row of houses is what we call the Green Alley. It’s an unruly lawn filled with carelessly arranged hydrangea bushes, berries, and the occasional tulip.
The Green Alley was where the first story takes place.
Neo was a 7-year-old child when he first thought of using the Green Alley as a business hub. He established an economy using fallen leaves and hydrangeas and set up soup businesses by crushing chalk and berries. Everyone quickly noticed his entrepreneurship and praised him before joining him and creating new businesses that sold weapons out of rocks and sticks. Imagination and resources were kind of limited, so a lot of the businesses were repeats – and this led to wars.
The last ever war in Green Alley history was caused by me. My business, at the time, was a “beautification” business (I would just draw chalk on the walls), and unfortunately, space was limited, and I was not getting paid for my services. Other businesses, like Neo’s berry soup business, was getting trampled over. Neo, being the self-declared leader of the Alley called for war against me, but I had a trick up my sleeve.
Before the war was scheduled to start, I coerced my sister and my sister’s best friend, Sahana, to join me because they were the tallest of the bunch. Also, my sister’s best friend had access to pool noodles.
What commenced was a battle of epic proportions lasting days. I cannot begin to tell you the horrors I witnessed. It would definitely last more than 10 minutes.
The war ended because we stumbled across a dead bird and called a truce to bury it.
I arranged the flowers on the bird’s grave and drew chalk on a sidewalk to adorn its grave. My sister and Sahana performed the eulogy, scorning the stray cat that probably ate it. The other little children placed sticks and stones around the body to protect it from being trampled over. And all of us watched as Neo buried it with dirt.
At that moment, we promised to never wage war again.
Petty conflicts still arose, but the Green Alley business hub still remains intact to this day, with Neo, now eleven, passing the baton to the four-, five-, and six-year-olds.
New stories are being created every day we go outside. I remember Sahana throwing her phone across a grassy area for an aerial shot for her documentary, and then losing it, forcing people to search for it for 20 minutes. I remember Rohit, a nine-year-old whose expertise is in sports, spending 2 hours trying to teach me how to throw a football. I have memories of playing Minecraft in real life with Neo, using sticks as swords, and waiting for the breeze to die down before launching the birdie in the air.
I can’t remember the Alley, or my life, for that matter, before they all came.
When I tell my friends about the latest incident in the Alley, they tell me how lucky I am to have them by my side. They tell me that I’m lucky to have such a big family.
And that’s what they are – they’re all my brothers and sisters. Long-lasting friendships have formed because of the Alley. Sahana and my sister were both equally shy of each other. I remember both of them hiding behind their mothers when they first met. But now, they make documentaries about their titular characters Karen and Kar-in and go for bike rides and call each other for everything. They genuinely love each other, even though they won’t admit it.
A lot of the time, I think about how empty the Alley would be without all the kids. It would be silent – in pristine condition, but silent. And it feels weird knowing that in an alternate universe, I would be wishing for someone, anyone, to come outside, but in another alternate universe, all these kids would be complete strangers because there was nothing to come outside to.
People and place are intertwined. Without the people, the place doesn’t seem as special, and without the place, there are no people.
Without them, I would have no stories to tell. So this story, despite them not being here, is dedicated to them. They are my family, and they have made my home the most special place.